by T. K. Leigh
“There’s something I have to do, Martin. Take the rest of the night off. I’ll let you know if I need anything.”
Martin immediately slowed his steps, a look of confusion and disappointment falling over his serious face. He typically always accompanied Alexander wherever he went, partly out of safety and partly out of convenience. But this was something Alexander felt he needed to do on his own. He could sense Martin was on the edge of insisting he come along, as he had in the past, but something about the personal events of the past twenty-four hours must have given him pause.
“Yes, sir.”
Alexander opened his mouth to explain what was going on, but stopped himself. Spinning around, he continued down the hall, about to walk through the security door that blocked the public’s access to most of the offices.
“And Alex?” Martin called out.
Alexander whirled around, surprised at his sudden familiarity. It didn’t matter that Martin had watched him grow up from the little boy who played with G.I. Joes, to a pimply adolescent, then a know-it-all teenager. When Alexander had become his boss, all informality ceased and Martin insisted on calling him Mr. Burnham.
“Yes?” Alexander looked into his eyes.
“Be careful,” he admonished, his tone soft and sincere, at complete odds with the serious and business-like expression he normally wore. “I respect your desire to keep what you’re up to a secret, but remember that secrets took your father from you.” He narrowed his gaze.
“My father died protecting the identity of someone,” Alexander argued, his ears reddening from Martin’s comparison between the two men. Alexander refused to believe he was anything like his father.
“No.” He took a step toward him. “Your father died because, just like you, he thought he didn’t need any help. Don’t go down the same path he did.” Martin turned and walked back into his office. Alexander simply stared at the vacant space, wondering if he was, in fact, making the same mistakes that led to his father’s untimely death.
Chapter Nine
December 19
6:00 AM
ALEXANDER STEPPED OUT OF his dark SUV onto the cracked pavement, staring at a three-story brick building that looked like it would fall over if he breathed on it too hard. Sirens blared in the distance, and the stench of garbage singed his nostrils. As a train drew close, he glanced over his shoulder to see the tracks just a hundred yards from where he stood. There was a small park across the street, the swing set in serious need of repair. He hoped no children actually played there.
Another sleepless night had come and gone as he drove around the city, waiting to hear from Simpson. He had visited Landon’s grave, a lone American flag and wreath marking the resting place of a casket filled with only memories. He had driven past Mischa’s townhouse in Arlington, flowers and candles lit in memoriam filling her small front yard. He drove by the house in Revere where Mischa and Landon lived the first several years of their lives. It looked like every other house in the working-class suburb of Boston. Two stories. Yellow aluminum siding. Gray shingle roof. But inside those four walls lived the ghost of a little boy forced to become a man at an early age, which molded him into the determined leader Alexander met during SEAL training…or, as it was more commonly referred to as, BUD/S.
As the hours passed, he thought about Landon and the bond they had formed over the years. He thought about Mischa and all the good she had done in the world. He thought about Rayne, hoping she had finally found peace after Landon’s death, but fearing she hadn’t. Mostly, he thought about his father. Martin’s warning played on repeat as night gave way to dawn. Alexander wondered whether he had a point, whether he was following the same path as his father. He didn’t want to think that was the case, but he really didn’t know his father that well. When he was growing up, his father had let his work consume him and was barely home. Alexander had made a point to always be there whenever Olivia or Melanie needed him, working from his home office many times instead of making the commute into the city. He wanted to believe he always put them first.
Except for yesterday morning, a voice in his head reminded him.
Closing his eyes, he rubbed his temples. “That was different,” he said to himself.
A truck zoomed by, slamming down into a pothole before continuing its journey up the road. Alexander snapped out of his thoughts, staring at the brick building once more.
Squinting, he noted a faded 301 painted on the mailbox, then double-checked the text from Simpson to verify he was in the correct place. It had taken him a lot longer to track down an address for Rayne than either one of them had anticipated. From what he was able to find out, she had been evicted from her rental house around the same time she lost the bakery. Alexander had assumed she would have been able to live quite comfortably for several years on what the bakery sold for. Looking at the decrepit building, though, all he could think was she must have spent the money on drugs. It was the only explanation that made sense. The address on her bank account and driver’s license was a mailbox service in downtown Boston. Simpson was able to hack into the employee database at the cellular phone company she currently worked at to obtain her physical address.
Checking his watch, Alexander saw it was now six in the morning on Saturday. He shook his head, rubbing his hands over his weary face. He should have been home with his arms wrapped around his wife. Instead, he stood in front of a rundown apartment building in Dorchester. Why? Was it guilt? Remorse? Maybe this was his penance for years of shortcomings.
He climbed the steps and pressed the buzzer for Rayne’s apartment. He had a feeling she was awake, despite the early hour.
The sound of wood scraping on wood caught his attention. He turned his head to his left.
“The fuck you want?” a voice asked groggily. A black man poked his head out of the window, his eyes heavy, teeth in serious need of dental work. “You a cop? If you are, you have to say so.”
“I’m not a cop. I’m looking for the woman who lives in unit 2A. Her name’s Rayne.”
“Who?”
“Blueish-purple eyes. Red hair.”
“Oh, you mean Snow White?”
“Snow White?” Alexander repeated, raising his eyebrows.
“Only white folk in the building. Actually, she’s probably the only white folk in the entire neighborhood. You ain’t exactly in Beacon Hill, mister. So tell me what you want with Snow White, then be on your way.”
“It’s personal,” he responded, fighting his instinct to reach into his coat and place his hand on his pistol, just in case.
“Well, mister, she ain’t home. Even if she was, it’s a Saturday morning, and the only people knocking on doors before the sun’s up are cops or someone up to no good. Since you said you ain’t a cop, that leads me to believe you’re no good, so why don’t you get on your way.”
Pinching his lips together, Alexander knew enough not to push the man. Neighborhoods like these stuck together. He was the outsider. He guessed Rayne was, too, at first, but it sounded like that wasn’t the case anymore. She was one of them. It gave Alexander hope to know she had at least one person looking out for her, despite her squalid surroundings.
“Okay.” He reached into his pocket. A familiar clicking echoed, and he looked up to see a revolver pointed at his chest. “Whoa, whoa.” He held his hands up to show the man he had no weapon. “I was just reaching for a business card.”
“What the fuck do I want your business card for?”
“To give to Rayne,” Alexander responded in a steady tone. “I also wanted to give you a little something for your troubles,” he added, hoping his good faith gesture would make this man a bit more cooperative. “And for your discretion.”
The man nodded. Alexander slowly reached into his jacket, placing a business card and crisp one hundred dollar bill on the window sill.
The man eyed it with skepticism. “That real?”
“My father taught me to never play jokes on a man holding me at gunpoint.
So yes, it’s real.”
Studying him for a second longer, the man finally lowered his gun. “Your daddy sounds like a smart man…a lot smarter than you coming into this neighborhood in your shiny car. You don’t belong here, so why don’t you get. I’ll make sure to give Snow White your card. After that, whether she calls ya or not is up to her. And I don’t want to see you standing at this door again, ya hear?”
“You have my word,” Alexander replied, giving him a sincere look before turning and heading back to his car.
He had done all he could. He would try to be patient and give Rayne the weekend to reach out to him, then he’d pay her a visit at work. He knew he should be focusing on finding Mischa’s killer, but he needed to know Rayne was okay, that the only remaining family Landon had wouldn’t fall through the cracks, too.
Chapter Ten
December 19
7:00 AM
THE HOUSE WAS TRANQUIL in the early morning hours of Saturday, just like it had been the previous day. But this morning, Alexander carried a weight with him. Ghosts of his past, which he hadn’t thought about recently, had reappeared almost overnight. He wondered whether there was a reason, or if it truly was just a coincidence. He contemplated whether they were trying to teach him some grand lesson about being a better person, about not letting his work consume him, like it had his father. He felt like Ebenezer Scrooge in A Christmas Carol, except his ghosts came in the form of his own subconscious.
Maybe it was the same with Scrooge.
Regret can torture a man, rip him open and bleed him dry for the world to see. In the end, only he could pick up the pieces and put himself back together in the hopes of learning from his past. Alexander had made his fair share of mistakes in life and, over the past twenty-four hours, he’d been forced to come face-to-face with many of them.
A thousand what-ifs ate away at him. If he had done one thing differently, if he had picked up the phone, if he had made more of an effort, if he hadn’t allowed the comfort of being the one signing the paychecks to bewitch him into staying out of the field, maybe things wouldn’t have turned out the way they did.
He pulled his car into the garage, then entered the house with light steps, not wanting to wake anyone. As much as he wanted to take a shower and get back to the office to keep digging around into Mischa’s life, he needed to put his family first today. It was something his father never did and, after Martin’s word of warning, Alexander wanted to make every effort to ensure he hadn’t already made that mistake. It didn’t matter that his father had saved many lives by putting his work first. Years of animosity toward him due to his absence and neglect had ruined whatever relationship they had. Alexander shuddered at the notion that Melanie would someday see him the way he viewed his own father.
As he made his way through the kitchen and toward the formal living room, inhaling the pine tree aroma that reminded him of the holiday season, a welcome feeling of serenity washed over him. A fifteen-foot Christmas tree, surrounded by mountains of presents, sat in front of the large bay window. Several ornaments lay scattered on the floor, most likely the result of Olivia’s cat deciding they were more useful as toys than decorations. After the past few days, he wanted nothing more than to be surrounded by the love of his family, something he should have done yesterday instead of rushing off to the office, just like his father did so many times when he was growing up.
The floorboards of the century-old house creaked below Alexander’s feet. He tried to lighten his steps, not wanting to wake anyone. Saturdays in the Burnham household were generally reserved for sleeping in, then lounging in bed with his wife, daughter, and dog while they watched whatever movie Melanie wanted. Lately, she’d been on a Frozen kick, like every other little girl in the country. Alexander could probably recite the entire movie from memory.
Walking into the formal entry rotunda, he stopped abruptly. An extravagant, yet modern chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling, the landing of the second floor following the circular shape. Several feet below the chandelier sat a large round table where Olivia displayed a new floral arrangement weekly. Cursing the cat under his breath, he made his way to the table where it looked like Nepenthe had pushed the wreath-shaped centerpiece to the floor. Flowers were all out of place, petals scattered, but it wasn’t ruined.
Squatting down, Alexander picked up the wreath, shaking his head when he noticed several framed photos knocked off one of the small entryway tables, as well. He placed the centerpiece back where it belonged, fixing a candy cane and pine cone that were askew, then continued up the winding staircase to the second floor, leaving the broken photos for the time being.
The tick-tock of the antique grandfather clock in the foyer echoed against the high ceiling, the sound finding its way to the second floor as Alexander walked down the hallway. A purple stuffed bear sat in the corridor. Smiling, he picked it up, then paused outside a white paneled door, placing his hand on it.
Slowly turning the knob, Alexander pushed the door open and snuck into the large square room filled with toys, books, and games. The walls were a shade of yellow Melanie had chosen when they first moved here a few years ago. It was warm and inviting, the one room of the house where there were no rules, where imaginations could run wild. One day, this room was Camelot. The next, it was Emerald City. Then it would be Wonderland. Alexander never knew what world he’d be entering when he stepped over the threshold. Melanie was always full of surprises.
He padded across the plush carpet, making sure to sidestep some sort of arts and crafts project Melanie was apparently in the middle of that lay on the floor. He glanced at the wall above her bed. In just a few years, she’d probably want to replace the Dr. Seuss art hanging there. Instead, there would be a poster of some boy band she’d swoon over as she gossiped on the phone with her friends. Adolescence was coming like a freight train, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. All he could do was treasure the time he had with her while she still believed Daddy was her hero.
He lowered himself onto the edge of her bed, trying to make sure the sudden weight didn’t disturb her. Placing the bear beside her, he leaned down, pulling the fluffy comforter away from her head to give her a kiss. He swiftly shot up, his pulse skyrocketing as he stared at a lumpy pillow where Melanie’s sleeping form should have been. Ripping the covers from the bed, alarm bells went off as he stared at more pillows, giving the appearance someone was lying there when it was distressingly empty.
He dashed from Melanie’s room toward the master suite on the opposite end of the second floor. When they first moved in, Alexander had been uneasy that her room was so far away, but she picked it out as hers, wanting to be able to wake up in the morning and look at the lake on their property. Plus, it gave him and his wife some privacy. Now, a troubled feeling settled in his stomach, heat rolling through his body.
Entering the master bedroom, he prayed Melanie had simply crawled into bed with Olivia in the middle of the night, although she hadn’t done that for quite some time. He stepped closer to the bed, his eyes falling on Olivia’s sleeping form. Melanie wasn’t there.
The ache in his chest grew as he ran out of the room. The dog glanced up briefly from his bed in the corner, then returned to snoring. Frantic, Alexander tore through every room on the second floor, searching for any sign of Melanie. Each was dark, as unused as they were the day they moved in.
“No, no, no, no,” he murmured, storming through the hallway and down the stairs. He hoped he was simply overreacting, but given the strange events of the past twenty-four hours, he had a feeling something terrible had happened.
“Melanie!” he exclaimed as he searched the first floor, opening every door, all the rooms empty and devoid of any sign of his daughter. “Where are you? The fun’s over. You’re worrying Daddy!” He strode back to the center of their home, the living room. He glanced out the rear windows at the massive, snow-covered lawn. If she were a few years older, he’d think maybe she snuck out with her friends, but he knew that wa
sn’t the case. There was no way she could have left the house without the security system remotely alerting him to it. Still, he couldn’t leave any stone unturned.
He darted out the back door, running toward the guest house located by a small lake on the rear of their property. He hoped she hadn’t ignored his warnings and decided to go for an early-morning skate on the ice that still hadn’t frozen completely.
Cresting over a small hill, his eyes settled on the lake. Topped with a thin layer of ice and a light dusting of snow, it appeared as undisturbed as it had the previous day. Turning around and gazing back at the house, he looked over the snow-covered grass. Apart from his, there was no sign of footsteps in the white powder. He struggled to breathe, his world spinning around him as he called out Melanie’s name over and over, to no avail.
In the stillness of dawn, his voice echoed against the void, no sign of life, apart from the occasional squirrel or bird that had yet to fly south for the winter. Refusing to think the worst, he raced back inside, a knot forming in his throat when he entered the living room. The house was as still as it was when he arrived home this morning. His eyes fell on the broken frames and scattering of flowers in the entryway.
With slow steps, he walked into the rotunda and toward the front door, picking up one of the photos. He should have known the disarray wasn’t because of the cat. He ran his fingers over the black-and-white photo, his heart aching as he stared at the image of Melanie and Olivia rolling around on the sand at their beach house this past summer. He could see himself just off to the side, files scattered around him as he spoke on the phone, completely ignoring his family…just like his father.
“Alex!” Olivia said, her voice fraught with worry.
He spun around to see her rushing down the steps, her gaze lingering on the broken frames and disheveled floral arrangement. Her face was ashen, her chest heaving as she frantically tried to tie her long silk robe around her body, her fingers fumbling with the sash.