by Keri Lake
With a nod, he tucks his arm beneath his head and runs his fingertips down my spine.
“Voss? What happens in two weeks? When you go back?”
He looks away from me, but continues to caress my spine.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that. I want you to know, I’m okay if this is all it is. It’s better that way, anyway.”
His eyes shoot back to mine and hold something that could be mistaken for disappointment, if I thought this was anything more than a neighborly hookup. “My job is very … demanding. I don’t know that you’d be happy in New York.”
“I wouldn’t leave Chicago, so I guess this is what it is. I shouldn’t have asked. I’m going to go.” As I push to my feet, he grabs my wrist, tugging me back.
“Nola. I need you …” His face pinches to a frown, and he releases my arm, turning away from me. “Please lock the door on your way out.”
Running my tongue over my back teeth keeps the tears at bay. I dress quickly, not bothering to look at him, and make my way into the living room. As I slide my shoes from where they’ve fallen beneath the coffee table, my hand hits something smooth and cold. I slide it out from beneath to find a picture.
The woman in the image is lying on her back in the woods, with what looks to be sand spilling out of her eyes. Her body pale and bruised. Gruesome and wrong.
The kind of image that doesn’t go away, but sears itself into the mind.
Hand covering my mouth to keep from gasping aloud, I bend forward to see an unlocked briefcase tucked beneath the table. Carefully sliding it out, so as not to make noise, I open it to reveal files. One of them has my name on it. When I lift it out of the case, I pause. My heart makes one last thump in my chest before my breaths arrive too fast to keep up.
I lift the familiar watch from inside and flip it to see the inscription etched into its rear side. To the moon.
Denny’s watch.
The one they couldn’t find the night of his murder. The one I specifically asked to be returned to Oliver, if it happened to turn up.
Why would Voss have it? How would he have gotten it?
Pieces start to click together, forming a picture that terrifies me, going back to the day he arrived. Perhaps it was only coincidence that I received the first note on my car the same day Voss called to inquire about the apartment. The way he insisted on having this apartment. And how I sometimes catch him staring at me. Watching me. Or the night Voss supposedly scared Harvey off. Perhaps he was leaving another note on my windshield, himself.
Tendrils of panic snake beneath my skin and suddenly the room feels smaller, the air colder. My chest tightens with the snippets of conversation and encounters that flit through my head. I drop the watch into my apron with trembling hands and shove the briefcase back beneath the table.
When I gather up my shoes, Voss is standing in the doorway with a towel wrapped around his waist.
“Everything okay, Star Wars?”
I force myself to smile, stiffening my muscles to keep him from noticing the trembling. “Just leaving.”
“We’ll talk later, okay? I have some work to catch up on.”
“’Kay.”
He strides toward me, and it takes every muscle in my body to remain still, to keep from alerting him that something is wrong, when he leans forward to kiss me.
My lips are dry and my heart is pounding in my chest, breaths harsh through my nose, but I kiss him back.
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m starving. Probably low on sugar. I’m going to grab some food.”
Eyes narrowed, he watches me back myself toward the door, and I suddenly feel like a mouse trapped inside a lion’s cage.
He doesn’t stop me, though, and the moment I’m outside his door, I hustle down the staircase, willing myself not to pull my phone out until I’m in the house.
Through the back door, I drop my shoes and rush to the living room, tugging my phone to dial Jonah.
He doesn’t answer.
“C’mon! Fuck!” The phone fumbles in my hands, and I nearly drop it as I dial him again.
He answers immediately this time.
“Jonah! You need to get over here. Right now!”
“Nola? Is everything okay?”
“No. I … I don’t think so.”
“What’s going on?”
“It’s Voss.”
“What? Did he hurt you?”
“I … don’t …. No.”
“You don’t know? Did Voss do something to you?”
“No, I mean … no, he didn’t hurt me. Oh, God, Jonah. I think … I ...” I didn’t even know how to word it without sounding ridiculous. “I saw something … weird.”
“Is he in the house with you now?” There’s rustling and movement through the phone, and fast breathing, as though Jonah’s running.
“No. He’s in the apartment.”
“Good. Lock the doors. Don’t let him in.”
Lock the doors. His words echo inside my head, prompting my feet to move on command, and I check the lock on the front and back doors, while my head spins out of control.
“Jonah … he had a picture … of a woman. I think …” I can’t even say the words that feel stuck at the back of my throat. “I think he might be that killer. The one who puts sand in the eyes. I think he might be The Sandman.”
3
Voss
The only good thing about growing up in a house full of psychopaths is the keen sense I’ve developed to know when shit just isn’t adding up. Watching Nola skate out of the apartment, shaking and pale, like she saw a ghost, was enough to trip my bullshit sensors.
Low on sugar, my ass.
I kneel down to the floor, and my hand drags over a photograph that must’ve fallen out of my briefcase. I slide it from beneath the coffee table.
Fuck.
Nabbing a lighter from the kitchen drawer, I set the image aflame and rinse the black fallen ashes down the drain. Next, I gather up the two files I have—one on Nola, the other on Carl, and set those smoking inside the basin, as well. As a small fire swallows the pages, at the distant sound of a vehicle coming up the drive, my muscles ball into knots of tension. Another thing this shithole apartment doesn’t have is a smoke detector. “C’mon. Burn, baby.”
Really don’t need the cops on my ass. Not at this stage of the game, anyway.
Once the pages are burned to small enough pieces, I flush them down the garbage disposal. Doesn’t matter that they’re gone. I’ve already studied the shit out of them, and I can always get Jackson to send me the digital copies, if I need them.
At a knock on the door, I throw it open, and I’m greeted by Jonah’s pissed-off face, his eyes carrying all the venom of a big brother about to whoop someone’s ass. “Can I help you?” The urge to smile tugs at my lip, but I bite it back.
“Hello, Voss. Mind if I come in?” He looks past me, presumably searching for whatever Nola undoubtedly called him about.
“I’d prefer to talk out here, if you don’t mind.” I step toward him, closing the door to the apartment behind me.
Hands on his hips, he stares back at me, probably studying me as much as I’m studying him right now. “I’ve no doubt you know why I’m here, Voss. Nola saw something. I’m not saying it’s yours, necessarily, but I’d like to put her mind at ease.”
“I’m fairly certain whatever Nola claims she saw doesn’t make for probable cause. And even if it did, I believe you’d need a search warrant to go through my things, isn’t that correct, Jonah?”
He tips his chin back and sniffs the air. “What smells like it’s burning in here?”
“I’m a shitty cook. Tried to fry an egg earlier and failed miserably.”
“Don’t fuck with me, Voss. Your little act might fool my sister, but I’ve had a gut feeling about you.”
“And what exactly are your guts telling you, Jonah?”
“That you’re not who you say you are.”
“Who am I?”<
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“That’s what I’m here to find out.”
“And to set me straight, I presume?”
In one stride, Jonah is in my face, jaw shifting with all kinds of fury. “How’d you end up with the watch?”
The watch. Is that why they’re here? Hell, I forgot all about the watch until just now. My mind scrambles for what it could mean in this case, and judging by all the sudden hoo-hah, it must hold special powers, or some shit.
“Found it. In here.”
Jonah’s eye twitches, teeth grinding. “I call bullshit. That watch belongs to my sister’s dead husband. He was wearing it the night he was murdered.”
“Well, apparently, he wasn’t, if I found it in here.”
He rolls his shoulders back, his patience visibly wearing thin.
“Found it this morning. Had no idea it belonged to her dead husband. Nola hasn’t told me anything about him.”
“You’re lying. I don’t know how you came upon that watch, but you didn’t find it in here.”
“For an investigator, you’re awfully presumptuous about what someone was wearing at the time of death. And are police permitted to investigate the death of a family member? Seems like that would be a conflict of interest.”
“There was a picture of a woman. Eyes filled with sand. Nola says she saw it under the coffee table, along with files full of personal information.”
“Look, I know this gets tricky, with this being your sister’s property, but if you’d like, I can make a quick call to my lawyer, and you can go through the exhausting exercise of coming up with proof and probable cause and all the shit that will end up with the same outcome. I don’t have what you’re looking for.”
“And so, what? Nola was lying?”
It troubles me to have to do this, but it’s like I said before. I would guard my identity with my life. “She was upset when she left my apartment. She asked what would come of our … relations. I was honest with her. She didn’t appreciate my honesty.”
“I want you out of here, Voss. Out of this house. Out of my sister’s life.”
“Are you ordering that as an officer of the law? Or as a big brother?”
“Get out. And if I catch you back here, I will have you arrested on the spot.”
“Arrested for what, exactly?”
“Harassment. Assault.”
Assault? Jesus, is that what Nola reported? “Are you threatening me?”
“You’re damn right I am. Get out. I’m placing her under personal surveillance. For her protection. And you are officially evicted.” He flicks his fingers at me. “Keys.”
Backing myself toward the kitchen, I nab the keys from the counter, removing them from the ring that holds my car keys, and pass them off to him. Technically, I could fight him on it. I don’t, though, but only for Nola’s sake.
4
Nola
My hands are still shaking when I clutch the bannister and climb the stairs to Oliver’s room. I should feel safer, knowing Jonah’s here, just outside, but my stomach is still twisted in knots. I let a killer, a serial killer, into my home. So close to my son. My poor, damaged little boy, who’s already seen more than anyone should in a lifetime.
Halfway up the stairs, I pause and slam the back of my hand to my mouth, holding back the vomit creeping up my throat, holding back the tears.
What if Voss played a part in killing Oliver’s father?
Here, I let this complete stranger into my bed. I let him manipulate me into thinking he was something else. Something far more virtuous and good, but honestly, there’s always been something about Voss that doesn’t add up. Something I didn’t entirely buy about him. And so what if Voss paid off the meth-head who supposedly killed Denny? What if Voss arranged to have Denny murdered so viciously? After all, that’s what the suspect claimed at the time of his arrest. That someone had told him to grab the weapon and dispose of it. That he was innocent of the murder.
No. I can’t do this right now. I have to keep my shit together, for my son.
Shaking my head, I continue on toward Oliver’s room, give a quiet knock, but he doesn’t answer. “Oliver? Are you awake, honey?”
He ran up to his room, still upset about the suspension, when I went out back to confront Voss. What if Voss had killed me? What if he’d gotten so pissed off with me calling him out that he sliced me open?
Stop it, Nola. Stop asking the what ifs, for fucks sake!
Stomach still churning, I turn the knob and open the door to Oliver’s room. “Oli?” I peek inside, taking note of the empty bed across from me, the empty space between, the empty desk and the open, empty closet.
Empty.
My heart thuds to a halt.
“Oliver?” Abandoning his room, I make my way down the hall to my bedroom.
Empty.
The bathroom.
Empty.
The guest room.
Empty.
With every room I search, my chest gets colder, the grip of panic tightening around my lungs, squeezing the air out of me.
“Oliver! Where are you?” I race back down the stairs and conduct a terrifying sweep of all those rooms, producing no sign of my son. “Oliver Tensley! If you’re in this house, you better answer me!”
Maybe he has his earbuds in somewhere. It’s happened, sometimes, when I’ve sent myself into a nervous search for him, only to find him huddled somewhere with his music blasting in his ears.
For the second time, I run back up the stairs to his room. The cold emptiness brushes across my skin as I scan over the stillness. His earbuds lie curled up on the bed beside his cellphone. The only link I might’ve had to him, discarded like a slap in the face, which tells me he probably didn’t run away. No way he’d have left his phone behind.
But if he didn’t run away, then … someone must’ve …. Nope. No. I’m not even going to imagine that. I can’t.
The room widens and shrinks, and I fall to my knees with dizziness overwhelming me. My nightmares swallow me up, and for a moment, I can’t tell if I’m asleep, or awake.
The house spins in my periphery, the air not quite filling my lungs enough for me to catch my breath. I stumble back down the stairs, twisting my ankle on the way.
The rush of adrenaline has me brushing off the pain, and I hobble out the back door to the in-law apartment, where Jonah took off to when he first arrived.
“Jonah!” I scream for my brother while climbing up the staircase, but it feels the way it sometimes does in dreams when everything is heavy and I can’t run fast enough. “Jonah!”
At the top of the stairs, my approach is halted by a sharp thump to my chest.
Jonah stands between Voss and me, and for a split second, a zap of confusion hits me. Surely, he’d have taken him away by now. Arrested him. But all that is forgotten for the panic still burbling in my gut.
“Just back up a little, Nola.”
“Jonah, please. It’s—”
“Nola!” He gives another hard thump against Voss’s chest as the bigger male lurches toward me.
“Nola, what’s wrong?” Voss’s voice carries an edge of concern that I want to rip from his throat.
“Where’s my son!” Tears finally break as the truth blasts from my mouth. “He’s gone!”
The anger is speaking for me. I’m confused and volatile, irrationally searching for blame. I know Voss didn’t take him, a realization that comes to me reluctantly. I know this, because the last time I saw Oliver was just before I let Voss take me against the wall.
The very thought repulses me now.
“What?” Jonah releases Voss and guides me back down the stairs by my arm. “You checked throughout the house?”
“Yes! I don’t …. I don’t know what happened. I called you, and I went upstairs to check on him, and I searched his room, but he wasn’t there, and I thought maybe he had his headphones on, you know? But he didn’t, so I searched all over the house.” The words pour out of me, flooding the small space between us, and
Jonah takes in a sharp breath, the lines of worry creasing his forehead.
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“This afternoon. I picked him up from school. He …. He was suspended for fighting, and I brought him home.” Each breath I inhale is shaky and stutters in my throat. “And Voss, he showed him this trick that made the other student pass out—”
“Nola, slow down. You’re not making sense.”
“What if he ran away? Oh, God, Jonah!” I slap the back of my trembling hand to my mouth to keep from throwing up. My chest fills with a ticklish hollow that makes it hurt to breathe. “What if he doesn’t come back?”
“He didn’t run away.” Lips peeled back in the kind of anger I’ve rarely seen in my brother, he lurches back toward the apartment, but I grab his arm.
“It wasn’t Voss, Jonah. He didn’t do anything to Oliver.”
“Yeah? Well, I happen to think he’s a fucking liar, Nola. So we’ll find out.”
“He didn’t! I swear. I … I know he didn’t … because … because I was with him.”
A brief moment of staring, eyes downcast in what I surmise as disappointment, and he springs into motion, making his way toward his car.
I follow after him. “What’s going on? Where are you going?”
“I want you to call around. See if maybe he took off to a friend’s.” He stands alongside his truck, as though he’s expecting me to stay put.
“Where are you going?”
“To drive around. Maybe he went for a walk to blow off steam.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“You’re going to stay at my place tonight. I’m going to have Diane come pick you up now.”
“No, no, no.” I stride toward the passenger door, ignoring him as he holds up a hand, like that’s going to stop me. “I’m not going anywhere. N-n-not when my son is out there somewhere.”
“Grim’s on patrol. I’ll have him stay here until I get back.”
Hand on the door, I tip my head in disbelief that I even have to fucking explain this to my brother. “Maybe I’m not making myself clear, Jonah. I’m not staying the night at your house. I’m not going to be babysat, while my son is missing!”