by Emily Bishop
“It’s all right. Let’s just see if there’s something going down.”
As I reach the front door, I slide my key in slowly, turning the knob at a snail’s pace until the door is ready to be pressed open. One inch at a time I push it forward, blocking the outdoors with my body to keep out the cold and the light. The door opens wide enough for me to peek inside, and I do. I am not disappointed.
Gareth is standing outside of Scarlett’s door, his back to me. It appears as though he’s trying to pick the lock and get inside but it’s impossible to tell from this angle. Not one to stand in the shadows, I throw the door open and feel a wave of satisfaction when he jumps, turning to stare at me with wide eyes.
His eyes are gray, his chestnut hair disheveled. He has the kind of beard that is patchy in places, and looks like day-old stubble that got ambitious but fell short of achieving beard-hood. He is my opposite in every way, and I continue to stare at him in silence, the standoff lasting for what feels like a half hour as both of us wait for the other to make a move. His eyes shift from me to Buster and back again, my dog tense but quiet by my side. He knows I’ve got this.
Gareth sees that I’m not budging, the door effectively blocked. I’m going to get something from this asshole before he scurries away. I don’t care what it is.
“I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your name earlier.” His tone isn’t friendly, even if his words are placating. He wants to get me to talk. Fine, let’s talk.
“It’s Isaac. I believe you did catch it.”
I don’t care that my own voice is aggressive.
Gareth takes a step back, closer to Scarlett’s door. That is the last place he should think about going. “Well, it appears Scarlett isn’t home this morning. I suppose I’ll just have to catch her another time.”
He clears his throat, his eyes darting to the door with the obvious hint that he would like to be released. My feet stay planted exactly where they are.
“Scarlett and I are kind of a thing. Strange men poking at her door falls into the category of my business.”
His eyes narrow at that comment, and I can tell I’ve hit a nerve. Good. I want him to get mad. I want him to let something slip in his anger that he would have otherwise guarded. I want information as to why this asshole is trying to break into Scarlett’s place. To ransack it, perhaps for a second time?
“Scarlett and I have been friends for a long time, so if anyone’s the stranger here, it’s you.”
I grin, and I can tell that pisses him off. People hate it when their words don’t strike home. I’ve never been less intimidated by a man in my entire life.
“You may be friends but you’re certainly not with her. I am. That’s the way it is. Now kindly… remove yourself.”
“Last I checked, you don’t have authority over who Scarlett associates with.”
“And yet Scarlett isn’t here. I do have authority over who I associate with, and you are on private property.”
“This hallway doesn’t belong to you,” he snaps.
I’m getting to him. Perfect.
“Neither does Scarlett but seeing as how I’m in a position to protect both at the same time, I think I’m going to.”
“You think you’re the one protecting? Get a clue, Isaac.” He says my name like it’s a slur.
I cross my arms as I stare him down. “Oh, yeah?”
I can tell he’s holding himself in check, trying to control his temper. This is exactly where I want him to be. If he gets too emotional I could lose information. I’m still not moving away from the door.
“Scarlett may be interested in you right now but she’s a dangerous girl. If you don’t want to end up a dead man, you’d better stay away from her.”
His words are a thorn in my side, and I take two steps toward him, towering above. My height has always been a fantastic advantage against assholes like this, and I use it to the fullest, glowering down at him.
“Is that a threat?”
To his credit, he continues to stand his ground, even if he does have to crane his neck up to glare up at me. His glare softens as he takes a step back. “No, not a threat. It’s good advice. I suggest you take it. Now, are you going to let me leave or what?”
I stare him down for another moment, allowing my presence to absorb into his mind. Finally, I step aside. “By all means. Have a great day.”
My tone is cheerful, and I consider blowing him a kiss to piss him off but I decide against it. He breezes past me, pulling the door open with force and slamming it behind him as a gust of snow-scented air hits my face.
I can watch this punk leave the lot from the comfort of my own home, and I slap my leg to signal Buster to follow. He trots up the stairs, waiting for me at the door when I catch up, and together we enter my apartment. I head to my front window and stare out at the front street. The car in the front is gone, a pair of black skid marks left on the street in its wake.
A rush of adrenaline pours through me, and I need to release it. I need some kind of action in my life. The only option I have for release is my pull up bar and a set of weights. I pull my shirt off, then my jeans, walking in my boxer briefs to my bedroom where I find a pair of shorts to wear while I lift.
When I get back to the living room, Buster is settled comfortably on the couch, ready for a nap after our walk together. I envy the shit out of him. I want to be content with a life where I can take a walk, feel satisfied, take a nap, feel satisfied, eat food, shit, feel satisfied. If only that could be enough. Dogs don’t have to live day in and day out with every mistake they’ve made.
If reincarnation is real, I’m coming back as a rich person’s pet.
My hands grip the pull up bar, my palms too sweaty to find purchase. I reach for some chalk and slap my hands together, the white powder puffing into the air as I readjust my grip and then lift my massive frame, slowly lowering each time. The burn intensifies with each pull, and I don’t care. I am reliving the conversation I had with Gareth with each pull.
A dangerous girl, he called her.
I think about Scarlett, with her doe-eyed stare and her vibrant copper curls. Her skin is milky white, her frame small even with the curves she has in all the right places. I think of her perfectly shaved pussy, and I long to plunge my tongue into it, to lose myself in her lust and pair it with my own.
Dangerous, my ass.
Scarlett is everything a woman should be and more. Gareth’s words ring hollow in my mind as I try to picture exactly how it looked when I walked in, trying to decipher if he tried to break in, or if I was imagining things simply because I don’t like the guy.
Skin splits along my palm with the weight of my body. I jump down, checking to see the damage. Blood pools with white chalk, and I reach for my chalk stick again, smearing a chunk on my thumb and then rubbing it against the open wound.
Physical pain helps me think better, helps me get my mind focused. I clench my hands on the bar again and pull, my palm screaming as I do. I lift myself, grunting with the effort of it, my torso slick with sweat.
There is one thing that I know for sure in this moment. Whoever the fuck Gareth is, he sure as shit knows more about what happened to Scarlett than she does.
I know exactly where the danger lies, and it’s not with Scarlett.
10
Scarlett
It’s good to walk after being stuck in a conversation with Chantel.
Gentle snowflakes kiss my cheeks, melting against my freckles as I keep a good pace. I may not remember some things but Gareth and I spent a lot of time at his house. I know that much. He kept a lot of work there for some reason. He always said it made him feel safer.
The brick sidewalk is uneven beneath my feet, and I nearly trip as I turn onto his street, the road lined on either side with narrow wooden houses connected by electric wires. Each house is unique in its own way, and the cream-colored square front of Gareth’s is to my right. I cross the street to get there.
I leap up the porch steps,
standing on faded white painted wood as I take a bracing breath before knocking on his dark wood door. There is a bay window beside me with curtains closed tight. I peek through anyway, my hand pressed against the glass to keep the light of day from hindering my view. There are the thinnest of cracks between each curtain, and beyond, nothing but darkness.
So much for my grand apology.
I plop down on the top step of his porch, looking out at the few snowflakes tumbling from the sky. My gaze drops to the fraying porch steps, and a memory tickles my brain. I reach beneath the step and skim my hand along the underside of the wood until my fingertips dance along cool metal… and something sticky.
“Yes!” I whisper as I pull the key off of the adhesive, grinning like an idiot at the dull silver object.
I remember now. Gareth and I both hid secret keys outside our houses but we always spent our time here in his office. I never had the chance to show him where mine was hidden. At least I’m pretty sure I didn’t.
I press my palms into the ground and lift to my feet, shoving the key into his front door and jiggling it, meeting a little resistance before it turns, the door giving way. The inside of his house is warm, and it smells like leather and wood cleaner and books. I stand in the doorway, unsure if I should proceed. As a friend, I had access to the place but since waking up, everyone in my life is such a stranger.
I’m an intruder, and I don’t like the sensation.
I take a step forward in spite of my reservations, and the wood floor creaks beneath my feet. The first floor is spacious, decorated with chocolate leather sofas in his living room with a kitchen straight back. There is a staircase to my right leading to a floor with a couple of bedrooms, and my mind goes foggy as I try to picture them. Maybe I never went up there.
I take another step, gaining confidence as I move further inward, trying to search my mind for any semblance of sense. Hopefully being here will waken some memories. I stare hard at everything in the room: the sofas, the walls, the enormous mounted television.
There’s a book case against the other wall, and I walk over to it, scanning his collection. It’s a lot of computer books, some travel guides, some biographies. Nothing particularly exciting. My mind wanders up the stairs – is there anything up there that might help me remember?
I take the stairs one at a time, walking carefully even though there is no one to hear me. I shouldn’t feel the need to sneak as it is. I knew where his secret key was. There is a reason for that. We’re friends.
I reach the top of the staircase, and I’m met with a long hallway with doors on either side. There’s a bathroom that happens to be incredibly gross. There are towels everywhere, the floor is littered with stains I don’t want to think about. Is this why he never had me come up here? To hide his grossness? Then again, if we were in a relationship, I had to have known this side to him, right?
Maybe that’s why I ended it. If that’s what I did.
I picture Isaac’s pristine bathroom next to this one, and my stomach clenches at the thought of him. I should have played it way cooler. I should have done literally anything but what I did, sneaking out, bolting from the building as far away from his rock-hard chest as I could go, for reasons I don’t even understand.
I continue walking, holding my breath against the musty smell of the bathroom. Fortunately for me, it doesn’t extend past that door, and the scent of wood and cotton bedding meets me instead. There are two bedrooms up here, one on the left and one on the right. I decide to enter the one on the right, where an unmade bed holds court between two bedside tables and a dresser papered with documents.
There’s a picture on one of the smaller tables, and my curiosity wins out. I cross the room, stepping over a pile of clothing here and there—seriously, was he always this big of a slob?—and lift the picture, taking a closer look at it.
It’s an image of Gareth with his arm around another man, the two of them smiling from youthful faces. They’re standing behind a truck, maybe one used for moving large items. I don’t remember much about Gareth’s past. It looks like he might have been a mover in a previous life, the man next to him sharing many of the same features. It has to be his brother.
Yes. Somewhere deep down I know that’s exactly who it is. And I think I know him. I turn the picture in my hands, trying to see it from different angles, like that will shake out information from my brain that I can’t access.
“I think breaking and entering is illegal, last I checked.”
I jump at the sound of Gareth’s voice behind me, setting the picture down on the table as I turn to face him. He’s leaning against the door, looking almost predatory as his eyes comb over me, standing in his bedroom, looking at a picture.
Yikes.
“Sorry, Gareth. I just wanted to see you.”
His dark eyebrow lifts at this admission, and his expression softens as he steps into the room to join me. “You did?”
I step forward to meet him, fighting the embarrassment coursing through my veins at getting caught here. I stand just a few feet away from him, not wanting to overstep my bounds more than I have already. I lift the key in my hand, holding it up to show him how I got in.
“I remember this much,” I say, holding it out to him.
Our fingertips brush as he takes the key back, and I feel nothing. How could I have been in a relationship with this guy? It makes no sense that I would endanger our friendship in that way.
He places a hand on my arm, his eyes searching mine. “What’s going on with you, Scarlett? Really?”
“I just…” I start, and to my horror, I choke on a sob. I collect myself, sitting on his dirty, unmade bed as I allow my face to fall into my hands. “I just need to find answers!” I sob into my palms, my voice muffled as my breath bounces back into my own face.
“To what?” he prompts, and the mattress bends as he sits beside me, his hand rubbing my back. This is supposed to be comforting but it’s not. I look up at him, my eyes wide as I dump out everything.
“I woke up a few days ago not even knowing that four months had passed. All of that information is gone. Why those four months? They seem to be the most important ones, given that I can’t remember a time where I found information that was sensitive enough for someone to come after me. I can’t even remember how I got into that warehouse, how the fire was started. There’s just an empty space covering something incredibly dangerous, and on top of that, apparently we were in a relationship and I can’t remember that either!”
He’s listening intently, as a good friend would, letting me vent. When I look up at him, his eyes caress my face before he pulls me against him, holding me close. I hug him tightly, grasping at straws. I want to feel anchored. I want to feel whole again.
“I’m sorry, Gareth. I’m sorry for anything I’ve done in the past few days that might have hurt you. I have no idea what I might be doing. I’m just so lost.”
A hot tear escapes from the corner of my eye, and he pulls back, wiping it away with his thumb.
“It’s going to be all right, Scarlett. We’re going to find the bad guys together, just you and me. Working together just like we always do.”
His thumb continues to caress my face as his eyes do the same, landing squarely on my mouth. I realize what he’s about to do, and a wave of panic courses through me as he leans down, preparing to press his lips against mine. I turn my face at the last minute, ducking the advance. His body goes stiff next to me, and I pull away.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, for a lack of anything better to say.
Why am I apologizing to him? Why? I thought we were friends. This weird romantic element is freaking me out.
Gareth stands, not looking at me, his eyes on the floor. “I think you should go.” His voice is like steel. I’ve hurt him again, without meaning to.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Even as I ask it, I know my feelings are valid. I owe Gareth precisely nothing. I don’t care what we may have been to each oth
er.
“Gareth, you have always been a good friend to me–” I say but he cuts me off.
“I said you should go.”
His tone brooks no argument, and I decide to trespass against him no longer. I nod, wiping a cool tear from my cheek as I walk past him without looking back. I take the stairs two at a time, desperate to get out and away from this encounter. Between Gareth and Chantel, I can’t tell who I’ve been more uncomfortable around.
As these are the only two friends back in my life after the accident, I find this deeply disconcerting. I’m tempted to look up the stairs to see if Gareth is watching me leave but I don’t. I open the close the door behind me, the ground dusty with a thin lair of slippery snow as I walk carefully back down the street in the direction of my own house.
As I walk, hot tears burn my eyes again, and I allow them to fall, ignoring the curious stares of passersby. I remember laughing with Gareth, his warm smile rich and full of life. In contrast to the dark glower, the finality of his statement; it’s clear I’ve officially lost a friend.
How many more people am I going to lose because of the actions of some lunatic? And what happens if I lose myself along the way?
11
Isaac
With nothing better to do after working out, I wander the streets again like a damn vagabond. I can’t stand this. I’m losing my fucking mind, and it wasn’t exactly all there when I got here in the first place. At least Buster is happy with all the walks he’s been getting.
As I approach the building, I pull out my keys but the door opens. Chantel steps out, her eyes down. She doesn’t notice me. She’s about to run into me when Buster lets out a loud bark, and she jumps, her blue eyes wide at first, then narrowed as she realizes that it’s me.
Where does Scarlett meet these people?
“Oh, hi, Beefcake.”