by Keri Lake
Something knocks my toe as I stumble toward the curtains to close them. “Ow! Fuck!”
I flip on the light to find boxes set out by the entrance. A peek inside reveals some kind of electronics—walkie-talkies and what looks like small cameras.
Rubbing against the fabric of my shoe, I frown and keep on toward the bedroom. An eerie feeling chases after me as I walk through Calvin’s house, which isn’t as filthy as one might expect if judging by the exterior of the place. The inside is fairly well-kempt and organized, and I can’t help but feel like Calvin’s going to jump out of the shadows any minute, screaming at me to leave my shoes by the door.
Once inside his room, I try not to look at his bed, where I’ve spent hours doing things I wish I could erase from my brain. How messed up does a person have to be to make someone literally sick everytime they think of sex with said person?
Had Damon not come along, I’d have thought myself ruined for good. That I’d never enjoy being with a man again. Under normal circumstances, I’d be craving my dirty priest like a girl lusting for her dildo after an Avengers movie, but with Mamie’s funeral and my creeping paranoia over the last few days, all I can think about is not tripping up during the eulogy and spilling the location of Calvin’s dead and undoubtedly decaying body.
The box with his files usually sits next to his desk in the corner of his bedroom, but tonight, it’s not there. My toe throbs a reminder that this was a bad idea, and only getting worse by the second. The more time I spend in here, the more fingerprints and trace evidence police will have when they finally come looking for him.
I throw back the closet door to find it’s not in there, either. Or under the bed. I can’t find it anywhere in the bedroom. I search the hallway closet. Nothing. The bathroom. Nothing. Kitchen cabinets and cupboards. Nothing.
Panic blossoms in my chest, as it begins to settle over me that I may not find that lawyer’s file tonight and I’ll have no idea what Calvin did with it.
In an effort to keep moving and avoid a break down, I head back into his bedroom and begin the tedious process of disconnecting his computer. It takes a good thirty minutes to unhook the monitor and speakers, and I carefully cart each piece out to my car, always scanning so no one can catch me and call the cops. My nerves are cold and rattled, but I keep on until the entire computer is packed.
On the return trip to lock the place up, I catch sight of a gleaming white crawlspace cover on the side of the house.
Oh, God, no.
I know if I don’t look, I go home to nightmares of police finding the box down there and showing up at my work. If I do, I go home to nightmares of whatever I might find down there, and knowing Calvin, it could damn well be a dead body.
With a deep breath, I round the house and come to a stop before the entrance.
Please be locked. Please be locked.
To my utter disgust, it isn’t, and a waft of mold and dirt hits my nose. With my luck, I’ll end up with a black mold infection that kills me, and Calvin will get the last laugh, as always.
I flick on the flashlight of my cellphone and wave it around, to see the small space is really as horrific as I imagined, with it’s low ceiling and stained concrete walls. Stacks of boxes line the wall to the right, across the dirt floor I’ll have to crawl over to get to them.
I step down into the entrance, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up at the thought of someone coming along and locking me down here. Once on my knees, I do another sweep, and let out a squeal when I pan over the darkness and find two glowing eyes staring back at me. The small critter skitters off, but my muscles won’t relent their tight clench of my stomach. I contemplate the odds of police finding that file, so I can abandon this madness and get the hell out of here, but shake those thoughts off. I have to find it. The male to whom it belongs is the victim of murder that Calvin committed, and the hospital name, where I work, is smack on the header.
It takes twenty minutes of fishing through slightly damp boxes before I find the one I’m looking for, and I damn near clap at the sight of the file. Crackles of movement behind me are a reminder not to spend too much time celebrating down in this shithole, while the mice and rats and whatever else lives down here decide I’d be enough food to get them through the winter.
I climb out of the crawlspace, and the second I’m standing upright, my arms jerk with shivers as I brush out any webs or bugs from my hair, with the sensation of something sliding over my skin sending me into a swatting dance.
“What are you doing here?” The unfamiliar voice shoots a paralyzing jolt of panic through my back, and I twist to someone standing behind me.
Familiar, but I’m not immediately certain as to how.
The young man wears a sleek, black suit, with his hair slicked back, like something out of Wall Street or a Tarantino movie. I’ve seen him before, but where?
“Calvin here?” he asks, no longer waiting for my response to the first question.
Swallowing a gulp, I shake my head. “He’s … maybe out?”
His eyes dip to the file clutched against my chest for a moment. “What’s that?”
My brain is still weeding through hundreds of faces, like a jukebox searching for the right song, to match this guy up with where I might’ve seen him. “Just some paperwork of mine.”
Stone gray eyes study me with apathy, and I suddenly remember where I’ve seen him. My apartment. The night Calvin let his buddies over for cards. He was the one who urged Calvin to stop his torment. At the time, I thought of him as someone regal, or important, some kind of mysterious business contact. A breath of fresh air to the other thugs gathered around the table that night, but at the moment, he’s a suffocating source of tension, holding up my escape.
“I’ve been trying to reach Calvin for a week.”
“Um. I haven’t seen much of him. We broke up. Asshole cheated on me.” The lies tumble from my lips easier than I thought they would, which comes as a bit of a surprise.
“Cheated on you.” The dubious tone of his voice sets my teeth on edge, meaning my lies aren’t as convincing as I thought, which also means there’s no way an investigator is going to buy whatever bullshit I offer. His nose twitches as he sniffs, and it’s when his hands come together that I notice he’s wearing black gloves. Like a man who doesn’t want to leave prints at a murder scene. “As I recall, Calvin’s pretty obsessed with you. Perhaps to a fault. He strikes me as the ride-or-die type.”
This guy has no idea.
Or maybe he does. Maybe it’s written all over my face. What would he think if he knew I helped murder Calvin? Avenge his friend? In a desperate attempt to school my face, I offer a slight smile.
He steps toward me, and I clutch the file tighter, scarcely able to draw in a breath through my clamped lungs. His gloved finger traces down my temple as he brushes my hair behind my ear. “You know what I think?”
Surely, he can hear my heart practically pounding up in my throat.
“Pretty thing like you.” Warm breath hits my neck as he leans in to my ear, and I want to burst out of my skin and run. “I think you’re the one looking for fresh dick to fuck. Am I right, sweetheart?”
I don’t know the right answer. I can’t think fast enough to know if answering yes will sound too suspicious.
“Give me five minutes in the backseat of my car, and I’ll make you leave him for good.”
Wait. What?
My body freezes as I stare up at him, searching for the joke in his eyes. “Have you lost your mind?”
Lips stretching into a smile, he drags his fingers down to my mouth, and I swallow back the lump in my throat as he inserts the tip of it inside and back out, then back inside again. He slams his palm against my ass, jerking me against him, and the file falls out of my hands. With a gasp, I kneel down to gather all the scattered papers back into its folder, and a force hits the back of my head, knocking me into the cold bite of a zipper, where he holds me pressed against his crotch. “Blow me, and I won
’t tell Calvin you were here.”
I want to laugh at that, but a small strand of my hair is caught in his zipper, and I’m certain there’s a scratch on my cheek. Frustrated, I push away from him. “I’m not blowing you. I’m not fucking you. And I don’t give a damn if you tell Calvin.”
Amusement colors his face as he licks his lips. “Feisty. Just the way I like my bitches.”
“Well, I’m not your bitch. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s late.”
I twist to leave, taking no more than three steps, when he calls out for me.
“You forgot one.” The sound of that curdles my blood, and I turn to see his eyeballs trailing over the small paper in his hands. Intake sheet, going by the size and color of the page. When his eyes find me again, they’re brimming with a knowing smile, as he holds the page outstretched. “Paperwork, huh?”
Clearing my throat, I step toward him, slow and careful, knuckles burning as I grip the file.
He allows me to slide the paper from his fingertips, while my body stays poised to fight, or run. “Have a good night. Ivy.”
I don’t bother to turn, but back myself up just enough to provide a comfortable distance to run. I watch him casually light up a cigarette, not bothering to move from where he stands, staring back at me. Once at my car, I insert the key with shaky hands and take off down the road, away from that place.
I swear, I’ll never go back there for as long as I live.
22
DAMON
Once back in LA, I call an Uber to pick me up, praying I make it in time for the funeral of Ivy’s grandmother. Originally, I planned to carry out the service myself, but upon finding out about my father’s involvement in Val’s and Isabella’s murders, I asked Ruiz to cover it, while I flew out to New York on a personal matter. He still has no idea that I’m planning to leave the priesthood, and I almost dread telling him more than having to go back to Bishop McDonnell to inform him I’ve no intentions of staying, in spite of his insistence.
I’ll be homeless, jobless, and for the first time in years, I’m looking forward to the possibilities with another woman.
Assuming she’ll want anything to do with a man who essentially has nothing.
I glance down at my watch. Ten thirty. The service begins at eleven, so I’ll be cutting it close. Real close.
“You’re a priest, right?” the Uber driver asks, eyeing me from the rearview mirror.
Observant, this one, considering I’m dressed in my collar and black button-down.
“Yes.”
“So, I had this chick call for a ride the other day. Beautiful, busty, nice bod. I mean, smokin’. She’s from Switzerland, you know? Anyway, she asks me to drive her around to do some sightseeing. So I do. And we’re about an hour into it, when she tells me to pull over in some rundown strip mall, and get this …. She wants me to bang her right there in the car.”
Here we go. I will myself not to roll my eyes, knowing he can see me in the rearview. “We have confession at the church on Tuesday night, Saturday morning, and by appointment.”
“No, no. I’m not looking for confession. I just have a question for you.”
“Okay.” Trying not to sigh aloud, I clear my throat instead.
“So, this chick says she’s never banged an American, and she wants to experience it. Well, who am I to deny a girl her dream, right?”
Right.
I clear my throat a second time, watching the city pass by the window, mentally calculating the minutes left in this car ride.
“We’re kissing, feeling each other up. I’m getting into it. And that’s when I reach up her skirt. Chick has a cock bigger than mine. No shit! Here, I’ve made out with a goddamn, I mean … pardon me, Father. A fucking tranny!”
I pinch my face muscles to keep my reaction in check. Not so much that he made out with what he realized was a guy, but that he clearly didn’t welcome it.
“I know God is against gays, and all that, so am I going to hell? I mean, I didn’t do anything. I wanted to, though. You know, for a dude, this chick was hot.”
“God is not against gays. And no, you’re not going to hell.” It’s all I can tell him without bursting into laughter.
“Good. Because if my wife found out I almost hit some tranny ass, she’d probably divorce me.”
I can’t help but frown, staring back at this guy, mentally forcing myself not to shake my head. Thankfully, the car comes to a stop in front of the rectory, and as I reach inside my back pocket to pay the fare, he waves his hand in dismissal. “On the house, Father. Need to work on my karma.”
“I appreciate it, thank you for the ride.” I gather up my two small duffle bags and exit the vehicle.
After dropping my bags just inside the door, I hustle toward the church, straightening my slacks and shirt along the way. Through the back door, I make my way into the nave, where Ruiz stands before a small gathering, giving the funeral mass. Ivy sits in the front row, wearing a sleek, black dress and a black beret hat with black netting that covers her face. I try not to stare at her smooth legs, covered in thin black nylons that undoubtedly have a black stripe up her calves. It’s been nearly a week since I’ve seen her, and it surprises me how utterly weak I feel at the sight of her. Whatever will power I worked up to stay away from the woman before is gone now.
She catches sight of me, her head lifting in my direction, and I can just make out bright red lipstick through the netting.
Without interrupting the service, I slide into the empty pew before me and do my best not to steal glances of Ivy, while sitting in front of the small congregation.
A good half hour passes, before Ivy makes her way to the lecturn to deliver the eulogy for her grandmother. I’m finally given the opportunity to drink her in, and I wish more than anything that I could sweep her up into my arms, as she dabs her eyes with a Kleenex. She’s nervous, standing before the crowd, her hands trembling like leaves on a frail limb.
“Je’taime,” she finally says, and takes her seat.
At the end of the mass, I head back to my office in an effort to avoid any suspicion. While I should be addressing the stack of paperwork accumulated in my absence, I stare through my office window, down toward the mound of dirt where two bodies now lie in a stinking cesspool of shit and decay.
Twenty minutes later, the door clicks, and I turn to find Ivy closing it behind her.
“You decided to cremate instead of burying her at the cemetery?”
She nods and clears her throat. “How was New York?” she asks, her voice still affected by tears.
“The same. How are you?”
Leaning against the door, she shrugs. “Some days are good. Some are bad.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you this week. I should’ve stayed.”
“You had family business, too. I understand.” Sauntering across the room, she sets my heart pounding inside my ribs as she approaches my desk and rounds it, making for the window on the other side. “I can’t stop thinking of him.”
I frown at that, my gaze dipping to see her nylons do, in fact, have the black line up the calf. “Thinking of him in what way?”
Without turning to face me, she keeps her gaze cast toward the window. “In the way you said I would. Dreaming of him. Hearing his voice. I’m so paranoid, I’ve come back here three times this week to make sure he didn’t crawl out of that hole.”
“Ivy, you can’t keep coming back here. Someone could be watching you without your awareness.”
She finally turns to face me. “Someone like who?”
“Calvin had a lot of contacts. I’m certain some of them will begin asking questions. Snooping around.”
“And if they come after me? What then?”
It’s lack of strength that guides my eyes down her legs and back again. “I won’t let that happen.”
“You’ve been gone all week. It could’ve happened already.”
“I’m here now.”
“And what will you do, Damon?”
She saunters up to me, and on instinct, my gaze shoots to the door to make sure she’s closed it. Blood red fingertips slide down the front of my shirt, reminding me what I’ve missed the last few days. “Will you sleep in my bed every night? Or keep me locked away in the rectory?”
“If necessary, yes.” I like this little game we play, just not here.
Her nails run over the back of my neck, and I stiffen at the thought of them scoring my sweat-drenched spine. “What if we get caught?”
Snatching up her wrist, I feel her pulse thrumming against my fingertips. “We won’t.” The words hardly slip through my clenched teeth, as I fight to keep my composure around this woman. It’s her grandmother’s funeral, after all.
“I missed you.” Head resting against my chest, she reaches down and strokes the front of my slacks. “Oh, Father, I can’t tell you how much I missed you this week.”
“Ivy.” My voice carries a warning as weak as my resolve to fuck her right here in my office. “This isn’t the time.”
“It’s the perfect time. I’ve been so desperate for distraction. And now you’re here.” She pulls back the veil of her hat, beneath which those bright ruby lips beg for a kiss. Damn this woman. Damn her. “So distract me, Father.”
“You’re practically begging to get caught.”
“And you’re practically begging to fuck me. I can see it in your eyes.” Her lips brush against my earlobe, teeth scraping over my skin. “Did I mention I’m not wearing any panties?”
It’s impossible to stifle the shiver that vibrates down to my bones, at the visual she’s planted in my head. “That’s awfully presumptuous of you. What if I hadn’t shown up today?”
“You promised. And I know you’re a man of your word. But I’m sure Ruiz would’ve been happy to—”
I slap my palm over her mouth, furious at the thought of another man’s hands on her, even one as unlikely as Ruiz. “You want me to commit a sin, right here in the church? To soil the very desk I’ve used to uphold my vows?”