Dead Pretty

by Samantha Towle

  God, I’m a terrible person.

  Sighing at myself, I lift my eyes to look at him. I shake my head. “But I appreciate the offer all the same. And thanks again for the bulb.”

  I start to move toward the front door. Jack grabs his ladder and follows me.

  He stops in the hallway and turns back to me. He gives me an uneasy smile. “See you later, Audrey.”

  I should just let him go. Let my bad behavior put him off me.

  But I say his name before I can even stop myself.

  I let out a breath. I know that apologizing to him—again—is only going to keep us being friends, but I do it all the same because I’m an idiot. And a slave to my hormones.

  “I know I hit you earlier”—I wince because it sounds so awful to say—“but in my defense, it was self-defense.” I shrug. “And I also just bit your head off for no good reason, but … I’m not a bad person. Really. I’m just … out of practice … with people.”

  Stop talking, Audrey. Stop now.

  He puts the stepladder on the floor, keeping hold of it in his hand. “Should I even ask why you’re out of practice with people?”

  I shake my head, and he chuckles, which makes me smile.

  “I’ll bring that bulb by tomorrow,” I tell him, my hand on the door. “And don’t tell me not to bother,” I add when he parts his lips to speak.

  “Wasn’t going to.” He gives me a grin that makes my stomach flip like a pancake. “You bringing that bulb by tomorrow just means that I’ll get to see you again.”

  Then, that grin widens into a knee-buckling, eye-dazzling smile, and my stomach drags my ovaries into happy backflips with it.

  “See ya,” he murmurs, that grin still in his voice. Then, he walks off toward his apartment, leaving me standing there like the fool I am.

  I let out a breath and then shut my apartment door behind me, locking it up.

  I head into my kitchen and grab rubber gloves, a trash bag, and some paper towels, so I can get this rat out of here, and after that, I’m gonna check every nook and cranny of my apartment, making sure nothing or no one else is lurking here.

  And when that’s all done, I’ll Google large rats and look up how easy it is for them to get inside a second-floor apartment and also how likely it is for one to break its neck without falling or any outside help.

  Although I already have a feeling that I know the answer to both of those questions.

  It’s just after lunch. I went into town to pick up a lightbulb for Jack. I’m heading home now to give it to him. I have a feeling of nervous energy inside of me at the thought of seeing him. I hope he’s home and not out somewhere, writing. Well, if he is out, I’ll just wait and give it to him later.

  I can feel the disappointment running through me at the mere thought.

  I don’t want to wait to see him.

  And that in itself is dangerous to me.

  I’m starting to get attached to him, and I can’t.

  So, I won’t drop by his apartment straightaway. I’ll wait and give it to him later. Maybe even tomorrow.

  Oh, who am I kidding? I’ll—

  My thoughts are stopped in their tracks at the sight of a crowd of people and police cars outside my apartment building.

  Jack.

  My legs pick up speed, quickly bringing me closer. Well, as quick as one can go in the snow. The plastic bag in my gloved hand bangs against my thigh as I move.

  What if something’s happened to him?

  Don’t panic. It could be anything. And a lot of people live in my building. It might not be Jack.

  As I near, I see it’s not my building. It’s the apartment building next to mine.

  Thank God.

  My heart rate evens out now that I know it’s not Jack. That he’s okay.

  But I can’t even start to assess my reaction to this. Thinking it was him. And how that made me feel.

  I reach the crowd of people, coming to a stop.

  This scene isn’t something I like or even want to be around. It reminds me too much of my past. But I’m compelled to stay for some reason.

  “Girl’s been murdered,” a voice says next to me.

  I turn my head to the person. A woman with a grandmotherly face and grayish tint to her faded brown hair is looking back at me. She’s bundled up like I am in a thick brown wool coat and a knit scarf.

  “Found her dead this morning. I didn’t know her well. She lived in the apartment above me. Sarah, she was called. Always smiled and said hello.”

  I’m staring at her mouth, trying to take in the words coming from them. Her teeth are crooked and have a slight yellowing to them that comes only from smoking.

  “It’s scary, something like this happening on your own doorstep. You just don’t expect it, do you?”

  She puts one of those e-cigarettes in her mouth and starts to puff on it. “Had to give up the smokes.” She gestures to the e-cigarette like I asked her a question. “Doctor’s orders.”

  “Do … did … they say what happened to the girl?”

  She takes another puff of her e-cigarette and shrugs. “Just know that the super found her this morning. Blood everywhere, he said. It’s shocked the hell out of him, and that man is as tough as they come. Was in the military. Went to ’Nam. Seen it all. But said he had seen nothing like this.”

  “Blood everywhere.”

  My vision starts to go hazy.

  Another girl dead.

  “Such a shame,” she continues. “A real waste. Pretty girl she was.”

  “What did she look like?” The words shoot out of me like bullets.

  A flash of surprise covers the woman’s face. Probably from my hard tone.

  She shrugs again. “Blonde. Pretty. Kinda like you.”

  “Kinda like you.”

  I feel winded.

  No. It can’t be right.

  “You’re sure she looked like me?”

  She frowns. Her set lines creasing deeper. “You okay, honey? You look a little pale. Did you know Sarah?”

  “No.” I shake my head, taking a step backward. “I just …” You just what? Make something up, so you don’t sound crazy. “It’s just … worrisome. A murder happening so close by.”

  She nods, puffing on that e-cigarette. It smells like candy. It’s making me feel sick.

  “You live round here?”

  “Next building,” I tell her.

  She nods. “Well, I wouldn’t worry, hon. I imagine it was her boyfriend. Usually is when things like this happen.”

  “She had a boyfriend?”

  “Yeah. I saw her with him every now and then.”

  A weird feeling of relief passes through me. I mean, she had a boyfriend, and most murders happen at the hand of those you know and love. It’s only rare occasions when people are murdered by strangers. Even rarer when a stranger kills because of an obsession with you.

  I need to stop jumping to the worst conclusion. This has nothing to do with Tobias.

  This girl was most likely killed by her boyfriend. It’s horrific and tragic, and I hope the guy rots in prison. But it is nothing for me to panic over.

  “I always thought they were a funny couple though. She was real friendly. Would always smile, say hello. He was weird, I thought. Just this vibe about him. He wouldn’t ever talk. Would look right through you, like you weren’t even there.” She shudders. “Probably should have seen it coming. It’s always the quiet ones, right?”

  I nod, agreeing with the old adage. Not that it’s right. Sometimes but not always. Psychos can also blend right in with the rest of us.

  I catch sight of movement by the entry door to the building. I rise onto my tiptoes, so I can see over the heads in front of me. Police are coming out.

  Then, it hits me. I’m just like those people who used to stand over Tobias’s victims. Vultures waiting to pick at the bones of the story. Like the people who used to wait around outside my old home to get a look at the woman who had caused the death of multiple inn
ocent women. Gossipers like the woman beside me.

  This isn’t me. I shouldn’t be here.

  “I have to go,” I feel the need to tell this woman, already moving away.

  “Stay safe, hon,” she says.

  I nod and turn away, making my way through the crowd of people, which has grown in size since I got here.

  I walk toward my building, a heaviness settling on me.

  Another life snuffed out too early.

  God, I really hate people at times.

  The door to my building opens just as I reach it.

  “Jack.” A rush of feelings overwhelms me at the sight of him. A sudden urge to put myself in his arms and have him hold me is strong.

  I have to press my feet to the ground to stop myself from giving in to the urge.

  “Hey.” His breath fogs in the cold. He moves his eyes to the side, looking at the crowd I just left. “What’s going on over there?”

  I stare at him a moment before I answer, “A woman was murdered. The super of the building found her in her apartment.”

  I watch as any expression disappears from his face, smoothing out. His eyes are fixed on the crowd ahead.

  It seems like a long time, but it’s probably only seconds before he does anything. And it comes in the form of a blink. Then, his face moves back into an easy expression, the one I know him for.

  He turns his eyes back to mine. “Do you know what happened?”

  I don’t know what I expected him to say, but it wasn’t that. “No.”

  His eyes move down to the bag in my hand. “You been shopping?” he asks.

  I’m jolted by the abrupt subject change.

  “Er … yeah. I just went to buy the lightbulb I owe you.” I hold the bag, containing said lightbulb, out to him.

  He takes it from me. “Thanks.”

  “Thanks for the loan and the help last night.”

  He shrugs.

  There’s a moment of silence between us. It’s almost … awkward.

  Like we used to have in the beginning when I first met him.

  I feel compelled to fill it.

  “Are you going out?” I ask him.

  “What? Oh, yeah.” He glances back at the door behind him. “I’m just … going for a walk.”

  In the snow? Although I guess it’s all we have weather-wise around here, so if he wants to take a walk, he doesn’t have much of a choice.

  I look down at his clothes.

  He’s in his usual garb of jeans, T-shirt, leather jacket, and motorcycle boots.

  “You might want to reconsider putting on at least a hat or scarf. It’s piss cold out here if you haven’t noticed.”

  I expect him to chuckle or, in the very least, smile, but he doesn’t.

  Then again, a girl has just been found dead. Laughter of any kind would be really inappropriate.

  “The cold doesn’t bother me.”

  I should have guessed that about him. It’s not like I ever see him wearing anything other than what he has on.

  “Okay. Well, have a nice walk.” I don’t want to end my time with him, but I feel like I should.

  The air between us seems different. Uncomfortable almost. Nothing like it was last night.

  If I didn’t know better, I would think that I did something wrong.

  But I did do something wrong last night. Punched him—which was by accident, kind of—and was an ass to him. I apologized, which he accepted at the time, but maybe he’s changed his mind.

  “Jack … is everything okay?”

  He gives me a confused look, brows pulling together. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “You just seem … never mind. Enjoy your walk.”

  I move past him, walking toward the door to take me into our apartment building.

  “Stay safe,” Jack says to me.

  His words and low tone make me pause and turn back. But Jack is already striding away, heading in the direction I just came from.

  I let myself inside the building, heading up to my apartment.

  It’s not until later, when I’m sitting on my sofa with my latest book and a cup of coffee, that I realize it.

  It’s a small thing. But it’s been there, niggling on the fringes of my consciousness.

  Jack didn’t smile when he first saw me.

  I know it sounds stupid. But Jack always smiles at me.

  Always. I noticed because I liked it.

  And today, he didn’t.

  The day a woman is found murdered.

  Also, now that I think about it … he didn’t seem shocked or surprised when I told him about the murder.

  It was almost like he’d already known it happened.

  I take the young girl’s library card from her and begin checking out the stack of books she brought to the desk.

  Some good books in here, I muse as I scan the label on each one, creating a new pile of books to go.

  I’m working on the checkout desk.

  I don’t usually work here. I prefer not to. Facing people isn’t my thing. But we’re a staff member short today.

  Mike didn’t show up for work, which isn’t like him. Well, that’s what our manager, Margaret, told me.

  She said she called him, and he didn’t answer. She seems concerned. He’s probably just sick, and that’s why he isn’t answering.

  I told her not to worry.

  Mike’s worked here longer than me. He’s quiet, like me. Keeps to himself.

  Honestly, I don’t know him that well.

  I hardly know anyone in this town.

  Except for Jack.

  Jack, who has been on my mind since yesterday.

  Well, mainly, his reaction has been bothering me—or lack of a reaction to a woman being murdered in the building next to ours.

  But I guess not everyone reacts the same, and it’s not like he knew the woman. Also, Jack must have seen a lot of death, being in the military.

  That has to be it. There’s no way he already knew because he wouldn’t have asked me what was happening if he did.

  And if he did know, then it would have been because he …

  Nope. Not Jack.

  I’m not that unlucky.

  Right?

  I place the last book on the pile. “All done,” I tell her.

  The girl picks up the books and puts them in the canvas bag she’s carrying. “Thanks.” She gives me a smile.

  I smile back. “Have a good day,” I tell her.

  Look at me, being all pleasant.

  Not that I would ever be an asshole to a kid.

  I’m a lot of things, but I would never upset a child. Even I have my limits to my bitchiness.

  Folding my arms on the counter, I rest against it, looking around the quiet place. People reading. Students working. Some on laptops, tapping away.

  But no Jack.

  I didn’t see him again after our run-in yesterday. Part of me had thought he might come to see me. Okay, I’d hoped he would come see me. But he didn’t.

  Ugh. Why does everything in my brain automatically take me to Jack?

  Because you’re seriously into him.

  I don’t even get to process that thought further because the library doors open, bringing in two policemen.

  Both in plain clothes.

  How do I know they’re police?

  Because I have spent enough time around the police to recognize them when I see them.

  I watch them approach.

  The taller of the two men is in his early thirties, I would say. Red hair, cut short. Smart suit. Clean-cut look to him. Handsome too. The other guy is older. Late forties, early fifties. Dark hair, peppered with gray, which looks like it hasn’t seen scissors in a while. Overgrown stubble on his face. Wrinkled suit.

  They’re a stark contrast.

  I straighten up as they come closer, trying to relax but failing.

  As much as I respect the police and the job they do, I really don’t like seeing them. Especially not when a woman was discovered
murdered yesterday.

  God, what if they’re here to see me? My past might have brought them here.

  But why would it? People don’t know who I am.

  But they’re the police. Their job is to know who people are.

  But why would they want to see me over the woman who was murdered yesterday? Because you’re linked to a serial killer.

  And two other women have been murdered since I moved here.

  Fuck.

  The hairs on the nape of my neck rise. I swallow past my nerves.

  “Officers,” I greet them with a forced smile.

  The older of the two smiles back at me, and it’s not a smile that puts me at ease.

  “I’m Detective Sparks,” he tells me. “This is Detective Peters.” He gestures to his partner. “We’re hoping you can help us.”

  I swallow again. “With?”

  Detective Sparks leans an arm on the desk. “We’re looking for someone who works here.”

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  My hands come together in front of me, fingers gripping together to stop them from trembling. “Wh-who?”

  “A … Mr. Michael King.”

  They’re here for Mike?

  Relief seeps through me, relaxing me a touch. But not much. If the police are here for Mike, then it’s not for a good reason.

  “Um, Mike’s not here. He didn’t show up for work today,” I tell them both.

  “Have you heard from him at all today?” Detective Peters asks, speaking for the first time.

  “No. He didn’t call in. Our manager, Margaret, tried calling his cell, but he didn’t answer.”

  “Is your manager still here?” Detective Sparks asks.

  “Yes.”

  “Could you get her for us, please?” Detective Sparks says.

  “Um, sure. One minute.”

  I leave the main desk and walk through the back to Margaret’s office.

  Her door’s open, like it always is.

  I stop in the doorway. “Margaret, the police are here.”

  Her surprised eyes lift to mine over her computer screen.

  “The police?” She pushes her seat back, rising to stand.

  “Yeah. They’re asking about Mike. I told them that he didn’t show up today and that you called him but got no answer. They asked me to come get you.”