by Kristie Cook
“What are you doing?” Micah had asked me when I’d first sat down to write.
“Well, it’s totally meant for us, with the mark and everything, and since there’s nothing in it, I guess we’re supposed to put something in it. So I figured I’d write down everything happening to us and maybe somehow it’ll help. Why else would we be given a blank book?”
I’d considered the idea Pops had left it for me, and it was the reason he needed me to come down and work on the place. A far-fetched idea, but at this point, I could almost believe anything.
Micah shrugged. “If you think it’ll help . . .. It’s not like there’s much else we can do about it right now.”
“Maybe a clue or lead or something will come up, but yeah, in the meantime, I’ll write our story down while you’re working.”
We fell into a routine. Micah worked, and I wrote in the journal and helped him when he needed an extra set of hands. In the evenings, we took Sammy for walks on the beach and ate dinner, and then I told him about the day’s journal entry, leaving out some of the embarrassing details and hoping he’d never actually read the thing. We became more comfortable with each other and our trust in ourselves grew. We could even have a heavy make-out session and bring ourselves to stop. It wasn’t easy, but we found a way. At least, I did, still unsure of whether I was willing to give him my gift.
“What’s this?” Micah asked one evening as he stared at the open journal.
I’d wanted him to see this page—a drawing I’d felt compelled to add of a beachside Victorian mansion with gingerbread trim, a second-floor balcony wrapped in wrought iron railings, and a sweeping front lawn with royal palm trees and oaks dripping with Spanish moss. The outside of the place I’d envisioned in the secret space downstairs. I didn’t remember ever seeing such a mansion in person, but I felt like I’d actually been there before.
“How did you know?” Micah asked.
“Know what?” My brows pushed together.
“I’ve dreamt about this place.”
“I . . . I didn’t.” A chill waved over my skin, raising goose bumps. “I’ve been picturing it in my head ever since we found the space downstairs. That’s why I felt like I should draw it in the book.”
Micah’s eyes traced over the sketch. “I can’t believe the detail you captured. Do you know where it is?”
I hesitated because I did kind of have an idea, but I felt ridiculous for believing it. I finally blurted it out. “Not exactly, but I sort of want to say Tampa or Saint Petersburg.”
“Yeah . . . me, too.”
“Do you think . . .” Again, the idea was silly, but I said it anyway. “. . . maybe we should try to find it?”
“Without an address, we have no way. Tampa/St. Pete isn’t exactly a small area.”
Good point. “Well, who knows? Maybe the address will magically come to us.”
Micah harrumphed, knowing that could very well happen. We let the subject drop, for the time being anyway.
Time became a funny thing since Micah and I met. We spent hours a day asking questions, trying to get to know each other better, but at the same time, we already felt like we’d been together for eons. Literally. Sometimes we already knew the answer to our questions as soon as we asked. Things that were basic to our personalities, like he knew I was creative before I even told him about my dreams of being an artist, and I knew he was the logical type, having to analyze a situation before diving in.
“You’re like bright fire,” he said one night as he wrapped a lock of my red hair around his finger.
We lay on our makeshift bed, facing each other, but I had to roll on my back and stare at the ceiling, blinking against the sting behind my eyes. He propped himself up on an elbow to hover over me.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
I shook my head, but a lump had formed in my throat and the tears welled, threatening to fall. I squeezed my eyes shut.
“I don’t like fire,” I managed to say, and it sounded totally stupid. Not at all what I felt inside.
“I just meant you’re warm-hearted, and you have this sometimes explosive personality when you’re outraged and a charge forward attitude. You brighten the room you’re in and you seem to be lighting my way.”
I gulped, trying to swallow that lump away, and opened my eyes to find his warm ones studying my face.
“I meant it as a compliment,” he said. “Your heat is consuming me, and I like it.”
I forced a small smile, but the tears wouldn’t stop. I didn’t want to be fire. I hated fire. Fire had ruined my whole life.
“Jacey, what’s wrong?” He moved closer to me, his face filled with worry as he wiped the tears from my temple.
“Fire . . . kills,” I finally choked out.
He studied my face with those warm, dark eyes of his, his forehead wrinkled with concern and bewilderment. Then his eyes widened before his hand came to my cheek. He kissed each side of my quivering mouth.
“Your parents?” he asked. I nodded. “Tell me.”
I inhaled a deep breath, and it shuddered out of me. “There’s not much to say. We were at our cabin in the mountains. The fire in the fireplace popped and sparks flew out of the hearth. The cabin ignited like a Christmas tree. Mom and Dad . . . they couldn’t get out.”
“And you did.”
“Barely. The ceiling caved, and I thought I was going to die, but . . ..” I let my voice trail off.
“How?” Micah pressed.
I turned my head toward the side of the bed where Sammy lay and buried my hand in his neck fur. “He was barely more than a puppy, but Sammy pulled me out.”
Micah looked at my dog, and a grin spread over his face. “I knew there was a reason I liked you, Sammy. You’re a hero.” He reached across me to give Sammy a pat on the head, then returned his gaze to me. “Kind of ironic your last name is Burns.”
“Yeah. Ironic.” I chuckled, the sound hollow. “I guess you’re right, though. I am like fire.”
His eyes narrowed for a moment, then he leaned down farther and pressed his forehead against mine. “You are brave and strong and passionate, especially about the people you love. I can see it in how you worry about Bex. I can hear it when you talk about your Pops. I know you love your parents, but don’t blame yourself for surviving, Jacey. You were meant to.”
He stopped me from arguing by planting his mouth on mine, and he kissed away any coherent thoughts about my parents, the fire . . . about anything but him and me.
I always tried to do the same for him when he’d thrash in the night and wake up screaming. I’d hold him in my arms until he settled down, but he never explained anything except to say, “Real-life nightmares.” Guess we both had those. Quite a couple we were.
We had so many things in common, it was scary, but we were also polar opposites in many areas, as if we filled in each other’s holes, making us complete. After a week, it felt like a lifetime or two had passed. We were already finishing each other’s sentences like an old married couple, which was how we felt—except in that one area.
And we could physically feel each other’s presences, even miles away.
Well, the farthest Micah tested this pull to each other was a mile, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t go farther. He didn’t like being so far away from me, though, in case those men returned. We hadn’t seen them at all, but when we walked Sammy, especially at night, we both felt someone following us, staying to the shadows because we never saw them. I started calling them Shadowmen.
I grew more and more concerned about Bex. Two weeks went by since she’d called me a psycho and hung up on me, and I hadn’t been able to get a hold of her or her mom since. Nobody ever answered the phone except an answering machine. Today I would try once again, and I was prepared to continue trying all day long until I spoke to som
eone. I needed to know Bex was okay. A queasy feeling in my gut told me she wasn’t.
When I picked up the cheap little princess phone I’d bought, however, the newly installed line was dead.
“Dude, what’s up with the phone?” I called to Micah. He was supposed to be installing new flooring in the bathroom, closet and kitchen today, the last part of renovating my unit before moving on to the next one. “Did you cut the line or something?”
“No,” he answered from inside the closet. “Something wrong?”
I crossed the ten steps to the closet in the corner of the apartment, an unusually large space, although it was the only storage area in the efficiency. Micah was on his hands and knees in the corner, his perfect ass facing me, dimples showing above the waistband of his acid-wash jeans.
“Um . . .” What was I here for? Oh, right. “There’s no dial tone. I’m going to go across the street and call the phone company. And Bex while I’m over there.”
He leaned back on his heels, then stood and turned toward me, so now his bare chest was in my face. My tongue ran over my lips, wanting to lick it. He cleared his throat. I looked up at his face, faking innocence, but he’d caught me.
“I’ll go down with you,” he said with a curve of his lips. “I think I might have found something here, but I need a crowbar.”
A crowbar? Yeah, right. “If you insist.”
He probably planned to wait in the yard so he could keep an eye on me. I didn’t mind his overprotectiveness for the most part. I sensed the malicious presence, too, and although I wasn’t afraid of much, the Shadowmen made me edgy. Having a Marine watching out for me wasn’t a bad thing.
Micah headed for his truck as I hurried across the street and called the phone company.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t show service at that address,” the lady on the other end of the line told me.
“I’ve only had it a couple of days. Unit D,” I clarified.
“No, ma’am, there’s nothing in our records. Would you like me to place an order for new service?”
What the hell? “No! I just got new service two days ago. Can you check again?”
“I’m looking right now, but I don’t see anything.” She rattled off the address to me, and I confirmed she had it right. “And you say you’ve had service?”
“Yes,” I said through gritted teeth, my nerves beginning to wear.
“I’ll look into this and send someone out.”
“Thank you,” I said as pleasantly as I could muster.
“And your name again?”
With a groan, I gave her my name—again—and my address—again—even though she should have had both in their system. I’d already made long distance calls, so I was sure they’d suddenly find me when they decided to bill me the measly ten cents a call for reaching an answering machine.
I hung up with her, dropped in several quarters and called Bex’s Mom’s number. Finally, someone answered.
“Hey, Mrs. K, this is Jacey, Bex’s roommate,” I said, feeling the need to qualify myself after the last conversation I had with her. “Is Bex there?”
“Excuse me?” she demanded, her voice a mix of disbelief and horror. “Is this some kind of sick joke?”
“Um . . .” What was that supposed to mean? Her tone terrified me. She must have been off her meds again. “No. I just want to speak to Bex.”
“How dare you!” she screamed. “Who do you think you are, sicko?”
I cleared my throat and tried to speak calmly and softly. “Mrs. Kelly, please, calm down. It’s me, Jacey. Bex’s roommate. Is everything okay?”
“Darcy?” she asked, and her voice completely changed. “Oh, my God, honey. I’m sorry. I’m not myself. It’s true, honey. The message you got is true.”
“Jacey,” I murmured, relieved she’d at least come close to getting it right, which meant she remembered me. Then I spoke up, confused. “What message? Where? What’s going on?”
“The message my brother left you on your answering machine. I’m sorry I couldn’t call you myself. I’m just . . . so . . .” Mrs. Kelly broke into a fit of sobs.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get the message,” I said. “I don’t have an answering machine.”
She sniffled. “Of course you do, honey. I bought it for you and Rebecca just last week, for your apartment. You two had that sweet message, ‘Hi, this is Darcy and Bex,’ each of you saying your name. Oh, dear God, I’ll never hear her voice again.” And she had another meltdown.
I considered hanging up and calling back later when she was off the sauce or on her meds or whatever had her so screwed up was fixed, but her last words and the grief in her sobs sent a ripple of fear up my spine. Before I could say something, a new voice, a male came on the line.
“Who is this?” he demanded, the anger and accusation in his tone catching me off guard. I recognized Bex’s older brother’s voice—it’s not one you could forget, baritone and bold although he wasn’t much bigger than Bex or me.
“Ronnie, it’s me, Jacey.”
“We don’t know a Jacey.”
Here we go again. Maybe I could make him remember, though. “Of course you do. You stayed in mine and Bex’s dorm room. Threw up all over my pillow after drinking a bottle of tequila, remember?”
“Bex has always roomed with Darcy, so whoever you are— Wait a minute. This is the same number. You’re calling from the same number that keeps calling here, aren’t you?” His voice rose with anger and more accusation. “Did you do that to her? Are you the sicko who took her? I’ll fucking kill you!”
A shudder ran through me, and my stomach clenched. “No. No, no, no. Ronnie, please settle down. I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m all the way in Florida. What’s going on?”
“Yeah, that’s what this Caller ID shows, but how do we know? Maybe you’re in on it! Bex told me about the psycho pretending to be her best friend. You better have a good alibi, miss, or a good lawyer because we’re going to trace this call and—”
“Hang up and call the police,” Mrs. Kelly yelled in the background. “We need to tell them about this call.”
“Ronnie, stop!” I shrieked, panic gripping me. “What’s wrong with Bex? Please just tell me.”
“She’s dead!” he roared. “Murdered!”
Chapter 18
“If you had anything to do with it, lady, so help me God—” Ronnie continued, but the phone slipped from my shaking hand before I heard his threat.
I lurched forward and my feet caught on something, making me stumble a few steps before taking off into a sprint. I paid no attention to any possible traffic as I ran across the road and ignored Micah as I bounded up the steps two stairs at a time.
My clothes were already stuffed into bags, ready to be taken to the laundromat. I grabbed a couple, not knowing what was in them and not caring, as well as Sammy’s dog food and leash.
Micah blocked the door.
“Where are you going?” he demanded. “What’s wrong?”
“I have to go north. To Virginia.” I tried to push past him but he was a boulder.
“Not alone. You already know that.”
“I’m going,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Jacey—”
“Just stop!” I yelled. “Forget about me. I have to go north. I have to go to Bex. She . . . she’s . . . she needs me.”
I couldn’t repeat what Ronnie said. I couldn’t believe it. Not until I saw for myself.
“Right this minute?”
“YES!” I screamed. “Now!”
He took a half-step back, startled by my ferocity, and I seized the opportunity to push past him. He flew inside, and I soared down the stairs and for my Jeep. I stopped dead several feet from it. Something was taped to the driver’s side window.
A newspaper clipping, about half a page actually. The picture and headline seemed to burn brightly from the page, ensuring I could see them:
MISSING COLLEGE STUDENT’S BODY FOUND
Bex’s picture.
My stomach heaved as though I’d been punched.
Something large slammed into me from behind. Micah caught me before I hit the ground, but his eyes were glued on the same thing as mine. With two strides forward, he ripped it off the window.
“He said she was murdered,” I whispered without really knowing what I was saying. “But it can’t be true. It’s a lie. Right? How could they even accuse me of such a thing?”
Micah’s head snapped toward me. “What? Who?”
I stared at him with unseeing eyes, my mind boggling. “It’s not true.”
“They accused you, Jacey?” Micah demanded, his voice rough. Large hands grabbed my shoulders and shook me. I lifted my eyes to his face. “Who? What did they say?”
My mouth moved without my brain registering half of my words.
“Her family. They acted like they didn’t even know me. Said I was some sicko in on it. But it doesn’t matter, Micah,” I said. “It’s not true. She’s not even dead. My Bex . . . she can’t be . . .”
I shook my head, as if I could shake away the last few minutes of my life like an Etch a Sketch drawing.
He pulled me into his arms. “I’m sorry, babe. She is. And you can’t go up there.”
“I have to. She needs me.”
“She’s dead, Jace.”
I shook my head. My throat thickened. “She needs me.”
“She doesn’t. She’s gone. And if you go up there, you could be, too.”
I didn’t understand, my brain trying to block out the truth and the grief and the reality of it all, which meant blocking out everything.
“I have an alibi. They know I called from Florida,” I said. “It’s on their Caller I.D. thingamabob.”