I grip my hand on the trunk tighter as the sound of the shovel echoes into the night. The coffin rises and the workers plus the forensics team get on with their work. A forensics van comes into view as the workers lift the coffin and take it inside the van and shut the door. DC Gallagher says something to the driver before it drives off.
I go into the kitchen, reach for the bottle of vodka and gulp on it, staring at the bag. I hear whispers; it’s all in my head, but I hear that voice. Her voice hissing through the walls.
Come on, Anthony, break a leg. You made it this far. Are you going to give up now?
***
Lottie’s Recordings. Clip twenty-two
I make a list of things to do. Why would I want to be with a man who is taking so long to act? Who’s moody and distant? We have nothing in common except Anthony. We come from different planets. I put him on this high pedestal. In my eyes, he’s the most beautiful man in the world with his soft features and blue eyes. Sadly, beauty fades; too bad his personality is a downer. Davian will never be mine, but I won’t give up so easily. If I can’t have him, that doesn’t mean that someone else, or Melissa, can have him either.
Fuck her! Fuck him! Fuck them! Fuck them all. I hope they rot in hell. I don’t care anymore.
***
I pause the video and go to the bathroom and wash my face. Why had she bought a gun? Davian said they had sex twice; she’d made it look like they were seeing each other on a regular basis. How to explain the Post-its? It’s Davian’s handwriting, I know it is. I have seen it enough to recognise how he writes the number eight, how he doesn’t curl it all the way and the letter Y is always a capital letter. The big questions tear and punch at my brain. Why? How does all of this relate to her being murdered?
I have one video left and I have the ideal place to finish it.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The cabbie drops me three blocks away. After I pay him, I pull the hoodie over my head, holding the straps of my bag as I move across the road keeping my head low. The street is deserted, the orange lamp flickers. A cricket is singing, which makes the whole neighbourhood serene and peaceful. I glance at the brick buildings from across the street; most of the lights are off. Each apartment with its own tale and its own secret. It doesn’t look like a heinous crime had been committed in one of these apartments. It looks the same, unaffected by the whole experience as if nothing ever happened. Soon it will be up for rent again and someone else’s things will replace all her belongings. How many times had I been there coming in and out without any care or consideration that it would be my last?
I cross the road with the paperclips ready. The communal door is open as always; nobody bothers to close it behind them. One time a neighbour got cross with me for closing the door.
I put on my gloves and nip inside. I don’t take the lift. I keep my pace light to avoid being heard. I don’t switch on the light. Instead, I use my phone flashlight and keep an eye on my footing. The flat is on the fourth floor and my heart stops when I see the barricade tape across her door. It seems surreal to see that tape on her door. How I’m going to get through the tape without removing it is beyond me. I’m not a big guy; maybe I can manoeuvre my way around it. I fiddle with the open paperclips. My hands are shaking as my shoulders tense. I’m about to break into the apartment of my dead friend. How many crimes had I committed these past few weeks? My forehead becomes moist as my hands work on the lock, being careful not to tear the tape. My ears open to each sound, but it’s silent as death. I rub the nape of my neck and try to relax my shoulders. I won’t be able to pick the lock if I don’t stop fidgeting. A friend at school had taught me the trick to pick locks.
Click!
I remained perfectly still for a moment, staring at the door. I gently try to move between the tapes. My leg gets tangled and I lose my balance. I place my hand on the door and a bit of the tape tears.
Footsteps coming up the stairs.
I freeze.
‘Shit,’ I whisper, and conceal myself in the darkened corner.
I listen intently to the footsteps. They stop. I hold my breath. What if someone followed me here? Maybe the killer knows I would come here. I swallow the lump in my throat. A key in a lock. A door opens and closes. I take in a breath. I remove the tape that caught on my leg; nothing I can do about that. I don’t turn on the light. I smell the strawberry-scented candle in the air. It’s as if she’s still living here. However, that scent is covered with something else, something I don’t want to think about. Chemicals, bleach and death.
I see Lottie sitting on the white leather sofa talking on her phone. I can hear her laugh between the walls. I see Lottie walking from to room to room, raising her hand in the air while playing music. Her long dark wavy hair bouncing as she walked.
I start through the corridor as I hold my phone with trembling hands. I hear a laugh behind me. I jump. I close my eyes, shaking my head. She’s gone, but her presence in here is alive and strong. I see her peering at me through the mirror on the dressing table. I stand in her bedroom, looking down at the mattress stripped of its sheets.
A chill rush through me. There is her desk in the corner where she must have recorded the videos.
I unzip my bag and lay the laptop in front of me on the carpet and she comes alive in front of me.
***
Lottie’s Recordings. Clip twenty-three
All those months that I have wasted, months that I’ll never get back. I went to see Davian today. He was rather grim; I grow tired of his mood swings. That’s when I realised that he will never do it, he won’t leave her, and it was a failed hope to bully me or tease me as he did in the beginning.
‘I can’t wait for you to make up your mind,’ I said.
‘Not now,’ he said.
That was when I snapped. ‘Yes, we do this now damn it! You will give me this chance to speak out. I have watched you for months and months. All that pain and heartache, crying myself to sleep.’
He stared at me softly, shaking his head. ‘Lottie...’
‘Don’t you dare ‘Lottie’ me! I fucked up a relationship with a man who truly loved me for you. I, the fool, thought you were going to act, but why should I settle for a man who doesn’t love me and will not love me back? I can’t do this anymore going back and forth, wondering and hoping that maybe, maybe you will act on what you promised, but you won’t. I can see that. It’s just you jerking me around as you always have. You don’t want to be with me.’
‘So that’s it? You’re giving up.’
‘Fuck you, Davian. I’m not giving up. You brought this on yourself. This is my way to tell you I don’t want to be with you anymore. I don’t want you, I don’t want you near me, I don’t want you to touch me, I don’t want you to look at me. I can’t bear it I can’t take it. It hurts. Don’t you get it that standing here looking at you, it hurts!’
He tried to take a step towards me, but I held out my hand and he stopped.
‘It’s over. We are done. I’m going to hand in my resignation to Giselle. In the meantime, forget everything. I don’t want to see you ever again. You ruined me.’
I turned to leave. I felt a grip on my arm and I shook it away, but he pulled me to him.