Sinful Red

by Celia Crown

  Chapter Five

  Nora

  “Don’t be silly, Eric.”

  I pat on the bed and watch him stand at the doorway with his massive body blocking the wooden frame.

  There is no way he’s going to sleep on that small mattress again, and the night is colder than last night. I don’t want him to suffer a bad night sleep when he just got some color back to his face from going down a bad memory lane.

  With little to no effort, I got him up the stairs with my hand in his to steer him up, or he would stop and go back downstairs.

  What a gentleman, I muse quietly as I sit on the bed.

  It’s an old bed, but I think it will hold up his weight. Space isn’t the biggest, and we’re going to have to touch each other at some point of the night, but I wouldn’t mind having his frame pressed onto mine.

  “I can sleep downstairs,” Eric says, a hand on the doorframe and the other by his side.

  “I’m not going to bite,” I said with a laugh, and I wave for him to come.

  He walks with a trance, and the effect I have on him lures him to my bed, it’s an easy task to draw him down to the bed when I hold his wrist. He’s pliant when he kneels, but he’s not totally in my control as he sits stiffly in the dark.

  A roar of thunder smacks down on the ground. It’s raining longer than I had anticipated and it’s hindering my work progress. It’s fine as long as I finish my work according to the deadline my client gave me, I have all the necessary information to do so.

  I prefer to have more than one backup plan.

  Eric and I lay down close to each other, and I almost laughed when he tries to give me space by laying on the edge. I breathe through my nose, inhaling his scent that whispers venomous addictions to my soul as I hook an arm around his sculpted waist.

  His naked skin and my cool fingers contrast, but he doesn’t seem too bothered by it, so I nudge him closer, and he takes it as the permission that he must be seeking.

  I knew there was something special about him. He isn’t like those men who watch me with despicable thoughts when I am on the job. Eric is not like those men who only see the façade that I put up for the sake of doing what my job requires.

  For so long, I have forgotten who the real me is, and I have stopped caring to find it.

  Nonetheless, Eric is starting to bring the real me back. The young and pure girl that hid away from the horribleness of the world, defending what little innocence she has left.

  I could practically hear the whining of his gears churning in his head, “Go to sleep, Eric.”

  “And, I am not going to be upset if you touch me,” I chuckle and pat him on his back while burying my face into his warm chest.

  It’s warmer than I expected, but he is a big man, and it wouldn’t make sense if his body heat was low. I like being engulfed in his arms as he slinks one over my hip and the other slithers between the bed and my waist.

  Trapped and secure, it’s an odd sensation because it’s the first time I have felt safe in a gesture that’s innocent and practical.

  He doesn’t have experience in my world where death and corruption is the vanilla and chocolate of ice-creams. It’s frankly disturbing to think that I can lower my guard and let him protect me for once.

  I’m losing my touch. It must be it.

  I focus on the breaths hitting the top of my head and count them to determine if he was asleep. It’s not there yet, but slowly and very gradually, it grows more steady as I continue to rub patterns on his back.

  I wait and wait until time passes through the night with rain and thunder screaming through the roof, the only source of light is the streetlights shining through the curtains. They are bright, but it’s dull and consistent enough to get a good idea of the room as my eyes adjust to the darkness.

  I estimate that it’s been five hours and I have been up all that time; I didn’t hear anything that wouldn’t be normal during those times; crickets, small animals running through the bushes, and maybe a cat meowing from the neighbors.

  I did have two power-naps, and they would have been cut short if I had any inkling that something was wrong, but I did wake up at four-seventeen to something I can’t explain that started in the tip of my fingers.

  I remove myself from Eric’s arms; they were reluctant at first until I slowly pry them away with soothing rubs through his hair. It’s soft and feathery. They are a lot better than I expected from a man who works in construction with no time for other things.

  I pull the cover over him, and he shifts to lay on his front, taking the whole bed with ruffled hair and a grunt. My heart swells at the moment, and I sigh with a hand running through his scalp. My heart and mind are yelling at each other to make up their decisions.

  Do I want him or do I not want him? The timeline is forever, and I don’t think I have forever to give him.

  Pulling on a sweater and a pair of tight blank pants, I creep silently towards the nightstand to fish out my hair tie to put it into a low ponytail before throwing the hood up to cast shadows over my face.

  The gun under my pillow sits on my palm as I check the functionality of it, then I put it securely under the bed to prevent Eric from finding it. I couldn’t have taken a gun with me anyway; any loud noises will wake the neighbors, and I don’t want to go into hiding while people turn on the lights.

  A knife will do, and it’s the first thing I reach for when I get down to the first floor where I have the knife under the windowsill. I grip it, and the edges pinch my palm, but it’s a deadly weapon that I can use in the dead of night.

  As I recall the way the police sirens were going, I slip on my boots that were right next to the pair of shoes for work. Working as a waitress at a diner where people gossip more than a drunk bar, I have gathered a lot of information from criminals who have served time in the prison nearby.

  The walk is not long, but I took a bit more time to study the area for any signs of inconsistencies. The hair on my neck is rising, and it’s the same feeling I get when my gut has a feeling that I can’t put my hands on, and it is also a sign that I am not alone in the dark streets.

  I will simply leave it there to not spook whoever is following me. I have to gather more information to find out if the two deaths had any relations that will put my job in jeopardy, but I’m not sure just yet.

  The radio that I had in the house is tuned to the police station frequency, it’s what Eric and I were doing the whole afternoon as he tried to decipher if it had anything to do with his gang relations.

  The murder was taken place right at the cornfield with no cameras and a forensic nightmare. The fields had been trampled with the people who found it and the policemen wanted to get the body down before any amateur news reporters took uncanny photos.

  The last thing I need in this town is attention from murder because someone had decided to be a wannabe detective.

  Then the murder just down the street is still under investigation as to what had happened, and Eric couldn’t leave the couch until he hears any news on the gang member that was killed.

  It was late at night when we heard the news; it was a gang member with a snake tattoo on his forearm, but the police couldn’t make a positive identification because they still haven’t learned that sharing information with other departments is a good thing.

  I slip between corners, slowing and quickening my steps to shake the feeling away, it does go away after a bit, and I put my back on the wall of a house where the crime took place.

  The second crime scene and a second body, but there is no connection between the two deceased unless the crows count since I am in a more remote town where crows are a frequent visitor in the sky.

  It’s the name Eve that got my attention, but it could be anything, and I do believe that there is an Eve in this town somewhere. It’s a common name, and somewhere someone knows a distant relative name Eve or Evangeline.

  For a better understanding, I go inside the house where there are yellow tapes around it to pr
event people from going in, but I doubt anyone would listen. The latex gloves from my pockets snap on to my wrist as I twist the doorknob to go in.

  The stench of copper and decomposing fluids hits me in the face as I quietly shut the door. The coolness from this room reminds me of the water droplets on my clothes, and I wipe them away from my face.

  Thank goodness it wasn’t pouring down when I walked, but that is not the main problem right now.

  There are chalk marks on the ground to highlight the dead body’s shape and other potential evidence that has been collected. The crime happened right at the entrance of the doorway. There is nothing distinguishable about it other than the shape of a crow drawn with the chalk by the hand.

  I stalk the house; every room is clean, the basement is untouched by the dust that has collected on the floor, and I can tell that the police didn’t even try to look for anything in there, and the upstairs area is the same.

  Nothing is out of place that I can find, but I hear something rattling the window from the backdoor. I move away from the stairs and slip into the shadows of the living room in which the body was found. I hide behind the table with the bookcase shielding me.

  It’s two pairs of feet creaking down from the kitchen and coming closer to the living room with shush murmurs from two men.

  The knife in my hand doesn’t gleam reflectively in the shadows, but the deadliness in the sharpness does not betray the hiss of death at the edge of the blade. People are more afraid of knives than guns. It’s the psychological fear of being cut open that frightens them more than a bullet piercing their bodies.

  Two men come in with jackets that have a snake on it. It reminds me of the tattoo on Eric’s arm where he had another tattoo inked over it as a new start of his life. It was a shabby job, and it didn’t cover as good as a professional job, so I saw the underlying tattoo of a snake.

  It’s the same as the insignias on the men’s jackets.

  They are affiliated with the same gang that Eric is running away from. They are here, and it means that they are either here for their fallen brother or they are here for Eric.

  My gut tells me that the one who got killed is also a member of the gang and his death had nothing to do with Eric. It’s a freak incident that happened in this town where Eric is living in.

  I don’t believe in coincidences. This goes deeper than a simple gang retaliation on Eric for leaving.

  “What the fuck happened here!” one of the men crouches down to the chalked body shape.

  The other one slaps him on the back and hisses back, “Don’t be so fucking loud! Just find his phone!”

  They both scramble across the living room, flipping things over and making a ruckus as they search. It took them ten minutes for them to give up and groan in frustration.

  I watch in the darkness and hold the knife to my side, ready to pierce them through the hearts to avoid big blood splatters.

  They give up and come up with another game plan, “The pigs got it!”

  The other one nods, “Fuck! What the hell are we going to do?”

  The first man pace around the floor, his shoes knocking on wood loudly as he lets out a loud groan, “The Leader’s going to kill us if we don’t bring that traitor back!”

  “Do you know how many people named Eric in this shitty town?” the second gang member hisses.

  The first man throws his hand up, “Fuck if I know!”

  Another presence is here, and I know it by the trickling of danger in the back of my head. It’s the same presence that was following me earlier. It seems that the mysterious person has caught up or figured out where I was going; it’s a shame that they aren’t good enough to go below the radar of my bells.

  A thumping sound crashes down the flight of stairs, frightening and starling the pair of men and they ruffle through their clothes. They take out their phones to flash the lights at the stairs and find that there is a bloody red apple sitting on the ground in perfect condition and upright.

  That frightened the men, and they all scurried out the front door, leaving it wide open, and the streetlights beam inside to shine a halo on the apple.

  “I finally have the pleasure to meet you, Eve.”

  The voice comes from upstairs, but I stay in the shadows of the living room and gauge the atmospheric tension that would tell me what my best course of action would be.

  “Did you like my gifts?” the male voice continues. There is no indication that he is moving from the floor above.

  “It isn’t as tasteful as I wanted it to be, but I wanted to introduce myself.”

  I stare down on the apple, and the only person who knows the implication of the fruit is one man, and he does not sound like the person above me. The man I know is a classy and clean individual. He would never leave his targets on a disgusting display as if it is a show.

  Anyone in my business career field would know that living under the radar is how we get work done without having the police searching when they don’t know what they are looking for.

  This man above me is foolish. However, he knows the connection I have with red apples. Only Adam and I know, this mysterious man must have some sort of connection to Adam as it’s the only plausible reason for his knowledge of it.

  “Would you like to meet me in person?” I speak into the darkness.

  There is a laugh that ends in a small chuckle, “Your reputation is not to be met head-on.”

  “Are you afraid of me?” I swirl the knife between my fingers and reposition them for better leverage in a long-distant tactic.

  “I like death.”

  It seems that Adam and I need to have a talk soon. I have no time for this. I have a contract with a client, and I like to keep my promise for the money that I will receive once I finish the job.

  “We will meet very soon, Miss. Eve.”

  A creek on the floorboards and a rustle of trees signals the man’s departure. The feeling in the base of my neck is gone while I am stuck in the limbo of silence and darkness.

  My movements are swift and quick. I weave through the backdoor, watching for anything as I get out of the house. The route back to the house is shorter, and I get there in record time just as the sun is beginning to peak from the horizon.

  The sun comes out quicker in the summer than winter, and the grey clouds are gone now, leaving a brilliantly lit blue sky. The floor is too wet, and it splashes all over the bottom of my pants, the blank fabric doesn’t show the evidence of me being outside while I sneak back into the backyard of the apartment that I rented.

  The moment I step inside, I throw off the sweater and hide the knife back into the crack of the window. My boots are left at the drying mat, soaking the water as I walk to the kitchen to start on a cover as to why I am up so early when Eric comes down.

  There is a loud bang upstairs and footsteps thunder through the woods. I step towards the stairs to find Eric’s wild hair falling in his eyes when he stops before he can take one step down. His shirtless torso is throwing me off my game. My tongue dries with my green eyes running down the trail of his muscles to the low-hanging pair of sweatpants that I let him borrow when I first moved here, and I wanted to blend in.

  It was odd to walk out of the clothing store with a pair of pants three times my size because they didn’t have any more of my sizes in any style. I figured it was better than nothing, and I didn’t want to raise suspicion and walked out of there empty-handed.

  “Oh, good morning,” I say as I walk up the stairs.

  “Where were you?” his baritone voice is husky from sleep.

  Fear and panic lines at the rims of his eyes and the tightness of his lips. I take his hand and lead him back to the room where I close the door for privacy. The blanket is tangled and tossed to the side. It’s a sign that he was in a hurry to find me while I was out.

  He doesn’t seem to be awake for a long time. It’s a good thing. He doesn’t need to ask too many questions that will make me regret bringing him into my life.


  I push him down, and he doesn’t let go of my hand. I don’t mind the painfully harsh grip on my knuckles as I lean on my elbows to watch him turn to curl into me. I wrap my hand around him as much as I can with all the bulk he’s supporting, Eric breathes into my chest and grunts.

  “Where’d you go?” he sneers into my shirt.

  I hum, “I went to get water.”

  It’s the flash of panic that reminds me of the reason why he’s up so early in the morning. I can’t shake the expression he had when he saw me because it was a relief and more cruel fear than hearing about the tattoo of a snake on the second dead body in this town.

  “Did you have a nightmare?” I ask, not invasively pushy, but I want him to talk to me since he’s trying to control the shaking in his hands clinging to my body.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he growls.

  He doesn’t have to, but I can help him relax and get the sleep he desperately needs.

  Chapter Six

  Eric

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath, my shoulders sagging as her pretty lips press to mine; it’s a stark contrast compared to the frigid dream that plagues my mind with smokes of laughter and silhouettes of brutality.

  When I woke up from a nightmare that splinters into kaleidoscopes of color, I didn’t know where I was, and my heart was trespassing on land that had been a failure of self-restraint. I couldn’t be brave to think clearly. I just wanted to find Nora because it’s my fault that she was taken from me in the middle of the night.

  Her side of the bed was long cold, and it’s a battle that I had to fight to not tear through the house to find her. I had contemplated on returning to Chicago to get her back when I couldn’t find her on the top floor, but then I head the door downstairs opening.

  The nightmare and reality blended too frightening close, blurring the fleeting of time and consciousness that meddled in business that wasn’t necessary to be together.

  “Eric, stop it,” Nora whispers on my lips as she sits firmly on my hips.