Even though the walls were cold, I could widen my shoulders and feel the cement on both sides, like I was getting a hug.
The sounds above got louder.
I squeezed Beverly and waited, wondering if I was going to get a break from the hell today.
I worried that I wasn’t.
The footsteps got heavier.
Pounding.
It sounded like there was more than one person up there.
I held my breath.
I clutched Beverly as tightly as I could.
The noise roared.
Almost … like thunder.
And then there was silence.
I jumped as the latch clicked.
Followed by one, two, three locks.
I could feel my heart pounding all the way in the back of my mouth.
Is he alone?
Is someone else coming down?
Will he hurt me too?
But as he got farther down the stairs, I saw that it was just him, his black boots making all the noise.
He had the white dress in his hands with the wide straps.
“Get over here,” he said, standing in front of my cot.
He was winded, unable to catch his breath.
His gobbler jiggled.
He pushed his glasses even though they were already at the top of his nose. “Hurry, goddammit. I’m not in the mood to wait.”
I knew these moods.
I’d experienced them in the past.
They usually resulted in blood.
Fifty-Six
Before
Ashe
I’d asked the detective how a person just vanished, and he’d given me a response. But with each day that passed, Pearl still not found, I asked myself the question again.
It was like she had disappeared into thin air.
And each time I repeated that question in my head, I took a sip of booze. The bottle was already half-gone, and I could still feel the hurt. It wept inside my blood, in my muscles, bones. It didn’t matter how much I drank; my body wouldn’t let me forget, the presence of Pearl as strong in there as she was in my head.
Still, I only had one plan.
Drinking this fucking nightmare away and waiting for the detective to call with news.
For a clue to appear.
For Pearl to walk through my door.
But after twelve days, there was still nothing.
Just me, a bottle, and a hangover in the morning.
When I pulled myself out of bed, I’d throw some scrambled eggs down my throat, not even bothering to pick out the shells, and I’d take a shower before I went over to Gran’s.
The only person she had in this world was me. Even though it wasn’t any of my business, I offered to help in any way I could, and we had an extremely honest conversation about her finances.
Within a week, she would be served an eviction notice with no means to pay her rent.
And with limited options, especially where she needed so much physical assistance, she had no other choice than to enter a state-run nursing home. I’d found several for her to look at, and I’d brought her to each place, helping her choose the best one.
She would live there until Pearl returned.
Tomorrow, Dylan and I were going to move her out of Roxbury and into her new home.
Therefore, today’s agenda was more drowning.
I lay across the couch, lifting the bottle to my lips, the burn long gone by the time Dylan walked through our door. There was a bag in one of his hands, a twenty-four pack in the other.
He held the case in the air. “Figured it was time for a switch-up.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe the beer will be nicer to your liver.”
I laughed—something I hadn’t done in days. “Nice of you to look out for my organs.”
He set the bag in the kitchen and reached for the bottle that I was gripping. I took a swig before handing him the whiskey in exchange for a beer. The can was cold, the taste bitter.
I banged the back of my head against the pillow. “Fuck, man. Today has sucked.”
He went back into the kitchen, returning with a to-go container that he placed next to me with a napkin on top. The meaty, greasy smell caused me to open the lid, and I saw a cheeseburger inside with a mound of fries.
“Ketchup?” he asked.
“Yeah, please.”
When he returned with some, I squirted it on the inside of the bun and across the fries, taking bites of both. “You’re a good man, Dylan Cole.” I swallowed, shoving in the pickle that had fallen.
He sat next to me and clicked his beer against mine. “I’ve got you, buddy.” He waited until I took several more mouthfuls before he added, “You know, you’re supposed to leave for Maryland in two weeks. Have you thought about packing, or are you going to crash at my new place?”
He’d already started packing. There were boxes all over his room, several more in the living room and kitchen. Since he now had his pilot’s license, he’d landed an incredible gig with a private airline, earning a large starting salary, and he’d be moving into a one-bedroom in the Back Bay.
And I was going to med school.
At least, I was supposed to. The plan was to head there before the term started, so I could get acclimated to the area and my new apartment and have meetings with the professor who would be my mentor for the next four years.
Every morning that I woke up, my head fucking pounding, I tried to put myself there mentally.
Boxing up my life.
Leaving Boston.
Studying for up to twenty hours a day, running on no sleep.
Not knowing where the fuck Pearl was.
I was going, but I thought when I left, it was going to look so much different than this.
Medicine just didn’t feel the same anymore.
My chest was constantly tight. My hands grabbing air, like she was within reach. My eyes moving to the doorway every time Dylan walked through it, as I hoped like hell it was going to be her.
I felt like I was abandoning Gran and Pearl.
Even though that made no goddamn sense.
I just missed her.
Fiercely.
“I’m going to start tomorrow after we move Gran,” I finally said. I set down the cheeseburger, the heaviness not feeling right in my stomach. “I’ve put it off long enough.”
“You’re not driving there alone,” he said, digging into my fries. “I’m going to go with you and catch a flight back.”
I didn’t ask why.
The same way I hadn’t asked why he’d brought me home lunch … or dinner—whatever the fuck time it was.
They were just things he did for me—a trait I’d learned a long time ago about my best friend.
Instead, I lifted the beer off the table and tapped it against the side of his. “To Maryland.”
He drank the rest of his can and clenched it in his fist, bending the metal in the middle before he got up to grab another. “I need about nine more of these before I catch up to you.”
He wouldn’t even let me drink alone.
I was one lucky bastard.
Fifty-Seven
After
Ashe
I sat in the back of the van, the search warrant tucked tightly under my fingers, Rivera at my side, along with the team of police who were going to help me infiltrate Little’s home in Watertown. In order for this piece of paper to be in my grasp, I needed a motive.