[Blind Barriers 01.0] Fragile Facade

by Sophie Davis

Not tonight. Tomorrow at the soonest.

  If they had been intent on getting rid of the evidence tonight, they would have already found me hiding inside the secret room. It was true. I knew that. And yet I couldn’t help thinking about the lack of dust and cobwebs inside the compartment. Someone, Dad most likely, had retrieved the drive recently. Maybe even frequently.

  Two hours later, I sat in the window seat in my bedroom and stared out at the sleeping city below. Spring was only a few weeks away, hard to imagine with the freezing rain falling from above.

  I finished my drink and set the glass on the windowsill, bleak resolve settling over me. It was too dangerous to watch the videos while my parents were in the house. Soon, though. Soon, I would know their dirty little secret.

  The truth would set all three of us free.

  Twenty-Four

  Raven

  “What the hell are you doing?” Asher demanded, his brown eyes flashing with anger as he peered at me through the car window.

  I clutched the butterfly pendent in one hand and yanked the door handle with the other. Asher was quick but not quick enough, and the car door clipped his forehead. It was hard to feel any real sympathy for him after he’d just scolded me like a disobedient terrier. My feet hit the rough pavement, and I tried not to cringe as I straightened to my full height and met Asher’s disapproving stare.

  “I needed something from my car,” I said haughtily and brushed past him toward our shared row home.

  Asher caught my arm. “Do you know what time it is, Raven?”

  I didn’t know or care, so I shrugged and tried to deflect. “What are you doing out here?”

  “I was walking one of my friends out and I saw the light on in your car. Imagine my surprise when I saw you sitting in the backseat. Shit, Raven, it’s four a.m.”

  I caught the whiff of alcohol on his breath for the first time, and wondered whether the friend he’d been walking out was female. And if she was getting benefits.

  “Don’t change the subject,” Asher continued. “It’s not safe to be out here in the middle of the night. What was so important you couldn’t wait a couple more hours?”

  I searched my brain for a plausible lie, but went with an amended version of the truth instead.

  “This.” I held out my hand, palm up, to reveal the necklace. “I thought I’d lost it, and then suddenly remembered I’d hidden it in the armrest. It’s really special to me.”

  Asher’s expression was unreadable, leaving me doubtful he believed my story. But I didn’t care, I didn’t owe him an explanation. His eyes softened. “Come on, let’s go in. Your feet are a mess.”

  I nodded and started again for our building. Before I’d taken two steps, Asher literally knocked me off my feet. With one arm under my knees and the other around my waist, I was too flustered by Asher’s sudden nearness to protest. His skin was warm against mine, and I recalled Blake’s comforting touch from my dream. Only now, I wasn’t so certain the guy in the dream was Blake. I had yet to find a picture of Lark’s mystery boyfriend and had only a vague description of him from her journal. Still, I had the nagging suspicion that dream guy was supposed to be Blake, and my subconscious had just filled in the blanks.

  Dreams are so weird.

  Inside Asher’s apartment, at his insistence, I propped my feet on the pizza box coffee table while he retrieved first aid supplies from the bathroom. I used the brief moment alone to shove the pendant back into its pouch and tuck it into the folded waistband of my shorts. Asher returned with wet towels, dry towels, and gauze, and knelt beside the coffee table.

  “Lift up,” he ordered, reaching toward my right foot.

  I snatched the towel from his hand. “I can do it.”

  Undeterred, Asher produced a second towel and began cleaning my left foot as though I hadn’t said anything. We worked in awkward silence, both scrubbing dirt and bandaging small cuts for what felt like an eternity. Then, Asher mumbled something I didn’t catch and disappeared into his bedroom. My fingers itched to touch the butterfly again. I wanted to see it, to make sure it was real and not a figment of my imagination. Maybe I’d still been dreaming when I found it. Maybe I’d only woken up when Asher knocked on the window. I touched the waistband of my shorts. It was there. And I’d shown it to Asher. My sanity was still intact.

  I wanted to examine the butterfly in greater depth, but I didn’t dare to until I was alone. To distract my racing thoughts, I glanced around Asher’s living room for something to focus on. My eyes landed on a photograph of an elegant girl atop a folded sheet of stationary on the end table. She had twinkling caramel eyes and a broad grin, both of which I recognized: Kim.

  I could hear Asher rummaging around in his bedroom, so I snatched the photo and piece of paper underneath it. It was Kim, standing in front of the Eiffel Tower. I flipped it over. On the back, in small, precise letters, was, “Can’t believe I am here! Miss you.”

  Interesting, I thought. Asher had told me the two were friendly, I just hadn’t realized they were close enough to be pen pals. Besides, who wrote real letters anymore? Wouldn’t it have been easier to just email, like normal people?

  I knew I shouldn’t read it. Maybe my vacation from reality and into Lark’s world had compromised my morals. Maybe I was just too curious for my own good. Or maybe I was the tiniest bit jealous. Whatever the real reason, I was unfolding the thick sheet of paper before I knew it. To my surprise, it wasn’t a letter at all. Kim had mailed Asher a charcoal drawing of himself. She was remarkably talented. She’d captured his goofy smile and inquisitive eyes amazingly accurately.

  “She’s a great artist, huh?”

  I looked up to find Asher leaning in the archway between the living room and hall. Busted. I dropped the picture and drawing into my lap, opening my mouth to apologize. Asher waved it off before the words even left my lips.

  “She’s amazing,” I said instead.

  Silence hung in the air while I continued to stare absently at the photograph of Kim.

  Asher cleared his throat loudly. “Here,” he said, moving towards the couch. “Socks. And this. I meant to give it to you at brunch.”

  Finally, I glanced up and saw a pair of thick, wool socks in one of his outstretched hands. In the other, Asher held the Grisham book I’d started reading while waiting for our table at Phrases.

  “Thank you,” I said, genuinely shocked by the gift.

  “It’s nothing. You seemed pretty into it at the bookstore, and I figured you might need a break from playing detective.”

  “You aren’t wrong about that,” I muttered under my breath. Between the sleepwalking and the bizarre dream, it really did seem as though I’d become too engrossed in Lark’s past.

  I slipped the socks onto my feet and wiggled my toes inside their fuzzy cocoons.

  “Want something to drink?” Asher asked, at the same time I said, “I should go.”

  “It’s late. I don’t want to bother you anymore.” I stood and headed for the door. Only when I reached for the doorknob did I realize I was still holding the photograph and Kim’s drawing. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m not usually so rude. She really is an incredible artist.”

  “Raven–” Asher began, but I just kept talking.

  “Thanks for the book. And the socks. And the nursemaid act.”

  I searched for somewhere to set Asher’s mail, settling on a rickety table with a wicker basket, where he set his keys and wallet every time he entered the apartment.

  He called my name a second time, but I already had one foot in the hallway and the door halfway closed. The moment I was safely inside my apartment, door locked behind me, I retrieved the pouch from my waistband. That’s ironic, I thought. I’d only noticed the picture and drawing because I’d been looking for something to divert my attention from the pendant. Now, I was using the necklace as a distraction from thoughts of Asher and Kim and the true nature of their relationship.

  And distract me it did. The butterfly was even more beautiful in t
he light. Gilded wings of opal branched off from the butterfly’s glittering body. Two thin spikes of gold poked up from its head. The chain was a thick golden rope. It was gorgeous, no doubt. I just couldn’t help but think that the necklace wasn’t worthy of the heiress to a diamond fortune. Don’t get me wrong, it probably cost more than I could afford even when I was gainfully employed. It was just that, with flawless, priceless gems at her disposal, I’d have expected Lark Kingsley to have jewelry worthy of her last name.

  What really got me about the pendant, what bothered me more than the ending of The Village, was that the snowy wings and gold detailing were identical to those on the living butterfly from my dream. It was too weird for words.

  I turned the charm over in my hands. It was heavier than it looked; the body was probably solid gold. On the back, two interlocking circles had been carved into the metal. Odd. The design was too simple to be decorative, yet I couldn’t fathom that it was functional, either.

  Stifling a yawn, I glanced at my phone: 5:04 a.m. The butterfly conundrum would have to wait until I got some rest. Sleep didn’t come easily, though. Fear of waking up somewhere other than my bedroom had me tossing and turning until well after sunrise.

  Asher knocked on my door around noon. Lark’s journal, most of her clues, and a pad of paper containing my own chicken scratch notes were still spread out on the floor of the living room. The butterfly necklace was safely tucked inside its velvet pouch and hidden beneath my mattress with the envelope of cash.

  “I’m coming,” I called on my way to the door.

  Asher, two cups of steaming coffee in his hands, greeted me with a smile.

  “I thought you might need this.” He held out one of the coffees towards me.

  “Thank you,” I said as I took the cup. “And thank you again for last night.”

  Asher shrugged like it was no big deal. With a sweep of my hand, I opened the door for him to come inside.

  “Any developments?” Asher asked, pointing to the collection of Lark’s belongings on the floor.

  I shook my head and let out a frustrated sigh as Asher settled on my couch. He sipped his coffee and surveyed the clues. I tasted my coffee. A mocha, I realized, delighted that he’d remembered.

  “Want me to take a look over the clues? Maybe read through the journal?” Asher asked. “Maybe I’ll see something you missed.”

  I’d become oddly protective of Lark and wasn’t ready to share her personal musings just yet. Telling him what she wrote seemed like less of a betrayal than actually showing him.

  “Here,” I handed Asher my notepad, where I’d written out the thirteen words Lark had capitalized in the journal entry, “see what you can make of these.”

  “Just the first letter of each of these words was capitalized, right?” he asked, tapping the pencil eraser against the notepad.

  “Yeah, which I considered, too. Flip to the next page, you’ll see where I wrote out just a list of letters.”

  Asher studied the list, his lips moving as though he was trying to form words from the given letters.

  “Don’t bother,” I spoke up. “I plugged them into a random word generator. No luck.”

  Before he could respond, Asher’s cell played several notes of classical music. He retrieved the phone from his front pocket and read the display. “Sorry. Study group. I completely forgot. How about we pick this back up later? In the meantime, why don’t you look up substitution ciphers?”

  Asher headed for the metro. I waited thirty minutes and then I headed for The Pines. Besides reading the journal, there was no better way to get to know Lark than by spending time in her sanctuary. And maybe being surrounded by her things would give me divine inspiration, or something.

  I followed Asher’s suggestion and Googled substitution ciphers. Then I spent the rest of the day plugging my letters into the various ciphers. By the time Asher texted to say he was on the way back from his study group, I had an entire page of possibilities.

  Asher: Dinner?

  My stomach rumbled. I glanced at the time on the phone. 6:35 p.m. Whoa, I’d been here a lot longer than I thought.

  Me: Sounds great.

  Asher: Come down and we’ll pick a place.

  Me: At The Pines. Come over and we’ll order in.

  It took Asher a full three minutes to respond, and he was surprisingly civil when he did.

  Asher: On my way. How’s pizza?

  Me: Perfect. Apt. 10A

  I blew out a breath, relieved he hadn’t launched into a lecture via text. Then I called downstairs to let Darrell know that I had a guest on the way, and he should be allowed up.

  Asher arrived with a thin crust spinach and goat cheese pie an hour later. I’d temporarily given up on the journal entry cipher and was examining the butterfly necklace when he knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” I called, realizing a second too late that I probably should’ve checked the peephole. This wasn’t even my apartment, after all.

  “It really isn’t safe to just invite people in without knowing who they are. Especially when you’re inviting them into this apartment. I could’ve been an axe murderer,” Asher scolded.

  “Darrell has my back. He’d at least be sure the axe murderer signed in first,” I replied, not bothering to hide my smile. “Pizza smells great.” I hoped my attempt to change the subject was subtle enough.

  Asher set the box on the kitchen counter and set about rifling through the cabinets for plates. “How’s it coming?” he called over his shoulder.

  “Eh. So-so,” I said.

  Asher emerged from the kitchen carrying two plates, each with pizza slices hanging over the sides. I thanked him when he handed me a plate and a cloth napkin. In turn, I handed him the pad of my notes. He took a huge bite of cheese and spinach as he studied the list. I chewed a substantially smaller nibble and watched him intently. Asher managed to finish an entire slice of pizza before saying a word. He leaned forward to set the pad of paper on the coffee table.

  “Thoughts?” I asked.

  “Gut reaction?” he replied, and I nodded. “Number substitution.” Asher ran a hand through his hair, transferring a little of the pizza grease to his sandy locks. “But it may not be as simple as A=1, B=2, C=3, etc. Have you found a combination lock?”

  “What like a high school locker?” I teased.

  “No, something longer than that.” Asher shook his head and seemed to run through a list of possibilities in his head. “Like a keypad or something?”

  The receipt I’d found in Lark’s desk caught my eye. I pointed to the sheet of paper. Asher eyed it dubiously as he read off: “Linus Systems? I don’t get it.”

  “I haven’t found a keypad or whatever, but I have no clue what or who Linus Systems is,” I replied.

  “Did you look them up? What do they do?”

  The question seemed so obvious, which was probably why Asher just assumed I’d done it. “Seriously? You haven’t thought to run a Google search?” he asked, wiping his fingers on a napkin before reaching for my laptop.

  “Okay, looks like Linus Systems is an international company, with a local branch in Chevy Chase, Maryland,” Asher began. He chuckled softly. “And it looks like they specialize in home security, particularly custom safes.” He glanced up from the computer screen and met my gaze. “You haven’t noticed any special security inside the apartment, right?”

  I shook my head.

  “Then it’s probably a safe.”

  “And you think the journal cipher is the combination?” I asked.

  “I really don’t know, but it’s worth a shot.”

  “Right, first we need to find a safe, though,” I pointed out.

  “If it’s here, it won’t be hard to find.” Asher stood and surveyed the living room as though the answer might be there just waiting for him to discover it. “There aren’t that many places to put one out of plain view.”

  It was easier to locate than I would have imagined, though only because as Asher poin
ted out there weren’t many places to hide a safe. In the back of Lark’s closet, partially obscured by dresses and rows of stacked shoeboxes, I found the outline of a two-foot square panel. It was the same creamy white as the rest of the wall, and was wedged almost seamlessly into the surrounding surface.

  “Asher, come quick,” I called. “I found it.”

  The thump of his heavy footsteps mirrored the accelerated beats of my heart as he pounded down the hallway. By the time he reached me, I was on my hands and knees attempting to pry the panel loose with my fingernails.

  Asher knelt beside me and started knocking on the wall.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Making sure there is really something back there before we tear the wall apart.”

  I listened carefully as he rapped his knuckles several inches to the right of the seam, and then again inside the box. The difference was slight, but undeniable.

  “Yes?”

  “Definitely something back there. Now, the question is, how do we get to it?”

  “Maybe I’m just not strong enough?” I suggested. “You try.”

  It was quickly apparent that he would have no more success than I did. His nubby nails weren’t long enough to grip the edge of the panel, and all he accomplished was scratching the paint.

  “We need a screwdriver,” I said, sitting back on my haunches.

  Despite the overeager air conditioning, my face and hands were slightly clammy. Strands of dark hair stuck to my forehead, and I tried to push them off with my forearm.

  Asher shot me a skeptical look over his shoulder. “And you think Lark Kingsley has a fully stocked toolbox around here?”

  “A knife, then?” I suggested.

  “Be right back.”

  While Asher went to locate a knife, I succeeded in breaking every one of my nails trying to pry the panel loose. It was stupid, but I was so eager to see what Lark had hidden in the safe that I couldn’t wait. Whatever was in there was big. A game changer. I felt it. The contents of the safe were going to lead me to Lark.