LOST BOY
Author: Ker Dukey

One

 

 

June 8th, 1995

 

 

Blue River Prison

 

 

Visitor: Mrs. Langford

 

 

“Are you sure you can do this?” Detective Hernandez asks, but he knows I don’t have a choice. The only way my husband would give them a confession is if they allowed him to see me one last time before our worlds change forever. It already has.

“I need to do this,” I assure him. We can’t put those families through a trial. The girl… I take a deep breath, forcing down the stone lodged in my throat.

Lights flicker, dimming in and out. Shadows dance along the corridors, stalking me as I take each soul-shattering step toward the man I promised to love for better or for worse. How much worse?

The wind howls, battering against the concrete walls of the prison holding me inside their cold embrace. Do I belong here too? No.

“Storm’s getting worse.” The guard escorting us groans.

Both inside and outside of me. There’s no shelter for the hurricane running rampant within my mind, saturating me in its destruction. The man who promised me a happily ever after destroyed me, us, them…everything.

My chest restricts as an icy hand snakes up my spine. A wave of tiny bumps rise over my flesh. I suck in a breath to try to calm the nerves rapid firing throughout my body. The atmosphere thickens with each thud of my heart, as if the evil in this place haunts the very air I’m breathing.

“Might need to cut the visit short at any point, so be prepared,” the uniformed giant informs Hernandez without turning his gaze to mine. I wouldn’t want to look at me either.

A soft thump protrudes from my stomach, the baby kicking within my womb, reminding me why I’m here. I sigh, resting a palm instinctively over the bump, stroking, protecting, loving, wishing I’d been able to prevent this from happening—wish I would have seen the illness in his blood before I let him into my heart, my bed, my body. Images of his creation ravage my thoughts.

“It will be okay,” I promise my unborn child and myself. A mantra I repeat over and over, reminding myself I will do everything I can to make sure my baby doesn’t end up like him. We don’t belong here. The sickness is inside him. I won’t let him infect us anymore. I’ll run. I’ll flee as far as I need to untether the threads binding us to him.

Thoughts of the girls linger in my mind, my dreams, hounding me.

Could I have done anything to stop it from happening?

Yes. No.

Red blotches litter my flesh as an imaginary itch akin to a million bugs crawling beneath the skin causes me to dig in my nails, scratching at the surface until it almost tears. The sense of not being clean is ever-present. Knowing what that monster did to innocent girls before coming to me, soiled in betrayal, death, evil…

Questions plague me, hammering at my sanity like a child at a locked door.

How did he hide his true nature for so long?

Did they know they were going to die?

Did he think about me when he was with them?

Hernandez slows to a stop beside me as steel barriers to keep the evil inside clank open, startling me.

Can I do this?

I have to.

Frowning in my direction, a prison officer nods impatiently, urging me to continue toward another metal door—another barrier coming down. I’m traded off from one guard to the next.

This new guy’s eyes burn into the side of my face, those chaotic thoughts, erratic and judgmental, a constant torment seeping into my skin, saturating me in shame.

Dust particles dance under the ever-glowing lights, the death parade welcoming me.

Memories of once being happy elude me now. Was I ever really happy? Normal?

Yes. With him.

The nervous energy fizzles, turning my stomach, fearing the worry, the stress, will cause the unborn life inside me harm. But I have to see him one last time. I need to look him in the eye and ask him why.

That question is a constant hum in the back of my mind. I see those girls every time I close my eyes, what he did to them. A shudder ripples through me.

I know nothing he tells me will be acceptable for the hell he inflicted, but it may stop the rampant theories and self-blame. Give me some semblance of closure.

“Detective. Mrs. Langford?” The warden nods toward us as he approaches, holding his hand out for Hernandez to shake. Once again, the gaze offered to me is one of judgment. If I keep his name, I will feel it for the rest of my life. If people know who he is—who I am—who the baby’s fathered by.

I can’t stay in our once happy home and have already packed up the house and loaded our camper van. I’ll never return there. Starting over won’t be easy, but it’s the only way to forget—a new life where he’ll never darken our skies again.

“This way,” he informs us.

Doors open, and I’m ushered inside a room with a wave of a hand and jerk of the head.

Panic flares within me when Hernandez doesn’t follow me inside. Without him there as an anchor, will the man I once knew try to use his allure to convince me everything they say he did is a lie?

God, how I wish that were the case. But I know better.

My heart booms in my ears. The warden steps into the room, standing silently in the corner, and I breathe a little easier.

It’s a small, square room. No windows. No air. It’s suffocating. A coffin.

Scanning the room, my eyes find his.

Mr. Willis Langford.

Husband.

Father-to-be.

Serial killer.

He sits on one side of a small metal table bolted to the concrete floor, his wrists chained to a hoop.

The rattle of my ribcage from the beat of my own heart causes my head to swim.

I can’t do this.

Is this really how it ends?

A smile so natural and beautiful sits plastered on his flawless face.

How can he look so normal, so…mine?

He’s so young. So impeccably handsome. How can this be happening?

The questions barrel into me, chipping away chunks of my soul.

Scruff on his chin is longer now than he’s ever kept it, and his once long, wavy brown locks have been shaved.

“Hey, precious.” He beams at me. Just like that—like he hasn’t taken everything from me. He broke me. Ruined everything. There’s nothing left of the life he promised me. It’s all corroded.

Vomit threatens to spill from my mouth. Even though I know what he is, my soul longs for it all to be false. I can’t force myself to stop loving him. Why can’t I stop loving him?

Love is for the weak. I’m weak.

“Let me look at you.”

The words spilling from his lips are a caress. The pet names incite overwhelming longing. I hate him for it, but hate myself more. He’s a monster, yet my heart refuses to stop loving him. That makes me a monster too.

“Sit down, precious,” he commands, and I do, just like always. His word is law to the infatuated teenager still in love with him.

I’m a woman now—a mom-to-be. I have to be strong. Leave here and never return. I know this, but in his presence, all strength flees. I will put miles between us. Once I’m gone, he’ll become a memory of a past life. History. An echo.

He lifts his hand and jiggles the chains that clank and jar against the ring, confining them. The sound resonates around the small room, teasing me. What if they freed him?

No, he’s never getting free. This is his tomb now.

“Sorry you have to see me like this. They wouldn’t take them off, even though I’d never hurt you. Don’t be afraid of me. I couldn’t bear that.”

What? An un-amused laugh wants to rip from my chest, but it releases as a sob instead, filling the space with soft cries. I want to scream, to beg for this all to be a dream, a nightmare.

“Please don’t,” he murmurs in a soothing tone, caressing my sorrow. How can he still incite any warmth within me? Am I that deluded—that damaged?

Wiping my face on the sleeve of the blouse I spent an hour picking out for this visit, I look up at him through dark, wet lashes.

“I need to know why you would do something like this. Was it something I did?” I ask, the words broken, my soul deflated.

His eyes narrow, the affection seeping from him moments before replaced with annoyance. “What could you have possibly done to make me do what I do?” he snaps, and my spine curls.

Been a bad wife, not given him enough attention, sex? Questions fire off in my mind, each blow taking more of my life than the last.

“Was I not enough for you?” I murmur instead, hating how pathetic I sound, ashamed, marred beyond repair. The break in my voice only angers him.

He cracks his neck, rolling back his broad, powerful shoulders, every muscle moving, morphing before my eyes into the beast he kept so well detained until now. My breath quickens, and I find myself flinching when he sighs. As if sensing my fear, he uncoils his muscles, his body relaxing back into the man I know...knew. His eyes appraise me for a beat, then he breathes out, “It’s not about that. It’s part of who I am. A part I never wanted to touch you. I thought I could stop when I met you, but the urges, precious, they’re so powerful, consuming.”

Urges to rape, kill?

I think of his victims…the girl who was found still alive in the bed of his truck. How will she ever have a normal life now? Would it have been better if her injuries had killed her?

His eyes gloss over. It’s the same look he has when we’re making love. It brings a fresh wave of sorrow for what I’ve lost.

The lie he brought with him into my paradise. My happily ever after.

“You said you wanted to stop. How long have you been doing this?”

Acid burns in my throat. The room expands, then shrinks.

The forgotten guard shifts his position to my right, making me recoil. Him witnessing our truth, my failing, makes it all the more real.

“None of that matters, precious. You look ready to pop. I’ve missed it all.”

His gaze drops to my swelling stomach, and an urgent need to cover myself swarms over me. This is my child—not his.

“I want a divorce,” I blurt, the edge in my tone offering more confidence than I feel.

“You’re in shock. It will pass,” he replies almost too fast. Rehearsed.

Leaning forward, he tilts his head, studying me, daring me to defy him.

“No, Willis. This isn’t a fleeting feeling of regret. This is a train hitting me full force. Everything I thought we were, our life, was a lie. You were a lie. I want a divorce, and you will never see me again once I leave here.” I will my voice to stay steady.

He jerks forward, hands reaching but grasping air, the chains preventing him from getting anywhere near his target. I retreat all the same, jumping up, almost tripping over my own feet. Bastard.

The room is suffocating with his demons stuffed inside, trying to leak from his pores, to get loose, to torment, threaten, hunt.

“You love me,” he fumes. The calm from before has vacated the body hosting it. Liquid fury is the only thing left, burning bright in his penetrating eyes. But he can’t move any further toward me—can’t prevent me from speaking my truth, from leaving this place, with him and his sins forever locked inside.

“Loved,” I choke out. “You put a fever inside my bloodstream, I won’t lie, and I couldn’t fight it. The burn was too strong. You overwhelmed me, siphoned every ounce of my energy and replaced it until all that was left was you. But no more.”

“Don’t do this. You’re carrying my baby,” he bellows, trying to stand, but hunching over the table, his bound wrists not giving him enough leverage.

“No!” I bark, finding the courage to pour all my anger into my reply. He can’t hurt me—can’t touch us. He’s reduced to a caged animal because that’s what he is.

“I’m carrying my baby, and they will never know you.” I reach inside my pocket and pull out a photo he took of me with a hand on the growing baby bump we created in the lie that was our marriage. With a shake of my head and a tear slipping loose from my eye, I flick my wrist forward, throwing the image onto the table.

“That will be the only thing you will have of us.”

Scrambling for the picture, he bores his gaze into it before lifting his head to meet mine. The dark pits of his stare send a quake through my body.

“At least tell me what it’s going to be?” he implores.

I study him, his question screaming inside my head.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

“A boy.”

 

 

August 9th, 2003

8 years later

 

 

I always thought I’d be a good mother. That nothing that had happened in the past would matter the first time I held my child. But Willis set my world on fire, and the flames consumed me from within. I was buried deep in the ashes of my broken dreams and couldn’t find my way out.

Every time I look into my child’s eyes, Willis looks back at me.

Reminding me. Punishing me. Hurting me.

Eight years have passed, and the pain is just as raw now as it was the day I learned who Willis truly was. I’m frozen in time.

No matter how much I wish my baby could save me, mend me, they only hardened me.

The life given to me by a monster was innocent, but also a constant reminder of all I lost. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

Willis had taken all my love and discarded it in blood and violence, leaving me in ruins with a life inside me that fed from the rotten core that was now my soul.

I tried so hard to be a good mom, did everything I was supposed to. I fled, I kept us safe, but deep down, I knew this day would come.

I would never escape him.

You can’t outrun fate.

Willis was always going to be my undoing. My end. My fate.

I squeeze the telephone receiver to my ear, my body numb, frozen to the spot.

“Mrs. Langford, did you hear what I said?” Detective Hernandez asks.

I haven’t heard his voice in such a long time, but recognize it immediately. My blood chills at his use of my former name. I thought he was going to tell me Willis was dead. You hear about prison riots and killings all the time. Mixed emotions collide inside me. Did I wish him dead? I want to tell him Mrs. Langford isn’t my name anymore, but it’s irrelevant. To him, I will always be the wife of the Hollywell Slayer.

“Have you been watching the news?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. I don’t watch the news. I have enough horror stories in my head.

“A prison bus transferring thirteen convicts to the new prison in Ironport was hit by a truck yesterday. Three inmates escaped.”

Thud.

“And?”

Silence…

“Willis was among them.”

Thud.

“He doesn’t know where I am,” I say the words, assuring myself more than for his benefit.

“All the same, a patrol car is going to be stopping by over the next few days until we apprehend him.”

“How could this happen?” I whisper. My fingers squeeze the receiver, a knot twisting my stomach.

“It shouldn’t have, I’m sorry, and I assure you we’re doing everything we can to find him.”

Will you find him before he finds another victim?

“Mrs. Langford?”

That’s not my name.

“I have to go, bye, Detective.”

“Viv, who was that?” Kathy asks, following me over to the window where I watch our children racing around the yard.

Kathy is my best friend and neighbor. She lost her husband in a friendly fire training exercise eight months into her pregnancy. We bonded over being single parents, our children only months apart in age. Kathy is a doting parent. It comes naturally to her. She’s warm, attentive, not hardened by evil.

“Viv? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She turns me to face her, her pale green eyes searching.

“Willis is out there,” I tell her, picking up the laundry basket and carrying it outside.

“Your ex-husband? Out where!” she exclaims, following my hurried pace.

“Help me with this?” I ask, handing her one corner of a sheet.

“Viv, what happened?” She takes the material, pegging it in place.

The laughter of our children sings through the air.

Lizzy folds her body in the now-empty laundry basket, calling out, “Polo,” and giggling when she hears Jack’s returning, “Marco.”

Their bond is so pure, innocent. Will he break her heart one day?

A car sounds in the distance, drawing our attention.

“You expecting someone?” Kathy frowns, holding a hand above her eyes to block out the offending sun. She doesn’t know all the details about Willis. I couldn’t bear to see the horror in her eyes.

“Why are they coming at that speed?” she grinds out.

No one comes here. Our properties are way out in the middle of nowhere.

“They said a patrol car would be stopping by,” I croak out, wringing my hands.

“That’s not a police car,” Kathy almost whispers. Thunder roars in my ears, my stomach dropping to the ground beneath my feet.

Fate thickens the air.

He found me.

Us.

 

 

Two

 

 

Present

August 9th, 2018

 

 

Lizzy

22 years old

 

 

Clear skies make the sun burn so vivid, I have to squint to seek out Jack through its rays. The breeze makes my summer dress dance, and brings the giant trees surrounding our house to life, their leaves whispering as they sway, our audience as we play.

Jack’s voice cuts through the air. “Marco.”

A giggle bubbles in my tummy. “Polo,” I call out, climbing into the empty laundry basket.

Thunder clouds eclipse the sun, plunging me into darkness

You’re dreaming. Wake up.

“Jack! Lizzy!” A startling cry makes my heart flutter in my chest.

I feel an ache in my bones as I’m yanked from the basket. “Mama?” I cry. She’s running now, her hand squeezing mine. My feet drag through the dirt as I try to keep up with her. Her grip is so tight, she’ll leave a bruise.

“Ow, mama!” I whine as her nails pinch my skin, breaking the flesh.

Rain begins to pour from the sky. Only…it’s not raining. The drops are thick crimson splats.

You’re dreaming. Wake up.

We’re inside. Jack’s mom takes our hands and ushers us into the spare bedroom.

“I need you to hide—hide and don’t come out for anyone but me,” she tells us, pulling us to our knees.

A car screeches to a stop outside, the tires kicking up dirt, then the slam of a door.

“Hide now,” she orders. Her voice shakes so much, it sounds like she’s someone else—a stranger.

“I’m scared,” I cry out.

“Stay together. Keep each other safe.” She nods her head, pushing us farther under before leaving us there.

Jack grips my hand, pulling away from the edge. The warm trickle of my pee soaks my panties and dress when the sounds of the front door crashing open and raised voices reverberate outside the closed door.

Fear suffocates me. I can’t breathe. I’m drowning in my tears seeping into the skin of Jack’s palm pushed firmly against my mouth.

“It’s okay, Liz Wiz. It will be okay.” Jack clutches me to him. I can’t make my body stop trembling. I’m scared he will hear my bones rattling.

Bang!

“No…” I mumble against Jack’s palm, squeezing my eyes closed as tight as I can.

Wake up! Wake up!

“Where the fuck is my son, cunt?” Nasty words punch through the air as the door gives way and heavy feet pound inside. The bed dips under the weight of someone thrown down on top of it.

I’m not sure if it’s my mom or Jack’s crying. Their pleas become muffled when Jack wraps his other arm around my head, blocking my ears.

The mattress pushes down above us as we cower beneath the bed.

Mama, mama, mama.

Wake up.

Fear is overwhelming me, my head feels dizzy. I want to run away and for this to be just a game. Marco…Polo…

But it’s not. I know what this monster who invaded our happy day is doing to her on the bed we’re sheltered beneath.

Jack’s voice sounds in my ear as the heat of his body shifts.

“It’s going to be okay, Liz Wiz.” I latch my finger with his in a pinky promise.

“Where is he!” the man roars, making my stomach twist. The gurgling sounds cause my head to swim. The room is darkening, the rain from outside now pouring inside, covering the carpet in red liquid.

You’re dreaming.

“Mama?” Jack cries out, and the room falls silent.

The bed creaks with movement before two dirty black boots thud to the floor.

Whoosh!

My hand reaches out for Jack’s as he’s pulled from my grasp, his body sliding away from me. “Noooo!” we both cry out as he’s yanked from beneath the bed. Our eyes hold each other’s gaze.

The earth shakes the foundations of my world.

His startled eyes begin to tear up.

“Jack!” I mime reaching out, willing my hands to go further…but he’s gone.

Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!

A gasp escapes me, jolting me from sleep. My eyes struggle to open. I will my erratically beating heart to calm inside my chest, the dream fever still holding me hostage in its suffocating grip. “In, out. In, out. In, out,” I coach myself, sucking air into my restricted lungs.

Swiping my hand over my head, I wipe the sweat dripping from my brow. My eyes peek open, and I try to focus. When the world floods in, I wish I could shut it all out again.

I have a love-hate relationship with my dreams of Jack. It’s been so long, I’m not even sure which parts of the memory are real anymore, or what’s been embellished from the nights spent thinking of different outcomes.

Wasted thoughts. Wasted life.

Knowing Jack, being his friend, became the catalyst of my entire life.

Thoughts of him wash through my mind like the tide receding after a hurricane, exposing debris and chaos in its wake. Shards of my world float around, damaged, unrecognizable, the destruction everlasting on my soul.

Reality hits me full force with the sun beaming through the drape-less window, heating my already warm room. I almost wished the memories of my lost boy would fade into nothing, dissipate with time, but he clings on, haunting me, and I seek those dreams out because, as painful as the idea of what happened to him is, the hurt reminds me he was real—is real.

If I feel him, he lives. Right?

Shrilling sounds from my cellphone, almost catapulting me across the room in fright. Kicking back the duvet, I jump up from the bed, which is just a mattress on the floor of my tiny bedroom in a rundown apartment I share with my best friend, Charlotte.

My thoughts jumbled, still doused with sleep, my feet falter. The duvet gathers and restricts my legs, tangling me up like vines and propelling me forward face first.

“Dammit!”

I land with an unattractive thud, hitting the floor in a clump of too-long limbs and a mop of messy auburn hair.

The ringing on my cell gets louder, filling the crappy apartment.

Pushing the duvet from my feet, I pat the side of the mattress, then spot it sitting on the box stuffed with junk I never unpacked and now use as a bedside table.

“Hello?” I croak into the receiver, pulling the lid from my keepsake tin, sifting through the news clippings.

Notorious serial killer is now wanted in connection with the disappearance of school…

 

 

“Hello, sweetie. I didn’t wake you, did I?” my aunt’s too chirpy voice greets me.

You’re safe now. You can come out.

“No. I’m up,” I tell her, slamming the lid closed and running a hand through my hair.

“I just wanted to check in on you,” she murmurs, hesitant.

Keep your eyes closed, sweetheart. Don’t look.

“I’m fine.” I’m fine. I’m fine…

“Okay…well, we’re here for you if you need anything. I know this day is a tough one. There’s no shame in taking time for yourself.”

Silence…

“We have potential buyers coming to view the house today,” she says, changing the subject.

“That’s great.” I try to make my voice sound happy for them. I am happy for them.

“We love you, sweetie.”

I know she loves me, and I’m grateful for everything she’s done for me, but you can’t erase trauma no matter how many pancakes and trips to the zoo you force on a child.

“You too. Bye,” I whisper.

It’s just another day.

No, it’s not. It’s the day the devil visited you and took everything.

A groaning sound rumbles into my room, making my heart skip.

I follow the noise to the vent attached to my room. My eyes travel up the small protruding column that runs parallel from floor to ceiling through three stories of apartments. Movement crashes above me. I must have a new neighbor. The groaning is so loud, it makes me wonder how well they can hear me. Your nightmares.

My fingers brush against the tiny half-moon scars on my hand. They’re so faint now, they’re barely noticeable.

“Hide.”

Pulling my hair into a high ponytail, I dissect every inch of my face in the mirror, feeling the pit in my stomach open, jagged, raw. All I see is emptiness staring back at me through the hollow dark orbs of my eyes. Pale skin is a curse of living in a town that sees more rain than anything else.

I pull the lid from a lipstick that came free on the front of a magazine and swipe the light shade of pink across my lips. My teeth grind. I hate the way it feels on my skin. Oily, thick, fake. It’s not me.

Who are you?

Loneliness blooms in my chest. My hands move to rub away the ache.

“Lizzy, have you left yet?” Charlotte barks through the panel of my bedroom door. “No, I’m here,” I call back, scrubbing the lipstick off with a tissue before slipping into some jeans and a tee.

She’s still in last night’s outfit eating cereal from a coffee mug when I make it into the kitchen. “There are bowls in the dishwasher.” I frown, dragging my eyes up her body. Charlotte is all curves stuffed tightly into a small, little compact body. I envied her curves and the confidence they gave her. She gave zero shits about fitting in or what people thought of her. It didn’t work for me, though, no matter how hard I tried to make it. I could be in a room full of people and the nagging presence of guilt, of sorrow, would saturate me in its misery, making me shrink into myself.

It’s inescapable.

“I couldn’t be bothered to look for them. Needed food to try to soak up the alcohol.” She grins over the lip, shoveling another spoonful into her mouth. Milk drips from the corners and off her chin.

I study her more closely. Her makeup smeared under her eyes, giving her a smokey look most girls spend hours trying to perfect. Her hair is fused, the blonde locks tangled around her shoulders.

“Are you doing the walk of shame?” I raise a brow. Usually, she brings her conquests here. Safer that way, according to her. Not to me. I wouldn’t say I like it when she brings strangers here.

“I’m not ashamed. If you mean did I come straight from a guy’s apartment, then yes.” She grins. “Give me a second to put on a pair of panties and I’ll give you a ride to campus.”

“Do I want to know why you came home without them?”

“Men like to keep them. A badge of honor.” She taps my nose with her spoon on her way down the hall to her room.

“It’s not a badge of honor if half the town is wearing it,” I call out, wiping my nose with a paper towel.

She’s back in less than a minute, pulling a pair of black panties up her thighs as she walks, hopping on one leg.

“Don’t be bitter,” she quips. “You could be doing this walk too if you just came out once in a while.”

Ignoring that statement, I say, “We have time for you to change,” I gesture to her midriff showing from her shirt missing half its material. Her skirt barely reaches the lower part of her thighs.

“Nah. We don’t. Gaby said the bakery dude gets there early on Mondays.”

“His name is Paul,” I remind her, knowing full well she knows. “Why are you covering for Gaby anyway?” It’s not like her to volunteer for someone else’s shift.

“She’s taking my Friday shift. I have a date.” She winks, biting her lip seductively for effect. “He has a friend?”

“Pass,” I tell her, rolling my eyes.

Charlotte’s the complete opposite of me. She’s a party girl, whereas I’m a loner. Despite our differences, she’s also my best friend.

God knows how we ended up this way, but here we are.

Tilting her head to study me, she stops at the front door, blocking my exit. My hand flies up to my neck. “What?” I ask, paranoia gripping me.

“Nothing…I’ve just never seen you wear your hair up. It’s nice.”

Her words don’t offer comfort. They confirm what I already feel: it’s not me.

My hand brushes over my scalp, gripping the hairband and yanking it free, allowing my locks to fall loose around my face. My security blanket.

 

 

“It’s fucking freezing,” Charlotte complains, blowing on her hands as soon as we settle in her piece of shit Nissan. The seats have holes and the air conditioning doesn’t work, but it’s dry and a ride.

She tries the engine, kicking it over, making it choke. “Fuck. Come on, baby.” She pets the steering wheel like it’s a living entity. “Don’t die on me today.”

“I can walk,” I offer, tugging on the stubborn seat belt.

“Fuck that. It’s raining.” She scoffs.

The engine kicks over, and she offers me a shit-eating grin. “He’s the only man who never lets me down,” she boasts.

“Why does it have to be a man?” I mock, finally clicking my belt in place.

“I only ride men,” she quips, clasping the gearshift and stroking it to get a rise out of me.

“You’re shameless.”

“Guilty.” She chuckles.

Condensation fogs the windows, making it almost impossible to see through them as she drives twenty miles per hour, squinting to see. “Should I crack a window?”

“If you want to get wet.” She snorts, then flips on the radio and sings along to Harry Styles out of tune while I watch the drops of rain slide down the passenger side window like tears on the cheek of sorrow. The tinkering of rain pounding the metal of the car is soothing, lulling me into a light sleep.

“Is there anyone else on the property?”

“No one’s alive.”

“Shit. What’s this?” Charlotte's voice slices through my memories. Blue flashing lights blur through the raindrops. She slows to a stop, swiping her arm down the windshield, trying to wipe the condensation away.

“What do you think happened?” I ask, a nervous bubble popping in the depths of my stomach.

“Car crash maybe?” She shrugs, gesturing to my window. “See if you can see anything.”

A tremor rattles my hand as I wind down my window and instantly get pelted with side rain. The flashing lights transport me back to my dream.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You can come out now.”

“Lizzy?” Charlotte snaps, jarring me.

“I can’t see anything. There’s a crowd of people and a police officer turning cars around,” I mumble.

“Must be bad if they’re diverting traffic. I don’t know a way through to drop you on campus.”

“I’ll walk from here,” I tell her, unbuckling my belt and grabbing my backpack from the backseat.

“I have an umbrella in the trunk,” she offers.

“I’ll be fine. See you later.” I open the door and step out into the torrent of rain, the puddles soaking my boots in rainwater.

My heart pounds at the lights swirling, blinking over my face.

“You’re safe now. Crawl toward my voice, sweetheart.”

Flash.

Flash.

Flash.

I don’t know how long I was under that bed. My pee had turned cold, stinging my thighs. The tears had dried against my cheeks, leaving them red and raw. Can you deplete your body of water just by crying?

Flash.

Flash.

Flash.

Sirens screamed in the distance, getting closer with every shaking breath I took, then the house was alight with the whirling of those blue lights.

Flash.

Flash.

Flash.

The rain threatens to drown me. I’m slipping under, into my memories.

My fingers seek out the scars to bring me back to the now. “Move the tape farther back,” a man barks, stepping out of a black sedan, a red light flashing on the grill of his car. He’s dressed in a suit and long raincoat, salt and pepper hair soaking to his scalp, a frown tugging at his brow. “Move these fucking people back and get a tent over the body,” he booms, waving his hands frantically.

Over the body?

The body?

My hands begin to shake. Clenching them into fists, I shove them into the pocket of my jacket. A crowd has gathered, concerned whispers floating on the wind. Faces with creased foreheads peer beyond the police line, trying to get a better look. It’s human nature, morbid curiosity to want to see what’s happened. The brain wants to evaluate the situation from the safety of the police tape.

The rain drowns my body, running down my face, wiping any attempt to look presentable away, leaving the fucked-up mess of a girl I am on the inside bare for all to see. My feet move without permission, pushing toward the front of the crowd, not stopping until my stomach makes contact with police tape.

My eyes devour the scene, flicking to every inch of the blocked off area. Rain hammers the asphalt. Rubbish blows across the street from an overturned trashcan. What happened?

“This is a crime scene. I’m going to have to ask you all to move back at least fifteen feet,” a police officer yells out, waving his hands to get his point across, but my legs are frozen, my eyes drifting to just behind him, a female’s legs showing from behind a dumpster. They’re bare with bruises dark enough to see from this distance.

“Don’t look.”

“What happened?” I croak out. My head spins, making me sway on my feet. My eyes can’t look away from the body.

Red polished toenails stand out in contrast to her pale skin. Contusions and discoloration running up her legs scream of angry, cruel punishment. Who is she?

“I can’t answer that, ma’am. I need to ask you to step back.” His tone leaves no room for argument. Had I asked that out loud? I back away a few yards to the new perimeter another officer is making. The clouds above swim through the sky, leaving the streets cast in a gray hue.

“Awful. She’s just a young girl,” a woman weeps, gaining the attention of everyone close enough to hear her. They huddle under umbrellas, herded together like farm animals.

“Did you see what happened?” another asks. I move closer to them, straining to hear the gossip, shame seeping into me. She’s a person—not a spectacle for us all to gawk at and talk about.

“I got here just before the police. Some guy found her and called them. She was naked and had cuts all over her. She must have been there through the night.”

She sniffles, her head bowing. The trauma of what she witnessed will stay with her forever—a mark on her soul.

“Keep your eyes closed, sweetheart.”

“Who would do something like that?”

Sickness coils in my gut.

“He’s killed both women.”

Memories of those tormented pleas and flashing lights illuminating my house as a child crash over me. My nails dig into the palms of my hands, causing a grounding sting.

“The rain will wash away the evidence. They’re taking too long to get the tent over her,” I rasp out.

“Got to be a domestic, right? Or an accident?” an older woman says. She wraps her jacket tight around her body, as if it can protect her from the horrors laid bare before her.

“It was no accident,” the first woman chokes.

“We will know soon enough with those awful people taking photos of the poor girl. The police will have to make a statement.”

Anger and pain slice into me at the thought of people taking photos at a time like this—vultures standing in line to pick away at the carcass.

“Let’s hope it’s not another Hollywell situation. It’s only an hour from here,” the older woman warns. My body jerks at her words, making my feet stumble and foot slip from the curb. I crash to the ground, taking out the police tape as I do.

The impact makes me cry out more in shock than pain. The knowledge of everything that happened in Hollywell creaks and groans from the dark corners of my mind where I keep it tightly locked away.

Rape.

Murder.

Serial Killer.

Willis Langford.

Willis Langford

Willis Langford

Flash.

Flash.

Flash.

 

Damp dirt seeps into my clothes. Embarrassment burns my cheeks as I fumble, trying to stand. “You okay, ma’am?” an officer asks as I’m helped to my feet by multiple hands.

“Fine…” I squeak out, brushing down my clothes and ducking my head.

It’s as if the horrors of my dreams have spilled free onto the street before me. “Hide and don’t come out.”

My heart hammers, seeking freedom, peace—something I’ll never get. After my dream, that woman mentioning Hollywell feels too surreal. That fear is an entity that accompanies me through life. “Are you sure you’re okay?” the officer asks again. I hate the attention.

“I’m fine,” I snap, louder, more confident, yet I can’t gasp air quick enough.

Dipping my head, I move away from the scene and slip into an alleyway. I lean against the wall, a hand to my chest, gasping for breath.

I’ve seen enough. Too much. I need to get away from here.

 

 

Three

 

 

My mother always used to say even in the darkest of places, flowers still grow. When I’m on the cusp of being swallowed by the darkness taunting my mind, I cling to her words, praying there’s a seed somewhere inside me that will flourish in the shadows, a beacon of hope. I replay her words, allowing the calm to wash over me. Air fills my lungs, and the pounding of my heart slows.

The winter rain pounds me with her punishing fist, the air making my lungs frigid with each inhale of breath. A nervous hum vibrates at the back of my eyes, causing a nauseating pulse through my head.

There’s been death in our town before, but nothing like this, nothing so brutal.

I take off walking, picking up my pace as my muscles uncoil. Blowing on my hands, I rub them together to alleviate the burning. I hear the patter of Bruno’s paws as I approach the crossing. Like clockwork, his owner appears around the bend, lead in hand. Smoke pours from her lips as she huddles beneath a heavy raincoat, puffing on a vape. “Morning,” she grunts, barely lifting her head.

Three days a week, we pass each other, and that’s as far as our conversation has gone, but seeing her walking her overweight dog offers me a semblance of comfort.

Normalcy.

She has no idea what awaits her further down the road.

Will she stop? Want to see? Curiosity is wired in our DNA.

I pull my jacket sleeve over my hand to press the button at the crossing, cringing at the thought of how many dirty fingers have been all over it.

There’s zero traffic on this road this time in the morning, but I wait for the lights to change anyway. A news article comes to mind. A woman who wasn’t paying attention at a train crossing—she imploded like a water balloon being dropped from a skyscraper when it hit her.

Splat!

I wonder if she felt the impact. Did her life have time to flash before her eyes before she became mulch? Probably not.

Did people stop to witness the aftermath of her error? More than likely, yes.

The lights signal for me to cross, and the noise makes me jump despite me expecting it. I want to run home, curl up in my bed, and let my secrets soak onto the pillow, giving me some peace. My mind feels like a disease at times, slowly killing me from within.

The heavens mock me as the skies crackle and boom, the rain turning to icy pebbles. I race across campus, ignoring the cold seeping into my skin.

Pushing through the main entrance, I shake off the frost balls clinging to my hair. The halls aren’t vibrating with their usual bustle. It’s eerily quiet. The clinking of the hail hitting the windows amplifies the chilling energy. People group into clusters, their hushed whispers bringing a sullen density. It’s like looking at a haunted painting.

“What’s going on?” I ask the closest person to me. Our campus-like, our town was small, news traveled fast. There’s no way this can be about the body—the girl. The police just got there.

He doesn’t even turn to look at me when he mumbles, “A girl who went here got murdered.”

Goosebumps surge up my spine, turning my legs to lead. News travels fast.

“How?” I ask, gaining his full attention.

He turns to me, his brow dipping, “How what?”

“How was she murdered?” I want to inhale the words back into my mouth when his face scrunches up.

“Morbid much?” he accuses.

Am I morbid? Shrugging my shoulders, I shake my head slightly. “Just curious,” I say, but my skin feels like I’ve been swimming in oil. Should I be more affected?

She’s not the first dead body I’ve seen.

Crimson stains. Eyes open and vacant. Mama…

Sliding his backpack up his shoulder, he retorts, “They haven’t said yet, but it’s looking like a big deal, so I’m guessing it wasn’t pretty.” He tilts his head as he studies me. “You look familiar. Do we have a class together?”

“No,” I mumble, moving past him.

I’m only five minutes late when I finally push through the door of my cognitive psych class. All attention shifts to me as I enter. Dropping my bag beneath the desk and pulling out my notepad, I take a seat. A puddle forms beneath me. I’m a drenched rat, pitiful.

Stephan drops into his seat to my right, and I startle. “Why are you filthy and soaking wet?” He swipes at my thigh, thick with black dirt. I try not to flinch from his touch, but my body stiffens.

“I fell. Don’t ask.” I flick through the pages on my notebook to keep my hands busy, scribbling Marco over and over.

“You want my sweater?” he offers, pulling it over his head and placing it on the table in front of me. His T-shirt rides up, revealing a sliver of a tattoo. It takes me by surprise. I wouldn’t have pegged Stephan to be the type to have tattoos.

“You’re one of the good ones. You know that, right?” I tell him, a tired smile hooking the corner of my mouth. It feels unnatural, forced.

“Don’t tell people. I have a reputation to uphold.” He winks.

I hate myself for it, but I hold the wink against him.

Tugging off my jacket, I pull his sweater over my head and sigh. The fabric is still warm from his body. My skin is so cold, I can barely coordinate my limbs. I dump my bag on the chair next to me. Usually, Abigail sits there, poised and professional, agreeing with every person and their views on whatever topic we’re discussing. She doesn’t even notice that she contradicts herself by agreeing with all points. My phone vibrates across the table, drawing attention.

“Sorry,” I mime, holding it up. Guilty.

Charlotte: Just heard a girl from your campus got murdered!

Before I can click off the screen, a photo comes through, blindsiding me. Acid burns my stomach, racing up the throat. It’s different seeing her as a whole and not just legs. Pale, damp skin. Angry welted puncture wounds over her torso, breasts, neck. This poor girl suffered. This was rage. A frost settles over my chest as I stare at the image. Wet strands of hair lay splayed over her face.

Thud.

I know that face. I recognize it instantly. Brown hair. Full lips. Delicate features. It’s Abigail. My stomach dips, and the phone almost slips from my grip.

“Liz?” Stephan cups my face, his large palm warm. It should be comforting. But I feel nothing. I’m numb. “What is it?” He frowns, dropping his hand.

“It was Abigail,” I choke out, looking up at him. He’s beautiful. Light brown hair lays neatly over his head. Baby blues like the Caribbean peer down at me.

“Someone killed Abigail.” I blink. He doesn’t look shocked. This isn’t news to him.

“It’s probably an accident. Nothing happens here, so people get over-excited when something does,” he says to appease me, squeezing my shoulder.

This was no accident. “Did you see the picture my roommate sent me?” I screech, hysteria tingeing my tone.

A grimace mars his features. “It’s circulating the internet, Liz. A picture of her body. It was sent to everyone.”

My insides clench. “Why would people do that?” Everyone in the room gawks at me like I’m freaking crazy.

“Calm down. Grab your stuff. Let’s get out of here. You look like you’re getting hyperthermia.”

I send a scathing glare to the eyes still on me. “What the hell are you looking at?”

“Ms. West,” our Professor admonishes—like I’m the one in the wrong. Snatching my bag to my chest, I sling my wet coat over my arm, my heart skipping a beat when Abigail’s empty chair becomes a crater-sized hole in the room.

“You okay?” Stephan asks when we’re in the corridor.

No! How is anyone okay? “I’m fine,” I state defensively.

Shaking his head and raising his shoulders, he says, “Death intrigues people, Liz. They take pictures. Everyone’s desensitized these days.”

“They’re assholes. She’s a person—a freaking student they went to school with—someone’s child, sister!”

“You want me to take you home?”

Tucking a strand of unruly hair behind my ear, I exhale. “No. I want to walk. I need the air.”

“It’s still storming out.”

“I said I’m fine,” I grate out, pulling his sweater over my head and pushing it into his chest. “I’ll see you later.” Not waiting for his reply, I take off.

Abigail was my seat neighbor. We weren’t friends, but it puts me on edge knowing she was murdered. Murdered. Someone killed her, and people are looking at her naked, violated body, sharing it like its porn—and they’re looking at me like I’m the freak.

I need to get away from everyone.

 

 

Four

 

 

Sleeping the day away has left me with a thundering headache in the back of my skull. It takes me half an hour to walk to Marley’s, my mind so preoccupied I don’t even remember the journey. I’ve been working at Marley’s for two years now. It’s close to campus and helps pay the rent. Jeff, the owner, named it Marley’s after Bob Marley with visions of turning it into a pot café like one he had visited in Amsterdam. Instead, it ended up being like every other coffee shop in America: a rip-off of Starbucks.

“Oh my god, Liz, where have you been? Did you see my text?” Charlotte hisses at me before I’ve even made it through the door. My mind has been hazy with dark thoughts—memories.

Slipping out my jacket, I hang it on the hook and grab my apron. “Yeah. Thanks, by the way, like I needed more nightmares,” I scorn her.

“The shops have been buzzing about it all day.”

She seems too hyped talking about a murder. It’s like a carnival showed up in town.

“I knew her, Char,” I tell her, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck to elevate an ache there.

Grabbing my upper arms and forcing me to face her, she barks, “What?”

“We weren’t friends.” I shrug from her grip.

“How did you know her?”

I push past her, making my way to the front of the shop, busying myself with wiping glasses over and stacking the shelf. “She’s from one of my classes,” I inform her, sensing her eyes burning into the side of my face. “We sit next to each other,” I add.

“Shit, Liz.” She blows out a breath, resting her hip on the counter. “I can’t believe you know her.”

“Knew her,” I correct.

“Do you need to talk about it?”

“No,” I snap, pushing her back through the door into the hallway. “Isn’t your shift over?”

“Yes, it is,” Jeff barks from his office.

“Fuck off, Jeff. You need to get the heat fixed or I’m not coming in tomorrow,” Charlotte shouts back. They’re like an old married couple who resented each other but knew they needed each other at the same time.

“You don’t come in, you don’t get paid,” he grunts.

Rolling her eyes, she folds her arms across her chest, making her tits spill from the top of her shirt. “So, she was in your class? That’s so creepy. Maybe you know who killed her too.” Her eyes widen with the realization.

My heart drops.

“Don’t look.”

“Killed who?” Jeff grunts, leaning his weight against the doorframe of his office.

“Nosey much?” Charlotte glares at him.

“Who killed who?” he asks again, ignoring her.

“A girl was murdered last night,” I tell him. How does he not know when everyone else seems to? Charlotte pulls out her cell phone and holds it out to him, showing the photo she sent me earlier. He squints, devouring the image.

“Damn,” He shakes his head. “What a waste.”

“Pig!” Charlotte hisses, echoing my own thoughts.

“She’s hot.” He shrugs.

“It’s a dead fucking body, you sicko,” she berates, curling her lip.

Holding his hands up, he raises a brow, “I’m not the one with the photo on my phone.”

“Can you delete that?” I grab her phone and hit the trashcan icon.

“You know her?” Jeff asks me, folding his meaty arms over his chest.

“They were friends,” Charlotte lies, a giddiness to her tone.

“We weren’t friends.” I narrow my gaze on her.

“That’s because you have no friends,” Jeff retorts, chuckling to himself. Dick.

“I have friends,” I bite back, my mind searching for the truth in my words.

“Invisible ones don’t count.” He full-on laughs.

“Is this funny to you?” I sneer.

“Don’t listen to him. He’s an asshole.” Charlotte slings her arm over my shoulder and walks me away from him.

“We’re friends, right?” I ask, hating myself for needing reassurance of our friendship.

Jack seeps into my thoughts.

“It’s okay, Liz Wiz.”

Her mouth twists up, and she follows me back to the front of the shop. “Are you kidding? We’re best friends.” She smirks, bumping me with her hip.

My stomach twists at her words. Best friends.

Jack.

Jack.

Jack.

“You sure you’re okay to work today?” Concern puckers her lips as she eyes me. I follow her gaze to my hand where I’m scratching at the scars there.

My mom flickers through my mind.

So much blood.

Why did this have to happen today of all days? This day was already stained in blood. “Do you really think her killer is someone I know?” I find myself asking.

“Where’s my son, cunt!”

Her hand slips into mine, squeezing. “I hope not. Whoever did that to her was evil.”

I knew evil. I’d been in a room with evil incarnate. He eclipsed the sun, stealing the light from my beautiful life and plunging my world into darkness. He stole everything from me. “I’m going to stick around for a little while, maybe have some food on Jeff.” She winks, releasing my hand. I have an overwhelming urge to wash her touch from my skin, but I don’t. Instead, I nod. She knows I would never ask her to stay even if I needed her to.

 

 

Exhaustion follows me around like my shadow as I clear the last tables of the night.

The hushed whispers about Abigail mock me the entire day. I can’t escape her death. Charlotte finally gave in and left after crowding me all damn day. Abigail was just a girl I sat next to. I didn’t even particularly like her, so getting sympathy for her death makes me feel like an attention-seeking phony.

I restock the drink fridge, grabbing myself a soda to stop the hunger pangs. I can’t face food. The overhead bell dings despite me flipping the closed sign a few minutes ago. “We’re closed,” I call out over my shoulder.

Silence.

“Hello?” I poke my head around, but the place is empty. A figure moves in my peripheral, making me startle. The men’s room door closes with a soft thud, and my stomach dips. Jeff is in his office filing paperwork. I’m not entirely alone, I remind myself as I round the counter, giving a semblance of safety with the barrier between me and whoever went into the restroom. It’s probably just a student with earbuds in. I chew on my nails, waiting for them to come out.

A minute passes. Then another. Fuck. Hurry up. I want to go home. I need to shower this day from my skin.

Tick, tick, tick…

Dammit.

I slip into the back, opening Jeff’s office door with a soft nudge. “Oh god,” I cringe, pulling the door back closed. Him masturbating at his desk was the last thing I needed to see today. A shower won’t be enough to wash that away. The overhead bell dings again. I rush back out to the shop floor in time to see a shadowy figure move past the window speckled with rain. Asshole could have at least bought something.

Untying my apron and dumping it on the counter, I check to make sure the restrooms are empty, then latch the front lock and dim the lights. Tension bubbles in my stomach as I peer out through the glass to see if anyone is still lingering.

“Hey,” Jeff’s voice grinds into my ear, and a weird croak escapes my mouth.

“Oh my god, you scared the crap out of me!” I gasp, holding a hand to my chest. “Creep much?” I scold.

“You finished for the night?” he asks, ignoring my insult, looking around the empty shop.

“Yeah. Just locked up.” I take a step away from him. He’s too close.

“That yours?” He moves across the room to one of the tables I just wiped down.

What the…?

A black rectangular box sits on top.

“There’s a card,” he grunts, holding up a small white envelope. “Your names on it.”

Picking up the box, he walks back over to me, pushing it against my chest until I’m forced to take it from him. “See you tomorrow.” He smirks, waving his fingers. I suppress a gag, knowing what he just did with that hand.

“Yeah. See ya.” I smile tightly.

 

The air is frigid against my skin as I push out onto the darkened street. I should call Charlotte to come to get me, but I don’t want her making a fuss again.

The box tucked under my arm feels like a weight dragging me down into the shadows that creep along with me as I walk home. It’s crazy how the streets you’ve walked a thousand times can become a test in survival, every sound a threat. My heart roars in my ears.

Pushing through the entry doors of our building, I sigh in relief at the click locking them in place behind me. I take the stairs two at a time. The front door gives way without my key. “What have I said about locking the door?” I groan, kicking off my shoes.

Charlotte is sitting on the couch, looking across to the apartment building opposite and into the window of our neighbor. I dump the box on the small dining table made out of a chipped flea market find and two odd chairs brought from each of our childhood rooms.

“What’s that?” Charlotte queries, her head swiveling to the box.

“I don’t know.” I frown. “It was left for me tonight.” I drum my fingers on the box. This piques her interest. She moves across the room to where I’m standing, holding the envelope with my name scrawled across it.

“Open it,” she urges, snatching it from my hands and tearing into it, my focus is on the black box. I pull at the black ribbon, feeling my heart picking up speed.

“There’s nothing on the card,” Charlotte grumbles, handing it to me. I flip it over. It’s a blank piece of card. “What’s in the box?” She leans her head against my arm. Dropping the card down, I pry the lid off and stare down at a single black rose. “Wow. That’s kinda creepy.” She shivers, moving back to the couch.

Tears leak from my eyes as I look down into the hole they lowered my mom’s coffin into. My hand jerks forward, dropping the single black rose upon it.

Reaching into the box, I pick up the rose, then drop it with a hiss when a stabbing prick punctures the pad of my thumb. Blood blooms from the small hole, the crimson tear dripping to the table, staining the discarded card.

Blood, blood, blood. So much blood. Mama…

“I’m going to shower,” I murmur, sucking my thumb into my mouth.

“Who sent you that?” Charlottes calls out to my retreating form. Ignoring her, I grab my phone and type a message to my aunt. Thanks for the flower.

She probably thought she was doing something nice, but she only magnified old wounds.

The over bath shower grinds to life, creaking like branches of an old tree.

Hotter water splutters before raining down, washing the day down the drain. Nothing can clean me of my stained past, though. It just plays on repeat in my mind. My heart is as black as leaves on that rose.

 

Collapsing onto my mattress, I don’t even bother with clothes. I lay there looking up at the white ceiling, begging for the night to take me into its embrace.

My cell phone beeps with a text message. My limbs feel heavy, eyes weighted, succumbing to sleep.

What flower?

 

 

Five

 

 

Groaning from above wakes me from a troubled dream. It’s a man’s tone, gluttonous, pleasurable. My cheeks heat as I stare up at the ceiling. Who are you?

Pushing the covers away, I tiptoe to the vent and place my ear against it. I’m intruding, but I’m transfixed. An ache pools in my lower stomach. Pulsing between my thighs. Heavy panting clouds my head. Is that him or me? Everything is so clear, like I’m at his bedroom door being invited in. Is he alone up there, or is there a woman beneath him while he pushes into her body?

“Lizzy!” Charlotte shouts through my door, banging her fist on the wood panel, making me cuss. Guilty.

“Yeah! I’m coming!” I call back. Feet pound across the ceiling, drawing my eyes up. She ruined the moment for us both, pal.

Charlotte looks exasperated when I pull my door open. “Here,” she grunts, shoving her phone at me. “Your aunt,” she mouths, rolling her eyes. She saunters away in the direction of the kitchen.

Pursing my lips, I rub a hand over the back of my neck, why is my aunt calling her? “Hello?” My voice is still heady.

“Lizzy, thank god. Why didn’t you pick up your phone?”

Searching for the small space, I don’t see my cell phone. “I didn’t hear it.”

“I just saw on the news they found a body—a student at your school.”

“They did?” I sigh, balancing the phone between my shoulder and ear while pulling on a pair of sweatpants.

“Have you been watching the news?”

“No,” I tell her honestly. She lives and breathes the news, so afraid of the world outside her front door.

“I’m worried,” she murmurs.

A cold shiver moves up my body. Me too. “I have to get ready for work.”

“Don’t walk anywhere alone, Lizzy.”

“I won’t. Don’t worry so much. I’ll call you later.” She knows I’m lying. I won’t call her. Padding to the kitchen, I drop the phone on the counter.

“Coffee?” Charlotte offers. My focus goes straight to the black box still on our table. “You were moaning in your sleep again last night, calling out for some guy Jack,” she announces.

The color drains from my face.

Not noticing my state, she points upwards and says, “I think we have a new neighbor.”

“Sounds like it,” I muse, taking the box and pushing it into the trash. “I could hear his cellphone ringing in my room like the ceiling was made of paper,” I add, ignoring her quirked brow at the box protruding from the lid.

“The vent in your room goes into that apartment. This building used to be one big gun shop. It was converted into apartments by the new owner. You can’t fart without the neighbors hearing it.” She shrugs, peeling a banana. “Why do you think I didn’t take that room?” She winks, biting around a mouthful.

“Did someone say coffee?” a man calls out from Charlotte’s room.

My eyes dart in the direction. “What the hell?”

“No,” Charlotte calls back. “Time to leave.”

“Who’s the guy?” I mouth, hating random men are in the apartment without me knowing. Blood blossoms on the pad of my thumb from me subconsciously picking at the small scab.

“I couldn’t sleep, so hit up Tinder.” She smirks. When I can’t sleep, I go for a run or watch TV. Am I normal—or is she?

“Have you heard any more about the murder?” I ask her, flipping on the TV, searching for the news channel, squeezing my thumb so she doesn’t see the blood.

“Nope. Been busy,” she emphasizes, gesturing the half-eaten banana to her vagina. I’ve known Charlotte for around two years, so I know she needs her beauty and worth validated by men.

Footfalls overhead draw our gazes upward. The door closing sounds from above, and we both narrow our eyes at our front door. She beats me to our peephole, and I want to shove her out of the way, demanding I get to see who it is since I’ve been thinking about them when I’m in bed. Lonely.

“Can’t see his face.” His. Why does the confirmation make my stomach dip? I take her spot once she gives it up, but only see a glimpse of a hat as he disappears down the stairs.

“Maybe we should get him a plant,” Charlotte ponders, handing me a mug of coffee.

“Since when have you been neighborly?” I scoff, going back to the TV, thinking about poor Mrs. Briggs who lives downstairs. Charlotte likes to torment her by talking filth in her presence. I chew on my cuticles as I nervously wait for anything about yesterday to be announced.

“Being nosey isn’t neighborly.” She tips the mug to her lips and takes a sip. Tinder Guy breezes in with my towel wrapped around his waist like he’s a tenant here.

“You can go now,” Charlotte pipes up, pouring herself more coffee.

He snorts an un-amused laugh, then grabs a jacket from the couch and slings the wet towel from around his waist at me before waltzing back down the hall. I brush it away from me, shuddering. He returns a minute later, buttoning his jeans. The atmosphere is thick. One day, she’ll invite the wrong person over and we’ll both end up dead. Mama. A mirage of the news articles I keep on the crimes of Jack’s father flicker through my mind like a sideshow. Two women murdered! That monster will forever torment me.

“Next time, just swipe left,” Tinder spits at Charlotte. She saunters over to the front door, opening it. “I don’t do next times.” She slams the door behind him, making me flinch.

“Why be so hostile? You just had intercourse with that guy, then treat him like he peed in your cereal.”

“Intercourse?” She cackles. “Are you ninety? We fucked, Liz. He should have left last night. He’s outstayed his welcome. I’m going to take a bath,” she announces, and then I’m alone, waiting anxiously for the news to mention anything about Abigail, but it doesn’t. I find myself fidgety, pacing, sitting, pacing, sitting.

The problem with having no drapes on the windows is you always feel like you’re being watched. An eerie shiver runs through my blood as I study the window to see if our neighbor is home. She’s usually finished work by now and is making a fuss of her cats. She has two. The window watching works both ways. I’m a daydreamer. I can gaze into her apartment without even realizing I’m doing it until she’s staring back at me.

“You ever going to tell me about this Jack?” Charlotte asks from out of nowhere, drawing my attention to her. She’s dressed now and slipping on her shoes.

“Maybe someday.” I don’t know if that’s a lie or not. I don’t want to share him with anyone. He’s my lost boy.

 

 

Sweat beads over my forehead. The heat trapped beneath my hoodie makes my skin feel like it’s on fire. I run, picking up speed. My lungs burn with each inhale of breath. I push myself until my chest wheezes and my head becomes nothing but a buzzing sound. The world around me fades before coming back at full speed.

Breathe.

“Damn, I can barely keep up with you now,” Stephan huffs, coming to a stop beside me. I’ve been running since I was eleven, trying to outrun the past. I craved the solitude of it. “Shit, you look pale. Here, have some of my water.” He frowns.

Taking what he offers, I gulp down the water. The cold liquid pours into my empty stomach, causing pain.

“Want to get something to eat?” I ask, not remembering the last time I consumed anything substantial.

“Sure. You want to change first?” We’re both in running gear, dripping in sweat.

“Meet at Marley’s in thirty?” I offer.

 

Forty minutes later, I’m sitting across from Stephan in one of the booths staring at a short menu I know back to back without having to look at it.

“You sure you don’t want to go somewhere else? There isn’t really food here.” He scrunches his nose, looking at what’s on offer.

“I like it here,” I lie. I just hate anything unfamiliar and I’ve been anxious since hearing about Abigail, sensing eyes on me when there are none. Shadows creep from the corners of every space, keeping me on edge. There’s a constant feeling of someone standing too close, a breath on the back of my neck.

“What happened?” Stephan grasps my hand, stroking his thumb over my crescent moon. I hadn’t noticed I’d been scratching at the scars again. My skin burns from his touch. I gently pull back, not wanting to offend him.

“Nothing.” I pull the sleeve of my sweater down to cover them. “I think I’m just going to have a pastry. What about you?”

His gaze is penetrating, eyes burning into my own, burrowing beneath the lies I tell him, trying to smash through my façade to get at the broken pieces underneath. “You know you can tell me anything, right?” His tone is as sharp as a knife cutting through the space between us.

“Should we get something to go? I forgot I haven’t done any studying for class.” He knows I’m just making excuses to bail.

A couple silent beats pass, then he’s scooting out of the booth. “Sure. I’ll come back to your place and study with you.” Fail.

We order coffee and cakes to go. When I tell Charlotte we’re heading to the apartment to study, she makes a crude gesture, shoving her finger through a doughnut. “Cut it out. What are you, nine?” I snap, flames burning my cheeks.

Opening the door for me, I step around Stephan and nearly spill my coffee on a guy entering. His scent hits me with a shift of the wind, making my heart skip. Petrichor. I inhale the sweet, earthy tone from the first rain of summer. “I’m sorry,” I croak, tracing up the tall planes of his body, my gaze clashing with intense vivid green eyes. A wave of adrenaline races through my blood, making my pulse jump wildly in my neck. We’re frozen in a moment.

“Liz?” Stephan clears his throat. Green Eyes moves past me without a word, disappearing inside. I feel the cold more than I should when I step onto the street. I try to catch another glimpse of him through the window, but only see Charlotte serving someone else. Turning my head to look toward the back of the shop, I jolt, bumping into Stephan. The man is standing in the middle of the shop staring out at me. I’ve never seen anyone as beautiful in my entire life. Scruff covers half his face—and it works for him. Thick lashes complement his compellingly vivid eyes. High cheekbones covered in olive skin.

“You’re acting weirder than usual.” Stephan nudges me, a light tone to his voice as we walk back to my apartment. I inhale a deep breath, feeling a little winded.

“Is that possible?” I jest, finally having to pull my gaze from the shop as we pass by it. “I’m usually pretty weird,” I admit. I feel lighter when he chuckles, nodding his head in agreement.

 

 

Grabbing some plates, I dish out the desserts and carry them over to the couch. Stephan stares out the window to the building opposite. There’s only maybe six feet from our window to the woman’s across the divide.

“Why don’t you have curtains? You know she can see in here, right?”

I look where he’s staring at the woman in question wearing only a bathrobe while she tidies her apartment. “Charlotte likes to be on display.” I shrug.

“So does she if the length of her robe is anything to go by.” A smile tilts my lips. I’ve seen her in less. She kinda feels like another roommate. “And you?” he asks, coming to the couch and taking a seat.

“Me what?”

He turns to face me, dissecting. “Do you like being on display?” The room shrinks around us. Is he flirting? Twisting the dynamics of our friendship? No.

We’d been friends since he transferred into my cognitive psych class eight months ago, and he never gave the impression he saw me as anything other than a friend.

“You know me better than that.” I raise a brow, taking a bite of a brownie.

His mouth breaks into a broad smile as he chuckles to himself. He does that a lot. There’s always more going on in his eyes, however. “Your face just then was a real picture.”

I throw a pillow in his direction and offer a scathing glare, making him laugh harder. “You want to study?” he asks.

Reaching for the remote, I shrug. “We could watch a movie instead.”

 

 

Cold drops of water trickle over my face, waking me abruptly.

My eyes open to see Charlotte standing over me, a bottle of water in hand. I’m still on the couch. I sit up, my head a little groggy, my eyes going to where Stephan was sitting before I fell asleep. “He left,” Charlotte informs me.

“What time is it?” The TV is still on, but there’s no sound. Water droplets run down my face. Wiping them away, I stretch, yawning.

“Nine,” she informs me, walking over to the window and looking out. “He was watching the apartment opposite. He said weird noises were coming from the window.” I push off the couch and join her. A breeze is blowing in. He must have opened our window to listen. The woman opposite has hers open too, but there are no lights on. Just pitch-black stares back.

“She works nights,” I mumble, rubbing my arms to chase away the chill. “She’d be at work by now.”

“I hear nothing.” Charlotte shrugs, pulling our window closed. “Stephan is a great looking guy,” she announces, changing the subject.

“We’re just friends, Char,” I groan. We’ve had this conversation before.

“Girls can’t be friends with guys.” She shakes her head.

“No, you might not be able to, but other people can.”

“Do you not think he’s hot?” She puts me on the spot, staring at me, willing me to indulge her.

“Why are you doing this?” I huff out, irritated.

“I just want you to be careful, okay? You have to still go to class with him if things don’t work out.”

“He knows we’re just friends. He’s never pursued me for more,” I snap, shaking my head. There’s no way he likes me in that way. He knows I’m broken. “He called me weird,” I add defensively.

She rolls her eyes and goes to the fridge, putting her water inside. “Weird is the new cute. Just make it clear nothing is going to happen between you two.”

“Do you want him for yourself? Because fucking him and then throwing him out the next morning would also make it weird for me.”

“What if I didn’t throw him out?” she counters, dipping her head.

“Charlotte,” I warn. Having to listen to her with him would be more than uncomfortable.

“I’m kidding.” She waves her hand dismissively.

“Are you?” I quirk a brow.

Smirking, she waltzes past me, leaving me watching her bedroom door as it closes on me. Going to my room, I flop down on the mattress, pulling my phone out.

Sorry I crashed.

A soft hum of music sounds from above, then the movement of feet. My limbs grow heavy as I stare up, wondering what he’s doing up there.

Stephan: Charlotte is intense. I’m not sure if she hates me or wants to fuck me. I didn’t want to wake you.

A smile tugs at my lips. I think it’s the latter. It’s Charlotte we’re talking about.

The music above turns off, and the pipes creak to life. He’s showering. An overwhelming ache throbs between my legs. It’s crazy to fantasize about someone I’ve never even seen, but my hand slips down into my panties to alleviate the ache. I’m soaking wet just thinking about the idea of watching the stranger as he showers. Slipping my fingers through my folds, my breath catches. I embrace the moment, allowing myself the pleasure—the fantasy—the stranger. I imagine a strong, powerful body braced against the shower wall, the water pounding down against his tensed muscles. My back arches from the bed as I thrust inside myself with two fingers, pushing the heel of my palm against my clit. I’m lost in my head. My shower guy lifts his head and the penetrating green eyes from the guy earlier pushes me over the edge. I moan out loud as my body quakes, my clit throbbing as I orgasm around my fingers. Heat claws over my chest and up my neck, flushing my skin. A heavy thud sounds above me, causing my eyes to spring open. I’d been so lost in my release, I hadn’t noticed him return to his room.

Can you hear me?

 

 

Six

 

 

Standing at the traffic lights, Bruno and his owner round the corner, his overweight body making him pant as he comes over to sniff my leg before being pulled away. She doesn’t say hi today. She jerks her head in acknowledgment, and I awkwardly wave as she passes.

The atmosphere on campus is still somber. Abigail’s empty chair taunts me. I’m transfixed, my pen tapping wildly against the table surface. Is it too soon to move the empty seat? “Ms. West, what will your paper topic be?” Professor Ashraf asks. I hear the turning of heads, the creaking of chairs as all attention lands on me. A weight pushes down on my chest, the room feeling two times smaller than moments ago. Sweat begins to pebble on my forehead. Just speak.

“Neurobiological foundations of fear,” I answer, swallowing down my anxiety and flicking the pages of my notepad to distract myself from everyone’s attention. Marco, Marco, Marco covers the entire thing. Slinking down in my chair to make myself smaller, I stare at him, waiting for him to move to someone else. He knows I hate speaking to the room. Eyes burn into me as they all wait to smirk and turn their noses up at my answer.

“Elaborate,” he requests. Asshole.

Concealing the annoyance I feel toward him, I clear my throat. “I want to explore how terror affects cognitive structures.” Training my eyes solely on him, I add, “More accurately, an individual’s response to fear.”

His brow lifts, intrigue hooking the side of his mouth. “Keep going.” He waves his hand in a rolling motion.

Sitting up a little straighter, I add, “I want to know why it affects people differently. Is it the biological or chemical makeup of each individual's brain?” Did Willis Langford feel fear? Or just get off on embedding it in others?

“Interesting. I look forward to reading your findings. Daniels, tell me what your topic will be.”

Relieved he moved on, I write out everyone’s topic, turning when I feel Stephan’s gaze boring into the side of my face. “What?” I crinkle my nose.

“Nothing. I’d just like to take a walk inside your mind.”

Letting out a short bark of laughter, I shake my head. “Trust me, you wouldn’t.”

I nudge him when he’s still staring at me and not answering our Professor, who called his name. Turning to face the rest of the class, he confidently replies, “I’ve always been interested in nature versus nurture. Suppose criminal tendencies can be passed on biologically, I want to study prolific criminals, their background, and their offspring.” My heart rages.

Jack.

Jack.

Jack.

There’s a humming in my ears. Stephan’s lips continue to move, explaining his topic, but I can’t hear anything but my own breathing. When the room comes back into focus, everyone is packing their stuff away to leave. “Liz? Are you coming?”

“Yeah,” I whisper, stuffing my crap into my backpack and darting from the room.

We’re only a couple feet into the corridor when someone calls out, “Ms. West.” A man I recognize from the day Abigail’s body was discovered. He was the officer in the sedan. “Cover the body.”

“Yes?”

Stephan pats my shoulder to signal his departure. I want to chase after him to rescue me from whatever it is this detective wants. The older man looks tired. Heavy bags sit under his eyes, creases pulling at the corners. He reaches his hand out for me to shake. It’s cold and clammy. The urge to scrub my palm down my coat is overwhelming. “I’m Detective Barnett. I’m speaking with Abigail Cane’s friends.”

“We weren’t friends,” I blurt out, halting his sentence.

Concern tugs down his brow. “Well,…I was told you sat next to her in class.”

“By who?” I scowl.

“I’m sorry?”

“Who told you I sat next to her? It wasn’t a choice: we’re just two people in the same class.” Why am I so defensive about this?

“All the same, with you sitting next to her, maybe you overheard any conversations she may have had. Any indication she was anxious, scared in the days before her death?”

“She was just Abigail.” I shrug. “I’m sorry, Detective. I have no helpful information.”

“You never know what might be useful. It can be something small that doesn’t seem important. When was the last time you saw Ms. Cane?”

“There’s lipstick on this mug. I want a new one.”

“Saturday. She came into the coffee shop I work at.” He jots that down in a notepad. The pen looks like something you’d get from a box of Scrabble or Ikea.

“Was she alone?” I try to bring that day back. Her face is like a neon light in my brain.

“There’s lipstick on this mug. I want a new one. You should really make an effort to ensure you only serve from clean mugs. It’s a health hazard.” Pouting ruby red lips. A petite frame. A curtain of auburn hair.

“I’m not sure. I think she was with people.”

“People or a person?”

“I don’t know. It was busy. I don’t really pay attention. The faces blur into one.” Liar. He watches me as I fidget, biting on my nails. “Is there anything else, Detective?”

Pulling out his wallet, his badge flashes as he pulls a card and hands it to me. “If you remember anything else.”

“Do you know who killed her?” I ask, the phantom scars burning my hand.

He offers a tight smile. “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

A pale, lifeless body. Blood, blood, blood.

“Don’t take too long, Detective. No one deserves what happened to her.”

 

 

I hate the dead hours between my day finishing and bed. I need to exhaust myself if I have any chance of a dreamless sleep. I check the fridge for food, my stomach growling in hunger. There’s nothing but leftovers.

Pacing the floor, I stare into the window of the apartment across from us. The lights are out. The window is still open. It’s just a reflection staring back at me. The nothingness is torture. It leaves room for too much thinking.

“You going out tonight?” I call down the hall, getting an answering grunt from Charlotte’s room. Thanks. That clears things up. I feel like I’ve been drinking energy drinks and bubbles are traveling through my bloodstream. “I’m going for a run,” I call out, grabbing my running shoes.

“You sure that’s wise?” Charlotte pokes her head around her bedroom door.

“I’ll be fine,” I tell her, pushing up my sleeves.

“What if there’s a killer out there?”

“There are lots of killers everywhere,” I snap, pinning her with a stony glare. Slipping on my headphones, I leave without another word.

My aunt would hate that I run in the evenings. “It’s not safe. Nowhere will ever be safe.” I hear her in my mind as clear as if she were walking alongside me. I know my head is trying to warn me, but if I don’t tire my mind, it will hold me hostage all night. The neighbor’s door above slams closed as I descend the stairs. I wonder if he struggles with quieting his mind too. We should introduce ourselves. I’m dying to see who he is, but terrified he won’t live up to the version of him I’ve created. I like having the illusion, the fantasy. Without it, I wouldn’t pursue him. I’d never allow myself the moments in my room. The thought flees as fast as it came, and before I know it, I’m stomping the curb.

The misting of rain glistens under the streetlights. Cars passing make the world seem safe. It’s still moving, people milling around, living their lives. I push on, tiring my legs, forcing myself forward even when my calves burn and demand a reprieve. The rain hurts my skin as it tears across my face, but I don’t stop. I run. And run.

My lungs burn, screaming for a break. I slow my pace until I’m at walking speed. Condensation creates clouds around me. Fog creeps across the field to the park, coating the grass. Streetlights flicker above me, making the hairs rise on my arms, the trees rustling with the power of the wind whispering to each other. Nighttime has fully claimed the sky darkening my surroundings.

I stretch my limbs and turn back. The streets have emptied. There’s no one around, only my heartbeat pounding in my ears to keep me company. Fear begins to bloom like a flower seeking the sun within me. Every sound and shadow has my mind firing off. Tugging out my earphones to hear any impending danger, I internally berate myself for letting the fear take root inside me and ruin simple things like a jog I’ve done a thousand times before. This is what sickos want. They want us scared. Checking over our shoulders. Not leaving the house. My roaring heart dulls out every other sound as anger replaces the fear. Seeing shadows dance and transform into boogey men is irrational. I won’t allow myself to stop living.

“You can come out of there now, sweetheart.”

No. No. No. My brain screams when I suddenly collide with a wall of man. My body jolts from the impact. Jerking back, my ankle twists onto its side, almost tipping me off the curb. Two firm hands grip my arms, stopping me from falling at his feet. My instincts are to disengage his hold, but I find myself mesmerized. Beard, full lips, those eyes. “It’s you,” I say dumbly, breathless. Can a person steal the air from your lungs?

“It’s me.” He smiles. It’s the first time I’m hearing his voice, and it strokes places inside that haven’t been touched by another in a long time.

It’s awkward. He’s held on to me longer than necessary, and I haven’t pulled free. I’m clumsy when he does release me. I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I plant them on my hips, sucking oxygen into my lungs. “Well,…thanks for not letting me fall.” I smile tightly, dipping my eyes to his feet, my cheeks heating a hundred degrees. He reaches out, tipping my chin up with a brush of his fingers, making a gasp wisp past my lips. It’s intimate—too intimate. The simple touch sets a blaze over my skin. I step back from his touch, feeling vulnerable and confused. “I should go.” I shake my head to clear it. I don’t say goodbye as my legs start moving away. Pain shoots up my ankle, begging me to take the weight from it, but I carry on running, sneaking a look over my shoulder every couple seconds. He hasn’t moved. He's just watching me, his silhouette lit by the streetlight like a painting, a beautiful piece of art that should be on display in galleries.

 

I almost fall into our pitch-black apartment, slamming the door and resting my spent body against it. My chest heaves, trying to drag air into my lungs. I feel exhausted and alive at the same time. “You okay?” Charlotte asks from the couch, making me screech.

“Why the hell are you sitting in the dark?” I scold, walking over and flicking on the lamp.

“I swear I saw movement in her apartment. It’s better to see with the lights out. Why are you all sweaty and gross?”

“You know I went for a run. She may have company and doesn’t like the lights on—not everyone is as confident as you.” I wave a finger up her body for emphasis.

“You went for a run ages ago and she’s always half naked waltzing around, there’s no way she’s shy.” Rolling my eyes, I head over to the sink, grabbing a glass and filling it twice. The cold water swills in my stomach, reminding me I haven’t eaten. Opening the fridge, I pull out old pizza and stuff half a slice into my mouth. My insides groan, protesting the intrusion. “That’s hideous. You live like a student,” Charlotte gags.

“I am a student.”

“You go to classes three times a week, Liz. You’re hardly a scholar.”

“I’m sorry, what was your degree in again?” I taunt with a narrowed glare. I want to say cock doesn’t count, but refrain.

“I’m going to marry into money or just sponge off you when you use your college degree to get a high-flying job.” Don’t count on that. “Did you see that?” she gasps, and my heart skips.

“What?” I follow her to the window.

“Something moved in there, I’m telling you.”

“I don’t see anything.” I focus, narrowing my eyes. “It’s your imagination.”

Tick, tick, tick.

Something darts at the window, making us both scream and jolt back. My ankle smarts. Motherfucker. One of her cats walks across the windowsill like it’s on a model runway. “I nearly just had a heart attack.” Charlotte chuckles, a hand to her chest. “Is that thing safe with the window open?”

“Cats always land on their feet, right?” I cringe. “I can’t watch.”

 

Peeling the clothes from my sweaty body, I test the shower and groan when only cold water pours from the head. Charlotte drained the hot water. Taking a brave breath, I move under the spray, yelping when the icy blast explodes over my skin. I manage one minute before I get out, stuttering, my entire body shivering.

Collapsing on my bed, my ankle prickles, reminding me I injured it earlier tonight. Blue bruising is already blooming across my foot, and the ankle is two times bigger than the other. Perfect.

Rummaging through a pile of half dirty and half clean clothes, I pull out a pair of shorts and a tank top, tug them over my body, and crawl under the covers. The moon glows through the window. Feet overhead stomp around, drawing my eyes up briefly. I stare out at the moon, imagining the guy above me is doing the same thing. It’s not long before my interaction with the guy from earlier begins replaying in my head. The way he touched me like I was his… What would have happened had I not ran away like I always do? Maybe he would have kissed me, two strangers in the night sharing a moment. Am I just thinking the finger under my chin was too personal? Charlotte meets people on her app and an hour later shares her body with them. Maybe it’s normal.

I’m so lame. He was probably making sure I was okay, wanted to see my face to gage if I was in pain. Punching my pillow, I turn on my back and look up at the ceiling. I need to start pushing myself out of my comfort zone or these nights alone with my fingers and images of a neighbor I’ve never met will be all I have.

 

 

Seven

 

 

I’m running down the street naked, feet burning from the asphalt tearing at the soles. “Help me please! Anyone?” My lungs scream, but the street is deserted. The sun creeping over the horizon offers me its warm embrace. I run and run toward the sun, adrenaline pumping the blood in my veins. A gasp leaves my lips as someone steps out from the shadows, blocking my path, eclipsing the sun. A knife plunges into my stomach, stealing my breath. Blood pools around the steel blade. I wrap my hands around the handle and the hands holding it, hissing as it’s yanked from my skin and plunged back in, stealing my air—my life—my soul. My eyes travel the length of the killer’s body, his face masked in black. I reach up and scratch, pulling until the masks slips and green eyes bore down on me….

“No!” I bolt upright, my heart racing. A dull throb zaps in my ankle. My room is flooded with daylight. It was just a dream. You’re awake. Breathe. In, out. In, out.

Pushing myself to stand, a stinging in my palm causes me to wince in pain. Small dots of blood bubble from nail indents. Grabbing some tissue, I clean it up the best I can and slip into the bathroom to wash up.

“Her window was still open, but I didn’t see her again this morning. You think she’s okay?” Charlotte asks as I shuffle into the kitchen.

“Why wouldn’t she be?”

“Oh, I don’t know, there’s a killer lurking,” she scoffs.

Her words stab at my heart, my dream lingering. “I think you’re overreacting. I also think you need to stop spying on the neighbor.” I grab a mug and pour some coffee.

“She’s the one usually watching us.”

“Maybe she got bored of seeing your naked ass.”

“That’s doubtful.” She smirks.

“I have to get ready for work,” I groan, gulping my coffee and shuffling back to my room to get clothes on.

 

 

Everyone is on edge. An eerie unsettled atmosphere hangs heavy in the air. The shop is less busy today, and those who do come in don’t stay.

Goosebumps rise over my skin as I navigate around the shop. A silhouette standing in the window causes my heart to spike. Condensation mists the window, keeping him hidden from me. My heart thuds. When they don’t move, I march to the door, pull it open, and look out. Embarrassment eats at me when a man stares over his shoulder at me as he waits for his dog to finish doing his business. Anxious, I go to the restroom and splash water on my face. Get a grip. The stall door bursts open, making me jump. A woman eyeballs me. “You okay?” She raises a thin, drawn-on eyebrow.

“I’m fine.” Are you? I dry my hands and go back to work. This day needs to be over.

The overhead bell rings, and the ambiance appears to shift. A pull inside me tugs my head up. Blood rushes in my veins, making the room spin. You. Half his face is covered by a heavy beard, hiding him from me, but I watch, transfixed, as his tongue darts out to lick over his fat bottom lip. A sense of déjà vu envelops me, warming me all over.

“Excuse her,” Charlotte sings, appearing from the backroom before nudging me with her hip to move over. “What can I get you?”

My heart is racing. My palms are sweating. He’s looking at me like he knows me—like he’s been inside my skin and lived there. His intensity is vaguely familiar, a memory I can’t quite grasp. “Do you want to get a room?” Charlotte snorts, pointing between us. I realize he hasn’t answered her and we’re just standing here staring at each other. My cheeks heat. I shake my head to clear the haze.

“Um…sorry, did you want to order?” I ask, a hitch in my voice.

“Espresso. Double shot.” He smiles tightly, making my womb squeeze.

“Why don’t you take a seat and she’ll bring it over?” Charlotte offers. He keeps his eyes trained on me for a few more seconds, then moves toward the back of the shop where he takes a seat in the corner booth. “What the hell was that?” Charlotte breathes, fanning herself with a spare napkin.

“That was weird, right?” I question, feeling a nervous flutter dance through my body.

“Well, you’re weird, so...” She shrugs, pressing the button on the espresso machine.

The entire shop appears to shrink around me as I make my way to the back where Green Eyes is sitting. He’s watching me. Every step matches the marching of my heartbeat.

Da-dum.

Da-dum.

Da-dum.

The atmosphere thickens, threatening to suffocate me as I come to a stop at his table. His large frame makes the booth look like children’s furniture, his broad shoulders filling the jacket he’s wearing perfectly. Strong, powerful.

“Espresso?” I say meekly, placing it on the table in front of him. My heart beats with alarm about to crash through my chest and land on the table with a splat.

“Thank you.” His voice washes through me, caressing all the right places. His brow furrows when he flits his eyes over the front page of the paper he’s holding. My eyes drop to see Abigail’s face taking up almost the entire page.

College Student Slain.

 

 

My stomach knots. “You kinda look like her.” He says in a deep, rumbling tone, his lids drooping a little as he studies me.

“I knew her,” I softly murmur. I’ve never really thought about our similarities. Long hair, delicate features, same age—thud—same class—thud.

“I’m sorry.” He sounds so sincere, like he’s speaking to a family member of hers.

My cheeks burn. “We weren’t really friends.” I should go back to work, but it’s too late. My butt is already brushing the seat opposite him. Taking a second to really look at him, I notice a small scattering of freckles across his nose. They remind me of the constellation Aquila, the eagle who carried Zeus’s thunderbolts. His eyes are intense and stormy. Deep forest green with flecks of brown like the leaves on the cusp of autumn. They appear to absorb the light and almost glow. Beautiful.

“Is there something on my face?” he asks, wiping his hand across his mouth, and I realize I’ve been staring at him without speaking.

“Do I know you?” I find myself whispering, my soul reaching out across the table. Is this normal?

“It feels that way, doesn’t it?” He smiles, his eyes devouring my face. I shrug out of the daze and frown. He shifts in his seat and fidgets with a napkin, tearing pieces off and littering the table in front of him. The silence hangs heavy.

“Lizzy,” Charlotte calls my name, saving us both from the awkward silence.

“I have to get back to work.” I reluctantly stand and turn my back to him, sneaking a look over my shoulder when I’m near Charlotte. He’s still watching me. Charlotte’s standing, arms folded, back straight, her eyes focused.

“What’s up?” I ask, already dreading the answer.

“Look.” Her eyes flick to the TV. All eyes are drawn to the news. I stand awkwardly, wringing my hands together as we all stare up at the screen. A blonde woman sits next to an older man, a picture of Abigail in the corner of the screen.

“The gruesome discovery of twenty-two-year-old student Abigail Cane’s body was found around nine a.m. Monday morning by a passerby. The local authorities are withholding the details of her death, but we can confirm a murder investigation has been launched.”

“Why aren’t they telling us more?” She waves her hands at the screen. Movement shifts behind us. “We like to keep some cards to ourselves early in an investigation,” Detective Barnett announces. I didn’t see him come in. His imposing stance looms.

“Well, I think the public deserves to know if we’re at risk,” Charlotte scorns, folding her arms once more and giving him her best intimidating eyes. His lips hook, slightly amused by her boldness.

“Understandable, but when we have more information to share, it will be shared. As of right now, we have extra police patrols canvasing and we are doing everything possible to keep the public safe. It’s our top priority.”

My eyes seek out green, but there’s just the empty booth and the discarded paper, he’s gone.

Where did you go? My mood deflates. The disappointment is irrational, but it’s there all the same. “Well, what do we do if we’re worried about someone?” Charlotte asks. I round the counter to serve a customer while still listening to their conversation.

“Are you worried about someone?” Flicking my gaze to hers, I shake my head no. She ignores me.

“My neighbor. We haven’t seen her in a couple of days,” she tells him.

Humor flees his features as deep lines cut into his eyes. “Is it unusual not to see her every day?” I finish with the customer and give Charlotte my full attention.

“Kinda.” She shrugs, looking at me for confirmation.

His gaze follows hers. “Have you tried knocking?”

Charlotte looks like she’s regretting ever starting this conversation. Rolling her eyes, she says, “No. She doesn’t live in our building.”

Furrowing his brow, he places a hand on his hip, flashing his badge. “She lives in the building opposite ours,” I clarify.

“So, how do you see her every day?”

“Through her window,” Charlotte snaps like it’s obvious.

“It’s not as creepy as it sounds,” I add, flames growing up my neck.

The humor is back, curling his lips. “Well, it’s nice you’re looking out for your neighbors. If you get any serious concern, you can contact the station. They will send an officer over to do a welfare check.”

“Can I get you anything?” I ask, fidgeting. He must have come in for a reason.

“I’ll take coffee.”

“To go?” I blurt out. I don’t know why, but he makes me nervous, I don’t want him to stay.

“Sure.” He broadens his smile, looking between Charlotte and me.

There’s an oddness hanging in the air between us as I go about making his coffee. Sliding it across the counter toward him, I wave off his money, and say, “On us. Thanks for keeping us safe.” He offers a nod in recognition, and I exhale when the door closes behind him.

“Where did Mr. Sexy Face dash off to?” Charlotte croons, darting her eyes to the back of the shop. Walking back there to collect his cup, my insides jolt to see the coffee still sitting in the cup, the paper discarded, the front page circled with a red ring around Abigail’s face.

My hand slaps against my chest, my eyes scanning the shop and through the window but he’s nowhere.

 

 

“Hey, you want to stay on for an extra hour tonight? It’s been busier than usual with that girl being cut up,” Jeff asks, adjusting his junk. Images of him at his desk getting himself off resurface, making me almost heave. I toss my sandwich in the trash, losing my appetite. I hate the words he chooses in regard to Abigail, but don’t bother wasting time telling him he’s an asshole.

“Sure.” I rub a phantom ache on my forehead.

“Good girl.” He winks. Gross.

Coming back through to the shop, I see Stephan and Charlotte in a heated conversation. He grabs her wrist across the table, and she winces in pain. Before I can make it over to them, she pulls away, our gazes clashing. “What the hell was that?” I gasp.

“Nothing. He’s just being an asshole.”

I watch her disappear out the back, dumbfounded. Marching to where Stephan is still nursing a black coffee, I slip into the seat Charlotte vacated.

He looks up, surprised to see me. “Hey.” He smiles.

“What the hell was that?” I demand, slapping my palm on the table.

“What do you mean?” He furrows his brow. Was I imagining their interaction looking hostile?

“I saw you grab Charlotte’s arm,” I argue.

Exhaling hard, he leans forward. “She was being forward—too forward. I told her I wasn’t interested, and she got upset, then said something about you never being into me. She was being bitchy. I just told her to stop.” Embarrassment is becoming too familiar inside me lately.

“I’m sorry she said anything to you. She’s worried you see our friendship as more and blames me for it,” I mumble before chewing on my nails.

My muscles coil tight as we sit in silence, his eyes probing me. “We’re friends, right?” he finally says.

“Of course we are.” I reach across the table and rest my hand on his forearm.

“I don’t need your roommate warning me off and telling me you don’t see me that way. I’ve never made you feel like I want more from you, have I?” He looks pained. I’m going to kill Charlotte for making our friendship awkward.

“No. God, no. I appreciate you so much and need you as a friend. I’m sorry she gets in her own head and can’t help making everything about sex,” I groan.

“She just uses sex because she fears rejection of something more. You’re a psych major, Liz, it’s not hard to figure her out.” He shakes his head, irritated.

“That’s why you should give her a pass.” I beg with my eyes.

“Fine. Whatever.” He smiles, but it’s strained.

“Thank you. You want food? I have cake or a day-old sandwich.” This gets me a genuine smile. “I’ll pass, but thanks.”

 

 

Eight

 

 

Charlotte’s giggles echo through the empty apartment. A guy’s voice mumbles something, making her screech. I sometimes wish my life was as uncomplicated as hers.

Pulling out a carton of juice from the fridge that’s empty and been put back in because apparently, I live with a child I silently fume tossing it in the trash and opt for a bottle of water to quench my thirst instead. Walking over to the window to check if our neighbor has returned the bottle falls from my grip, and my blood runs cold. It can’t be just a coincidence.

“Charlotte,” I bark, my voice booming through the apartment. “Charlotte, come here!” I urge. Feet pound across the hallway until she’s standing beside me, her hair a mess and lipstick smudged. “What?” she snaps.

“Look.” I point to the window. Looking between the window and me, she takes a few seconds to comprehend what she’s seeing.

“What the fuck?” Her jaw drops open.

“Did you take out our trash?” I ask, nerves eating away at my guts.

“Yes. It can’t be the same one. This’s too fucked up.” She cradles herself, her voice trembling. “Who sent you that rose?”

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. I had thought it was my aunt. They all dropped red roses into my mother’s grave, but mine was black. Who would know that unless they had been at the funeral?

“Maybe we’re just being paranoid.” She finally shakes off her fear.

“The curtain moved.” I gasp, rushing to opening our window and peering out.

“We should call the police,” Charlotte hisses.

“Hello?” I call out.

Nothing.

“Hellooo,” I try again.

“Let’s call the police.” Charlotte grabs at me in full panic mode.

Slamming the window closed, I turn to her, “Or we go over and knock on the damn door.” Is someone toying with me? Did Abigail die because of me?

No. No. No.

“Maybe she’s fucking with us. She could have sent the rose,” Charlotte announces, her hands waving around.

“How would she know?” I croak, wringing my hands.

“Know what?” she asks, incredulous.

Tucking my hair behind my ear, I pace the space between us. “I placed a black rose on my mother’s coffin,” I admit, shifting from one foot to the other.

“What the fuck, Lizzy?” she booms before shaking her head. “No. It could still be a coincidence.”

“Abigail’s murder was on the anniversary of my mother’s,” I confess, the weight on my chest growing heavier, compressing the air from my lungs.

“Of your mother’s what? Death? You know, you’ve never told me how she died.”

“I don’t like to talk about it,” I grunt, my nails seeking out scars to pick apart. She just stares at me, her brow crashing. The guy she brought home appears from her bedroom shirtless with his jeans open, scratching the back of his head. “We doing this or what?”

“I’m going over there,” I tell her, ignoring him and forcing her to make a choice. She can come with me or stay here and finish getting laid.

“I think we’re overreacting.” She half laughs, but there’s no humor in it. She’s punishing me for not opening up to her about my mom. Walking over to the front door, I slip on some boots and grab a jacket. “Liz, don’t go over there in the dark. Wait until morning.”

“What’s going on?” the guy asks.

“Just go back to my room and warm yourself up, okay?” Charlotte turns away from him and walks over to me. Grabbing my jacket from my hands, she holds it hostage. “Please?” she pleads.

“I’m going,” I state stubbornly.

Her eyes burn into mine, but I hold steady. “For fuck’s sake. I can’t let you go alone.” She throws my jacket around her shoulders, cussing me out the whole way down the stairs.

The air is frigid when we push out onto the street. “Hold the door,” I call out, catching someone entering the building next to ours.

Charlotte’s appearance earns her a raised brow as we ascend the stairs with the guy who held the door. “Can I help you?” she asks with more attitude than necessary. He continues to stare at her, half naked, coat gaping open, giving him a peep show. He doesn’t reply and stops on the floor before the one we need.

“Do you even know what number it will be?” Charlotte moans. We make it to the floor that is an exact replica of our building. I gather my bearings, imagining our own layout and window. “It’s that one.” I point.

“Fine,” she snaps, huddling the coat further around herself. She stands a few paces back from me at the door like she’s getting ready to bolt. I rap my knuckles on the door and wait. Nothing. “Come on. Let’s go,” Charlotte whisper-yells, bouncing from foot to foot. I need to know she’s okay—that this is just a coincidence. Reaching for the handle, I twist, then freeze when it gives beneath my palm and the door opens. “Oh my god, that’s breaking and entering.”

Charlotte groans, grabbing my arm. Pulling from her hold, I go back to the door. “It’s not breaking, the door was open.”

“Please, let’s just go back home and call the police,” she begs.

“I’m going inside. Wait there if you want to.”

“Lizzy,” she calls after me in a hushed shout.

The apartment is dark. The smell of rotten fruit clings to the air like her trashcan needs to be emptied. “Hello?” I call out. A ruffling noise sounds from deeper inside the apartment, causing me to turn sharply. Charlotte hasn’t followed me inside, so it’s not her. Oh god, what if our neighbor was robbed and is tied up in there? Grabbing a knife from the block on her counter, I make my way toward the sound. “Hello?” I call out again. My heart pounds in my ears. Thoughts of what I may find ravage my mind.

Blood. Blood. Blood.

I grip the door handle to one of the bedrooms. My palm is clammy, my knees shaking. “One, two, three,” I breathe before pushing it open, the knife stretched in front of me. It’s just a room—a bed in the center, a wardrobe against the back wall—no tied up neighbor, no villain waiting to jump out. I release a breath, almost giggling to myself over my paranoia. What the hell am I doing? This is crazy. I’m crazy.

I turn on my heel to leave when the rustling sounds again, loud from inside the room. My arm shakes as I thrust the knife out in front of me. What the hell? I pull out my cellphone and turn on the flashlight, igniting every corner. I step back inside and go to the wardrobe. Holding my breath, I whip the door open and step back. A little squeak catches in my throat as a couple hanging dresses move with the gust.

Crap.

It’s empty. I look to the bed and bite my lip, lowering myself to see beneath. My pulse rushes in my veins, making my heart hammer. Lifting the covers hanging over the edge, I flash the light under, wondering what it must have been like for the officer who had to coax me out from under a bed years ago. Two eyes peer back at me, making me squeal and drop the phone. It takes my brain a second to catch up with my eyes. The cat meows, hitting his paw against a crumpled water bottle, making a crunching sound. Exhaling a relieved breath, I reach out. “Come here…” It doesn’t move, so I scoot underneath the bed to grab him. It scratches me, hissing, and darts away. Little shit. “I’m trying to help you,” I groan, studying the stinging split skin. I freeze when I hear footfalls coming down the hall toward the room. “It’s just Charlotte,” I rationalize, but I can’t move.

“Get under the bed and don’t come out.”

“It’s safe. You’re safe now.”

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Two black boots step into the room. That’s not Charlotte.

No. No. No.

This isn’t real. I’m dreaming. Tears spring to my eyes. I grip the knife so tight, my knuckles turn white. I’d dropped the phone when I found the cat. Should I try to grab it and call the police? Will they make it in time?

I’m seven years old again. Fear burrows into my heart, eating away at it.

Fear is an illusion. You must overcome it.

I squeeze my eyes closed for a brief second. When I open them, a man is staring back at me. “Argh!” I cry out, swiping out with the knife.

“Whoa, what the hell you doing, crazy lady?” he shouts, jumping away.

Sliding out from beneath the bed, I hold the knife out toward him in a protective stance. “Stay back,” I warn.

Charlotte appears in the doorway, arms crossed, a scowl on her face. “He lives next door, Liz. He has a key, feeds the cats while Lucile—” she emphasizes, “—is away on a business trip.” If looks could kill, I’d be a pile of ash right now.

“The knife?” the guys asks, hand out, a look of distrust on his face.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, handing him the knife and racing from the room.

When I get back to the kitchen, my eyes flash to the window. The black rose purposely posed there. “Did you put that flower there?” I ask the cat feeder. When he doesn’t answer, I turn to look at him. He looks perplexed as he stares at the flower, like he can’t understand what it is. “Well?” I snap.

“No, and I left the window open to get rid of the smell in here.” The window is closed now.

“Maybe try emptying the trash,” Charlotte gags.

“I have. There’s no trash in here.” He looks back at her, then to the flower.

“Who else has a key?” I ask him, moving toward the flower. It’s perfect. Fresh. My finger swipes over the small stain on one of the petals. “There’s blood,” I croak.

“What?” they say in unison, their voices carrying across the space between us.

The heat of his body coming up behind me makes me shudder. “This is creepy. Please, can we leave?” Charlotte’s skin turns rapid white. A startled cry retches from her lips, ringing in my ears. Her shaky hand covers her mouth as she reaches out, pointing to the window. Me and Cat Guy look up at the same time. He balks, but I’m solidified. A silhouette of a man is in our window looking over at us. He’s tall and broad, too tall to be Charlotte’s date. His face is shrouded in darkness, but I feel the pressure of his gaze. “Who is that?” the cat feeder demands. Charlotte is already calling the police, but her words are just noise in my chaotic thoughts. Who the hell is toying with me? Is he Abigail’s killer? Is her murder my fault?

I take off running, pushing past Charlotte and out the door. I pounce down the steps two at a time, ignoring the roaring pain of my ankle. Adrenaline pumps wild in my veins. I almost tumble onto the street, but keep going to our building, taking the stairs up two at a time. I slow and round the final staircase on our floor. The front door is wide open, and all the courage and determination of confronting this son of a bitch drains from my body. Apprehension turns into undiluted fear. I’ve seen what a psychopath is capable of, lived through his darkness. This is just a prank. It can’t be Willis Langford. I refuse to believe that.

“Lizzy,” Charlotte barks up at me from the below, the cat feeder behind her. “You’re crazy! I can’t believe you just run over here toward the mysterious man in our apartment!” she pants, her chest heaving from the exertion as she climbs the last couple stairs.

“Your guy friend is in there,” I remind her.

“So is some psycho,” she grinds out, tilting her head around the railing to look into our apartment.

“Is your light switch in the same place as mine?” Cat Guy asks.

“Back wall next to the door,” I tell him with a nod.

“Wait downstairs. If anything happens, go outside and wait for the police,” he enforces with punctuated hand movements.

“Shouldn’t we just all wait for the police together downstairs?” Charlotte begs in a whiny tone, tugging on my shirt. Ignoring her, Cat Guy goes toward the door. Slowly looking inside, he reaches around to flick on the light we didn’t turn off. Our apartment illuminates, the window coming into view. There’s no one there, but something small and white is stuck to the pane of glass. Cat Guy ventures farther inside, his stance defensive and slow. He picks up a wine bottle Charlotte must have left on the table and holds it like a weapon. If only he kept hold of the damn knife. He disappears from sight, and we wait, holding our breaths. Charlotte still hasn’t come all the way up the stairs.

“I’m scared,” she sobs, reaching out to tug on my sleeve. I reach a hand out for her, but she shakes her head no. She doesn’t want to be any closer to the threat. A crash sounds, glass shatters, and my heart leaps. Charlotte takes off running down the stairs, screaming for me to come with her.

Fuck.

I turn and follow her down, gathering in a huddle at the bottom next to Mrs. Briggs front door.

“Cat Guy?” I call out. Movement sounds from above, a shuffling of feet and grunting, I peek up the stairwell core to see his body hit the railing and topple over it.

No.

It’s a dead drop down the centre. His body lands in front of us with a heavy thud, the bones crunching on impact before I can fully compute it’s happened.

“No, no, no!” Charlotte chokes out, ripping away from me and rushing toward the exit door, pushing through it and falling out into the street.

Cat Guy’s broken body lays at my feet. Blood splatter coats my flesh like someone played blow paints in front of me. A fluttering of news articles begin raining down the stairwell like horror confetti. Every inch of my body is trembling as I tilt my head upwards to see a flash of black material followed by more news clippings. My keepsakes.

Arms grab me from behind. I open my mouth to scream, but my voice gets trapped in my throat. “Come on!” a man’s voice booms into my ear, heaving me away from the scene. I’m hauled outside our building. A crowd has gathered. Charlotte sits on the curb sobbing. “He’s still in there.” I point inside urgently. “He’s still in there.” I’m getting louder, erratic.

“It’s okay. Police are on their way.”

Thud.

Blood. Blood. Blood.

Charlotte’s date? Where is he? Sickness rushes up my gullet. I turn and race to the gutter, throwing up acid. Tears burn my eyes. He’s back. Willis has come back for me.

 

 

Nine

 

 

My jaw aches from my clenched teeth. The buzzing and police lights bring out a sickness within me. I’m wrapped in an itchy blanket sitting in the back of an ambulance being treated for shock. Cat Guy’s body is eventually wheeled out in a black bag, and with it, memories of my mother’s murder.

Jack. Jack. Jack.

“Ms. West,” Detective Barnett nods his head toward me in greeting. I think he knew this was inevitable. They have a six sense about this kinda thing, right?

“I’d like to introduce you to a colleague of mine who has agreed to assist us with this investigation,” he tells me, turning and gesturing with his hand to the man coming toward me. “This is Detective Hernandez.”

My head whips up to the man in question. His hair is a little thinner now, but apart from that, he looks the same as he did over a decade ago. The first couple years after my mother’s death, he would visit my aunt’s. He started showing up less and less, and eventually, I forgot about him or he did me. “Ms. West.” He holds his hand out to me.

“I remember you,” I tell him, refusing the hand he offers.

“I wasn’t sure if you would.” He looks bashful between Barnett and me. “I’d like to ask you some questions if that’s okay,” he says, dropping his hand.

“Okay.”

“Do you think you’d be okay coming to the station?”

Shrugging off the blanket, I stand. “Sure.” Stepping down from the ambulance, I move toward the car he gestures to, slipping inside the backseat. I feel guilty of something. It’s wriggling around inside me like a virus. The side of my neck heats, and I just know before I turn my head Green Eyes is in the gathering crowd. I feel him. Our eyes meet, and the pulse in my wrists flicker, the old scars coming to life. Who are you? I want to scream it, shake him, slap him. It’s madness. Am I crazy?

“Where is Charlotte?” I croak out when Detective Hernandez gets into the car.

“She’s being taken by my colleague.”

Why are they separating us? Because this is about you, not her.

Pulling away from the curb, a tug in my heart makes me check behind me to see if Green Eyes is still there. It’s impossible to see from this distance. Settling into the leather seat, I allow my eyes to close.

Blood. Pain. Gore.

A jarring panic forces them to open. The lights from the world flicker past the window like fireworks. “You okay back there?” Detective Hernandez asks.

“Fine,” I lie. I’ll never be fine again.

 

 

The florescent lights hurt my eyes. The small square room is cold and dull. I’ve been waiting for ages. Just me, these four walls, a table…I wish I’d kept the itchy blanket now. I can’t breathe. I’m drowning, sinking deeper and deeper into nightmares. Finally, the door opens, and in walks Detective Hernandez holding a cup. “I hope black is okay.” He smiles, placing the cup of coffee in front of me. My hands wrap around it, stealing the heat. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting so long.” He places a folder on the table and inserts a tape into a recorder device.

“Am I in trouble?” I croak.

“Why would you think that?” He looks at me, intrigue alight in his brown eyes.

“I’m not a child anymore, Detective. I know you leaving me is what you do to criminals when you want them to sweat.”

Holding my gaze, he offers a half-smile. “That’s not what I’m doing with you. I was honestly gathering facts and information. I’m sorry you were left waiting.”

Silence.

“Where’s Charlotte?”

Looking to the door, he says, “She’s here too, helping us with our investigation.”

I rub a finger over my scars as the cold rinses through my body, settling like an iceberg in my chest. “Did you find him inside?”

“Who?” he steeples his fingers, and I want to reach across the table and slap him.

“The person who killed that man,” I choke out, pissed off I have to clarify. Games, testing me—why?

“We believe he may have fallen. There was no one in your apartment.”

The words hit me like he’s struck out and slapped me. How can they think that? We saw someone in the apartment.

“What about Charlotte’s date?”

Nodding his head, he flicks through a folder. “Trey Royce. We located him. He left your apartment just after the two of you. He went to meet up with someone.”

Shaking my head to try and clear the jumbled thoughts, I ask, “What about the note on the window?”

Shifting through some bags, he scoots a clear evidence bag across the table, a small sliver of paper sitting inside, one word written in what looks like blood. Polo!

“We’re having it tested.” My lungs seize, I reach for the cup to wash the lump expanding in my throat. Thud. Thud. Thud. “Everything okay? Does this mean something to you?”

“It’s…” I try to breathe, to get my throat to open. “It’s what Jack and I played.”

He jots the information down. “Would anyone else know that?”

Shaking my head, my mother forms in my brain, then pops like a bubble being poked. No. No one alive.

This is a targeted attack. That man was murdered because he was with us—me. “But you’re saying the guy fell?” I scoff.

Drumming his fingers on the folder, he jerks his head. “We go by the evidence presented, and there was no one else in the building at the time of his death apart from you and Miss...”

“Charlotte.”

“Yes. Miss Mead.”

How would they know that? Whoever was in there had plenty of time to slip out into the crowd before the police even got there. A thunderstorm builds in his eyes. He knows there’s so much more to this. Fate thickens the air, my past rushing into my present. He knows it. I know it.

“Is this him? Willis? Did he kill Abigail? That’s why you’re involved, right?” I clench my jaw. Abandoning the coffee, I fold my arms.

Silence. Our eyes clash, holding, daring.

“I’m going to level with you,” he finally says, letting out an exasperated sigh. “There are similarities to Willis’s MO, so I’m here to make sure we cover everything and catch whoever is doing this.”

Opening his folder, he pulls out a plastic bag with some paper clippings inside, blood coating the paper. “Do you recognize these?” he asks, sliding them over to me.

My eyes bleed with the ink. Newspaper clippings—the ones I kept and read over and over. He tips them onto the table, and they scatter, static pinning them to the wood. I finger through them, my heart racing, eyes burning.

 

May 31st, 2003

Breaking story

Prison Break

 

 

Convicted serial killer Willis Langford, known as the Hollywell Slayer, is believed to be amongst the three escapees of a prison bus that crashed earlier today. A prison bus, transporting thirteen convicts to a new secure prison, Ironport, collided with an oncoming truck, killing three and injuring eleven. Amongst the wounded were four correctional officers who were on board at the time of the incident.

A manhunt is underway to apprehend the men at large.

 

 

I tap my finger on the old clipping. “This is your fault.” Resentment overcomes me. “Why? Why not have more patrol cars following the transfer? Have a better secure way to transfer criminals of his magnitude?” I almost choke on the words, anger manifesting the fear and sorrow into rage, disappointment, and resentment.

“You’re right. We failed you and the rest of his victims by allowing him to escape custody.” Terror for what those poor girls went through burrows deep into the marrow of my bones, growing roots, binding us forever. Six victims’ bodies found, one still alive, but they believe he could have killed up to ten. “But it’s too late for that. I can’t go back in time,” he adds.

What would he do differently?

I thumb through more reports. I can state most of these articles from memory. I’ve researched them over and over. Obsessed.

Willis took a deal for a confession. The government didn’t want to put the victims’ families through a trial. He received ninety-nine consecutive years for each case without the possibility of parole.

He served eight of those years before fate changed everything. I sometimes wonder if there is a god. There are thousands of criminals transported across the country daily, yet it was his bus that crashed. Him who survived. Him who escaped.

I swipe to the next article—the one that would bring a monster to our door.

 

Still at large, Willis Langford proves his ability to stay under the radar as the search for the missing Portland boy continues with little to no leads. Jack Peters, dubbed Portland’s Lost Boy, is hoped to be alive. Vigils have been held, and the police ask the public to keep praying for his safe return.

Any information or sightings can be reported here.

0800-090-Info

 

 

They found the other two escapees within a day. Willis was much more calculated than those men. He’s eluded capture for fourteen years, suspected to have killed four more girls while on the run.

Jessica Herbert.

Anne Rivers.

Hannah May.

The last supposed victim linked to him was over a decade ago.

Sarah Gilbert.

All his victims had a gruesome marker. They were all missing their little finger on their right hand, which became known as Langford’s signature back in the nineties.

Thinking about him, what he did to them, is relentless in my chaotic mind, but the question that haunts me most: where was Jack while he was out killing these women? Where is Jack now?

This can’t be Willis Langford. No deaths have been linked to him in over a decade. But that doesn’t stop my mind from racing with what-ifs. It’s too much of a coincidence.

“Do you think Jack’s still alive?” I ask, my heart stopping mid thud as I watch his body language for a lie.

“I do.” He nods, conviction in his gaze when he holds mine. “Would you tell me if he made contact with you?” he asks.

“What? You think he would—will?” Hope blooms in my chest.

“I’m not sure. After the trauma of his abduction and captivity, he may not remember you, but if he does, he’s a man now, your age.”

“His birthday is before mine. He’s almost a year older than me.” I place a hand over my chest to stop the skin from tearing from the wild beating of my heart.

“You remember him well?” He studies me, surprise in his tone. I almost laugh at that question. Jack lives inside me. “Of course. We were best friends.”

“You were so young, Lizzy, it would be natural for you to have a patchy memory of that time.” The remark grates on my nerves.

“I have perfect clarity of ‘that time,’ Detective,” I grunt, throwing myself backward in my chair. I relive it over and over.

“I didn’t mean to offend you.” He shakes his head in regret.

“My memories are all I have.” I close my eyes briefly, the heavy weight in my chest compressing.

“Can you tell me how you knew the victim in your apartment tonight?”

No. Jerking a shoulder, I say, “I didn’t know him. He was from the neighboring building.”

His gaze drills into me, probing. “I see. So, he didn’t live in your building? Do you know why he was there?”

Sighing, I shake my head. “He was coming to help us. We saw someone in our apartment from the building opposite.”

This gives him pause. He looks over his file. “What were you doing over there?”

Exhaling, I hold in the rant I want to let free and answer his question. “We were checking on our neighbor across the block. We hadn’t seen her in a few days, and we were worried.”

Picking up a pen, he twists it through his fingers. “Did you report your concerns?”

“I spoke to your partner about it…or Charlotte did. Anyway, it turns out she’s just out of town.” I place both palms on the table.

“You don’t seem too sure?” He picks away at me like he knows me.

“There was a rose,” I swallow past the stone in my throat. “On the anniversary of my mother’s death, I received a black rose with no sender information.”

Sympathy overcomes his face. “Did it have any information on where it came from? What shop? Was it hand delivered?”

I think back to the night I opened the rose. It had nothing. “It was left at my work.” I shrug. “I placed a black rose on my mother’s coffee—and Jack’s mother’s. Only someone at the funeral would know that.”

“What does this have to do with your neighbor?” he sounds interested now, the detective in him piqued.

Licking my dry lips, I lean toward him. “I saw it in her window.”

“The same one as yours?”

“I don’t know. Hers seemed fresh, but it looked like it had blood on a petal.” He jots all this down on his notepad.

“Why now? Why would Willis even bother with me?” I ask, desperate for answers. It has to be him. Who else is there?

“We’re not sure this is even him. Let’s not jump to conclusions just yet.”

He’s not the one with bodies dropping at his feet. “Humor me.”

Gathering the news clippings, he doesn’t look at me as he says, “He’s a psychotic serial killer. They don’t have logical reasons. It could be that he sees you as a loose end. Psychopaths who fixate on someone or something usually become obsessed with it. It’s what makes them so dangerous. If this is Willis, we will know soon enough.”

A cold river of fear snakes up my spine. When I’m dead?

“You have no clue where he is, do you?” I snort, amusement drumming through me at the absurdity of it all. “If you’re not sure it’s him, who else could it be?”

“Honestly? I’m hoping forensics is going to help me with that. We believe this may be linked to another case.”

“Really? Another murder?”

“One that didn’t receive as much attention but had similar markers.”

“Here in town?”

“No, just outside of town. A sex worker.”

“Oh god, so serial killer?”

“Lizzy, we’re not jumping to any conclusions. Let me do my job,” he states, matter-of-factly.

“And what about Charlotte and me? Do we just wait around for his next game?” I stand, leaning my hands on the table, my eyes cold and accusatory.

“I’m going to have one of the officers here checking in with you and patrolling your street.”

“What about our apartment?” I snap.

“You won’t be able to go back there until forensics clears the place. Maybe a couple more hours—a day at most.” He pushes out from the table and stands, and I lean away. “Do you have someone you can stay with?” My aunt flashes through my mind, making me cringe. She will drive me bat shit crazy fawning over me like I’m a wounded butterfly.

“I can figure something out,” I mumble through tight lips.

“Thank you for coming in. I’m going to find whoever is doing this. I promise I’m going to keep you safe.” He reaches across the space between us, placing a hand on my shoulder, making the skin beneath it burn.

Swiping his hand off, I grind out, “Like you did my mother?” He flinches at the low blow meant to wound him. “I don’t need your promises, Detective.”

When he walks me through the corridor, my feet falter and my mouth pops open. Green Eyes. The breath flees my lungs as he passes me, his eyes boring into me, the back of his hand brushing mine. No words are exchanged as an officer invites him inside a room.

“Do you know him?” I ask Detective Hernandez, my gaze riveted.

“No. Do you?” he counters, an inquisitive gleam in his eyes.

“No.” It’s not a lie. I don’t actually know him. But I want to.

 

 

Ten

 

 

Stephan’s car almost skids to a stop in front of me as I pace outside the station. Jumping out, he races toward me.

“Are you okay?” He checks me over like he expects to find an injury.

“I’ll be fine.” I shake my head, pushing my hands into my pockets. “I’m just waiting for Charlotte. Do you mind waiting?”

Concern creases his brow. “Of course not. What the hell happened?”

Taking a step toward a bench to avoid his eyes, I say, “I don’t really want to talk about it tonight.”

“You want to wait in the car? It’s freezing,” he offers, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. I hadn’t noticed how cold it had gotten. I feel numb.

“Sure.” Just as I step off the curb, the reception doors open, and Charlotte walks through. I run to her, folding her in my arms. Tears cascade down her cheeks as she sobs. Her embrace pinches the skin on my back, but I don’t let go. “I’m so sorry, Char.”

“You didn’t know what was going to happen.” She sniffles, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her top as she pulls away.

“I should have just let you call the police. That guy would still be alive.”

“Lee,” she says, her voice broken.

“What?”

“His name was Lee.” Her eyes are red-rimmed, tears glistening. “The guy they say fell,” she elaborates. Lee. I add his name to the ones etched in my brain.

“Should we get out of here?” Stephan asks, looking at some questionable people hanging around, no doubt waiting for their friends to get out of jail.

“Where are we going to go?” Charlotte asks, wrapping her arms around her stomach.

“I don’t suppose you have a spare room?” I raise a brow in Stephan’s direction, only half-joking.

“I can put you guys up in a hotel for a few nights. I know the manager,” he offers with a concerned impatience.

“Really?” I breathe, relieved I don’t have to rely on my aunt.

“Sure. Come on,” he grunts, already moving toward his car.

 

 

The hotel is more a motel, dingy and small, and there’s a musky smell. Probably why he could get us the room. Charlotte doesn’t pay it any attention. Shucking off her boots and jacket, she climbs beneath the duvet.

I shoot a quick thank you text to Stephan for all his help, then slip my phone onto the bedside table, knowing the battery will be dead before he can reply.

I keep my shoes on and lay on top of the duvet, thinking about everything that’s happened. Charlotte's eyes shine with tears. “The detective asked me about him,” she croaks. “About Jack.” She swipes at her disheveled hair cobwebbing her face.

Adrenaline rushes through my veins. My head throbs, my pulse rushing all the blood too fast. “Don’t, Char.” Polo, polo, polo.

“Who was he to you, Liz?”

Boom. Boom. Boom.

“Please don’t.”

“Just tell me,” she pushes.

“Jack was my best friend,” I blurt out. It feels so good to say those words out loud. The weight on my chest becomes slightly lighter.

“You know about Jack,” I lie, trying to get her to drop it. She hears my nightmares.

Sighing, she rolls onto her back, fixating on a black smudge on the ceiling. “I don’t know anything because you won’t tell me.”

Clutching the duvet in my fist to protect my palms, I let the memories wash through me. Maybe I owe her information. If this is all happening because of me—because of who I am—who I knew… “We were so young,” I sigh, “but we had a connection so strong. We relied on each other. Needed to be in each other’s presence.” We needed each other, like flowers need the sun. Her hand reaches across the space between us, taking mine, untangling it from the duvet, and entwining our fingers.

“Everyone expects me to forget him—we were so young—but I can’t. He was my best friend. The memories of him call out to me, live within me. They’re a part of me.”

“You still miss him?”

I look to her, pain pouring from my eyes. “I’ll always miss him—always be living in his echo.” Pulling my hand from hers, I turn on my side, willing sleep to take me. Silence lingers until she speaks again, soaking me in the guilt of being so lost. Jack wasn’t the only one who became lost that day—I was stolen too.

“I know you’ve been through something horrible and what you allow yourself to tell me is just the tip of the iceberg, but you can’t drown in the muddy water of your past, Liz. You’ve got to let people in. I love you. Stephan loves you. This coldness you throw out will push people away. Let us love you.”

Her words chip away at my wall, and silent tears fall, soaking into the crappy pillow. Been through something horrible? Is that all it is?

“Night, Char. I know you say I’m cold, but I love you too.”

 

 

Eleven

 

 

Waking with a stiff neck my broken nails attempt to scratch my itching skin, flinching at the red welts risen there, no doubt from being eaten by bed bugs all night. Shuddering I go to the bathroom and relieve my bladder, hovering over the seat so I don’t catch anything from it. My reflection irks me when I catch a glimpse of myself while washing my hands. Almost catatonic like I find myself staring at the pale complexion in the mirror. Dark half-moons sit under my eyes. The yellow, dull light flickers on and off, a buzzing sound coming from the bulb. Trying to summon the courage to face the day, I wake Charlotte. “We should see if we can go back to our apartment today. We need clothes. We have school and work.”

Wiping the sleep from her eyes, she stretches her limbs and grabs her cellphone. “It’s six a.m.” She winces.

“I know. Do you think it’s shitty of me to call Stephan for a ride?”

“I think it’s shitty of you to wake me up at six a.m.,” she scoffs, handing me her phone. “Call him.”

 

Handing Charlotte a breakfast bar from the vending machine, I unwrap my own and gag as the dry oats stick to the roof of my mouth. The thick tar coffee burns my gums as I attempt to wash the breakfast away.

Throwing them both in the trash, I grab Charlotte’s before she can bite hers.

“Hey!” she screeches, reaching for it.

“Trust me.” I shudder.

Stephan’s car pulls up, and Charlotte races to take the front seat.

“Hey.” He smiles at me in the rearview mirror as I climb in the back.

“Hey. Thanks again for the room.” I try to smile back, but my face feels frozen in a permanent glower.

“It reminded me of my prom night.” Charlotte sighs. It only took her five hours of sleep to bounce back to the Charlotte we know and love.

Ignoring that statement, Stephan asks me, “Where to?”

“Our apartment, please.”

“Have the police contacted you?” he asks, turning over the engine.

“No.” I play with the sleeves of my top, a pain in my stomach.

The ride is silent, a doom looming in the air, the darkness of what we’ve witnessed clouding all thoughts and conversations.

 

 

“It’s like it never happened,” Charlotte breathes, looking at the apartment building. The tape is gone. No cop cars or shining lights. No crowds gathered.

We get out of the car and Stephan comes around, kicking dirt at his feet. “You want me to come up with you?”

I play with my jacket pocket, everything coming to a head and leaving me fatigued. “Liz,” he murmurs, stealing the space between us and wrapping his arms around me. “I know it’s been a rough night. You should go up, get some rest, and don’t let this taint your apartment.” I find myself rigid in his embrace. I hate myself for it, but no matter how much I try to enjoy the comfort he selflessly offers, I can’t. Charlotte's words ring through my mind. This coldness you throw out will push people away. I am cold.

“Thanks again for everything,” I tell him, kissing his cheek and taking Charlotte's hand. Her eyes dart to where we’re connected, tears brimming “Ready?” I ask her.

“Ready.

Pulling the door open, the smell of bleach is so strong, my eyes burn. There’s no trace of what happened—only the pieces of memory flickering like a movie in my mind’s eye. Mrs. Brigg’s door creaks open, then slams shut before we can say anything. I guess we’re not going to be having any bonding experience over this. Taking the stairs one at a time, our breathing grows heavy with anticipation. Charlotte's feet drag when we reach our floor, her hand grabbing the railing, knuckles turning white. “You don’t need to be the brave one,” I assure her. “I’ll go in first.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “We’ll do it together.”

Smiling, I raise our joined hands. “Together.”

Pushing inside a cold bite to the air causes a shiver and goosebumps to pepper my flesh. Scanning the room for what, I’m not sure, what did I expect? It’s like nothing happened here. Charlottes hand slips from mine as she searches the place. There’s an overturned lamp, and the couch has been pushed out of place, but apart from that, everything looks the same.

“Lizzy…” Charlotte's frantic tone turns my stomach. I move toward her voice down the hall to our rooms, “The bottle,” she croaks.

The wine bottle Lee picked up when coming inside is smashed in the doorway of my room. “I’ll get the dustpan and brush.” I ignore the implication that the savage who killed him had been waiting in my room. Sweeping up the mess, I pour it into a box and leave it on the table, then turn back to Charlotte, who’s following me around the apartment like a child. “I’m going to shower and then crash for an hour,” I tell her, peeling off my clothes.

“Can you leave the door open?” She picks at her nails, her eyes on the floor.

“If this is too soon, we can spend another night at the hotel,” I tell her, dreading the thought.

“No.” She waves her hand. “I just…can you leave the door open?”

“Sure.”

Dark waves come crashing over me as I stand beneath the spray of the shower, my consciousness trying to slip away, splintering from reality as images plague my mind. I need to sleep, to shut it all out. A foul smell wafts up from the drain, making me gag. There must be a blockage. Tomorrow’s problem.

 

 

Twelve

 

 

It feels wrong sleeping in my room. The idea that Willis was in here, invading more of my life, makes me want to scream. The toxic fear burrows beneath my skin, terrifying, polluting, claiming. I don’t care what the detective says, it has to be Willis. Everything feels so personal, calculated. Sitting up, I drag my old box between my legs and lift the lid, finding the remnants of my newspaper clippings. The police only took the ones scattered on Lee’s body. Reaching inside, my eyes close. It feels like my world is on fire and I’m choking in the smoke at the center of it all.

The body of missing teenager, Emma Hartley, was found after a grueling, fourteen-day search.

A routine traffic stop ended with a disturbing discovery when an officer, Markus James, pulled over a white Chevy Crusader.

The Chevy Crusader was being driven after dark without lights on.

What was thought to be a routine ticket stop turned out to be the break in a case plaguing the local police and the small town of Hollywell.

The body of the teen was found in the bed of the truck with another victim believed to be missing teen, Tasha Presley but not confirmed due to her age and to protect her identity still alive in the back seat.

The cause of death has not been made public at this time, but the driver, Mr. Langford, is being held on suspicion of abduction, sexual assault, and murder.

It has not yet been made clear whether this death is in anyway connected to the discovery of the body belonging to Jessica Lee found in the marshlands on September 5th.

 

 

Shoving the clipping back in the box, I throw myself down on the bed. Banging followed by a gentle humming vibrates through the ceiling, oddly soothing me.

 

 

Charlotte is sitting at the small table when I wake up a couple hours later. She looks sheepish as she watches me. “I looked him up,” she announces. “The Willis guy—he kidnapped his son Jack.”

Jack.

I hate Willis’s name on her tongue. She should never have to speak his name, know what he did—know the evil inside him. She turns her laptop to show the news article she’s been looking at.

 

Amber Alert

Missing

Jack Peters

Age: 8 years old

Height: 4’1

Weight: 68 LBS

Hair: Brown

Eyes: Green

Missing from Portland, TN

Call 1-800-090-FIND

Believed to be in serious danger.

Suspected kidnapping.

Suspect highly dangerous. If seen, do not approach.

 

 

“If this is him, Lizzy, you need to tell me everything.” There’s a desperate plea in her voice.

Filling a glass with water, I take the seat opposite her, an ache coursing through me.

“I was there. Willis…” Closing my eyes, I try again. “Willis killed our mothers, then stole my best friend right from in front of me.” I want to swallow the words back as soon as they leave my lips, but also feel like I can take a breath that isn’t crippling.

“Your mom…” she whispers. My mind races with the memory of the last time I saw her.

Crimson liquid all around her. “Mama?”

“She was murdered?” God, it’s painful. Still, after all these years, her memory cuts into me, bleeding me out.

“Damn, Liz, you’ve never spoken about your past before.” She closes her laptop, swiping away a tear. I’ve never told her because we weren’t supposed to be friends. We were thrown together out of circumstance. It made sense to share an apartment and half the rent, but that’s all it was.

“It’s not something I advertise.” I half-laugh, but there’s no humor there, just sadness. Sipping the water, I watch her as she watches me.

“I can stay home tonight. We can have a girl’s night?” she offers.

I don’t do girl’s nights. “No,” I shudder internally. “I’ll be fine. I just want to sleep some more.”

“Thank you for telling me. I know it wasn’t easy for you. God, Liz, do you really think this is him?”

Exhaling, I shrug. “Cops say Lee fell.”

“And the girl from your class?”

“Could be a coincidence,” I say, not believing my own words, but not wanting her to be afraid to be around me. I’ve never allowed myself to admit it, but I need her. I think back to the detective mentioning another woman. “Can I borrow your laptop?”

“Of course.” She pushes it toward me, then stands and walks around behind me, placing a hand on my shoulder. “This shit is why you call out for him in your sleep. I wish you had told me sooner—helped me understand.”

Our tainted history haunts my waking hours as well. Echoes of the pain, the torment, my mother's cries, my silent sorrow. How I wished I could go back and change it all. How I wish I’d never let go of Jack’s hand. “I know. I’m sorry. It was a long time ago, but it’s still painful to think about let alone tell people.” I stroke at the scars on my palms.

“I’m not people, Liz. I’m your best friend,” she murmurs. She’s right, and maybe that’s why it’s so hard to tell her, because in order to allow her to be my best friend, I have to let a piece of Jack go.

“I know. Thank you for sticking by me. I know I’m not easy.”

“Well,…” she winks, “we can’t both be.” I appreciate her lightening the mood even at her own expense. “You want me to ring Jeff and tell him you’re not coming in today?”

Smiling, I shake my head. “No. I want to work. It helps keep me busy.”

 

 

Thirteen

 

 

Work hours have never gone so slow. The shop is dead, and despite telling Charlotte the opposite, I don’t want to be here. My thoughts keep going back to the search results for suspicious deaths in the past few months. A woman at her own home was found with stab wounds, but that’s all I could uncover. Is she the street worker, or is there more than one?

“Your admirer is back.” Jeff rolls his eyes and points with the pen he’s using to do the crossword from yesterday’s paper. He had offered to give both Charlotte and I a day off after what happened, but insisted he would need to deduct from our wages to pay someone else to cover our shifts if we did. Grade A asshole.

“How do you know about him?” I wipe down the counter, my heart racing.

“Who doesn’t? He’s a weirdo who comes in looking for you.”

I bark out a laugh. “You’re calling someone weird?”

“What the hell does that mean?” he grumbles.

Energy races up my spine and tingles over my neck as I follow to where he pointed with his pen. Warmth floods through me. “What do you mean he comes in looking for me?” I ask, letting my hair fall over my face so I can hide the blush creeping over my cheeks.

Grunting, he says, “When you’re not on shift, he doesn’t stay. Weirdo.”

“Anything in there about Lee or Abigail?” I ask, pulling off my apron and jerking my chin to the paper he’s holding to take his focus away from Green Eyes.

“Nothing new. If it is that Hollywell Slayer, I doubt they’ll catch him. He’s been running too long, outsmarting the police this entire time. They probably thought he was dead.”

Thud. Thud. Thud.

“I’m done,” I tell him, grabbing my coat and purse.

“What, do you want a medal? Bye.” He shoos me away with disinterest. Jerk.

Biting my lip as nerves bounce around my stomach, I walk up to Green Eyes’ table. “Are you going to tell me your name?” I ask straight up with a confidence I don’t usually possess. A heavy silence hangs between us, his gaze on mine with such intensity shining in his eyes, I feel a rush of need pulse through me.

“When you’re ready to hear it,” He swipes out his tongue to dampen his bottom lip. What the hell does that even mean? I give him a couple more seconds. When he doesn’t say more, I turn and leave.

Pulling on my coat, I wrap a scarf around my neck and walk to the door, pushing out into the brisk night air. I see his green eyes on me through the window, but I don’t have time for games. There’s already someone out there moving me around a board.

When I get to our apartment building, it takes me a few seconds to be able to go inside, Lee’s death plagues me, haunting the stairway. Just breathe. One, two, three…

Racing up the stairs as fast as I can, I barge into our apartment like the devil is chasing me. “Charlotte,” I call out.

“In my room,” she calls back.

My stomach rumbles, and I curse myself for not grabbing a snack from work. I have around nine dollars to my name and a bag full of laundry that needs washed.

“The front door was unlocked.”

“Was it?” She grimaces. “Oops.”

Oops? Fuck.

“Do you need anything washed?” I huff out as she continues holding up different dresses against her body, undecided on which one to wear.

Sniggering, she says, “My soul?” She’s in good spirits, which is a relief. I’d worried the trauma was going to change her in some way. Like it has me. But nope, still leaving the door unlocked and her legs open. Guilt for my thoughts hits me immediately. She has her way of dealing, and I have mine—avoidance.

“How was your day?” I ask, moving around the apartment, collecting up the laundry.

“I didn’t lock myself in my room all day if that’s what you’re asking.” She winks.

“So better than mine?” I smile, looking briefly to the neighbor's window. Who will feed her cats now that Lee is gone? “Do you want to come with me to do laundry?”

“Oh, as appealing as that sounds, I’m going to pass.” She pulls a duh face.

“Lock the door behind me,” I warn her.

“I have someone coming over.”

I spin, dropping the laundry bag to glare at her, my mouth unhinged. “From that dating app?” My tone is accusatory and nasty. I shake my head and try to sound less judgey, “I don’t think we should be inviting people we don’t know over right now, Char.”

“I do know him.” She pouts.

“Who is it?” I raise a brow.

“A friend.” She narrows her gaze on me.

“What’s his name?”

“Tim.”

“Tim what?”

Huffing, she opens the door, picks up my laundry bag, and shoves it against my chest. “Bye, Liz.”

 

 

I look around and see I’m alone.

The machines whirr and slosh the clothes around, and my heart begins to pound to the hum of the drum. It’s so dead on the streets, it’s almost eerie, like I stepped into a horror movie and Pennywise is going to appear from one of the washers not in use. I should have waited and forced Charlotte to come with me, but I’m running out of clean underwear and her rule of turning them inside out is just not something I can get on board with.

Checking my phone, I hover my finger over Stephan’s name but decide against calling him. He’s already done enough. I can’t just use him for rides when I have no desire to invite him up to the apartment and indulge in small talk. The door squeals open, nearly giving me a heart attack. Placing a hand to my chest, I suck in a breath. Green Eyes stop in the entryway, his brow dropping. “Hey?” he says, a question in his tone. Can this be a coincidence?

“What are you doing here?” I spew out.

Pointing behind me to the lost property box, he says, “I think I left my keys here earlier today.”

My pulse roars in my ear as he walks toward me. A mix of excitement and fear washes through me at his approach, an undeniable pull, but also a neon warning sign flashing in my mind. There’s a killer out there. Willis or someone else?

Picking up the lost property box, he roots around, then holds up a set of keys, amusement lifting his plump lips into a lopsided smile. He’s so beautiful. “I’d lose my head if it wasn’t screwed on.” He jerks his shoulder. “You here alone?” he adds, looking around the empty shop.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

“It’s a public building. Technically, anyone can just come in,” I remind him defensively, a phantom weight sitting on my chest.

Taking a step toward me forces me to take a step back. Pain etches into his features. “Are you afraid of me?”

“I don’t know you.” I rush out, even though my mind screams, “Yes, you do.” The atmosphere thickens around us, stealing my composure.

“That’s not true, and I think you know that.” His words are said with such intensity and emotion, tears spring in my eyes. My heartbeat becomes erratic, making my head spin. “What are you thinking about?” he asks, his voice a raspy tone that delights me in parts that haven’t been touched in a really long time. Is this normal? To feel such a quick connection with someone and fear them all in the same breath?

“I was just wondering why I haven’t seen you around before, and then suddenly, you’re everywhere I look.”

He appears taken aback by that statement and furrows his brow. “I haven’t lived here long. I actually came here for work.”

“Oh,” I breathe, feeling guilty for bringing it up and stupid for acting like a frigid, scared freak. Maybe it is purely coincidental.

A beeper signals the dryer has finished its cycle. He jumps forward to help me unload the clothes into my bag, and I redden when he pulls out a pair of my panties. It doesn’t affect him, or if it does, he doesn’t show it. He just attempts to fold them, and I turn eight shades of red. When the machine is empty, he picks up my bag and slings it over his shoulder. “I’ll walk you home.”

“No, it’s fine.” I drop my eyes to the ground, feeling stupid for not wanting to let him walk me home. No matter how much lustful madness is coursing through me, he’s still a stranger. Is he? I take the bag and half-heartedly wave goodbye, pushing out into the night air. Shivering, I sigh. It’s colder than it was earlier. I’m regretting my choice of clothes. This jacket is too thin for this weather. The door opens again behind me. “You sure you don’t want me to walk you? It’s not really safe to be walking around on your own.”

“I’m aware of that, but I’ll be fine, thank you.” I shake my head, knowing I’m being foolish, and begin the walk home with the moonlight for company.

My footfalls tap against the concrete, and I try to ignore the shadows seeping out from every alley and doorway. I should have taken him up on his offer, but what if something like what happened with Lee happens to him because of me? I can’t live with more blood on my hands. I’m not safe to be around. The darkness around me suddenly closes in. I feel exposed and vulnerable, and I hate Willis for making me afraid again. It took a long time to learn to breathe again after everything that happened. My aunt tried to lead me into the light, but she was as trapped in the darkness as I was. She lost Mom too.

Soft pellets of rain begin to patter down on me, and I cuss under my breath. Every movement sends my heart skittering when I start to think about the girl who was murdered and how much she resembled me, the figure watching us from our own apartment window when we went to check on the neighbor. I wonder if the cats are hungry, if they have enough to see them through until their owner comes home.

I detour from my route, hurrying toward a nearby shop, the florescent lights offering safety from the darkness outside. Counting my change, I cringe. Nearly two dollars. I find the cheap tuna on the back of a shelf and huddle to the checkout.

When I make it to the apartment building Lee will never return to, sickness churns my stomach. Asking Charlotte to come with me is a no go, so I guess it’s on me.

Trying the handle, my heart skips seeing the latch broken. Anyone can just walk right inside this building. Nerves jump around inside me like grasshoppers. What if her apartment door has been locked now? I reach Lee’s floor, my heart racing. What will the woman think when she comes home to learn Lee’s dead? My teeth sink into my bottom lip, piercing the skin and drawing blood when I see her door ajar. Is she home? Should I knock? Raising my hand, I go to rap my knuckles, but the door gives way, opening up. A silhouette stands there, a crooked brow frowning at me. “Lizzy?”

“Detective Hernandez,” I breathe, clutching the strap of my laundry bag.

“What are you doing here?” we say in unison. I hold the can of tuna and shrug. Opening it, I place it down by the door. “I was worried about the cats. Lee, the man who died, was supposed to be checking in to feed them.”

“Right.” He nods. “I’ll call animal control.”

“Why? Isn’t the woman who lives here going to be home soon?”

He looks over his shoulder into the apartment, then steps out onto the landing, pulling the door closed. “Actually, we’re having trouble locating her.”

Thud. Thud. Thud.

“I thought she was away on a business trip?” Is it getting hot? My cheeks burn as my head swirls.

“Supposedly, but the hotel she booked doesn’t have it on their system that she ever checked in.”

Why is he being so forthcoming with information? “Do you think something happened to her?”

“I’m hoping not.”

My mind races. “What about the blood? On the petal.”

“I was going to come to see you about that. The sample came back with a match.”

Wow, this is it. It’s Willis. I know it.

“Who?” I say forcefully, refraining from reaching out and shaking him for the answer.

“You,” he says, studying me for a reaction.

Gasping, I step back, darkness closing in, threatening to consume. What? It can’t be. “How?” He reaches for my hand, turning my palm up. Tiny scabs litter my flesh from me re-opening old scars over and over. I have to go. I tug my hand free and run down the stairs, spilling into the street, almost falling to the ground. I still, grasping for air. Something moves behind me, so I dart toward my building without looking to see who or what it is. Only feet from my building, I break into a stride and grab the handle as my heart warns it’s about to burst from my chest. Someone reaches out for the handle at the same time, and I screech, spinning to face them with my hands out in a defensive manner, the laundry bag still in my grip. Green Eyes? What the hell? He steps back and holds his hands up in surrender. My nerves are fried, and my heart is in my mouth. “Are you following me?” I accuse, my breath ragged.

“No,” he answers, matter-of-factly.

Detective Hernandez watches us from the front of the other building, then walks toward us. “Everything okay?”

“Fine.” I shake my head in dismissal, wanting to be away from him—from everyone.

“Mr. Clark,” Hernandez says, turning his attention on Green Eyes. Mr. Clark?

“All good, Detective.” His tone is calm, soft.

“Are you going inside?” Hernandez asks.

“Yes,” both Mr. Clark and I say at the same time. I dart my gaze to his, which is already focused on me. He moves forward again, and I move out of the way, allowing him to open the door for us. The door slams behind us, Detective Hernandez watching through the glass panel.

As we take the stairs, my cheeks flame and a million-questions zip through my brain. “So, Mr. Clark?” I ask, my voice shaky. “That’s your name?”

“One of.” He smiles, and it’s breathtaking and haunting all at once.

“What does that even mean?” I scoff.

The pulse in his neck bulges as he ponders my question. “It means sometimes there’s a more complicated answer and people aren’t ready to hear it.”

“Am I people?” I slow as we reach my floor. There’s an energy when we’re together that’s impossible to deny, but why, how?

“You’re the one person who makes who I am terrifying to me,” he says, his expression etched with pain and need. “So, for now you can call me Clark.”

My brows crash together. He’s speaking in riddles. “I’m done with this. You can go now,” I croak, fear of what’s happening assailing every part of me. I know you.

“I was waiting for the right moment,” he calls out to me as I search for my key.

“Right time for what?” I ask, exasperated.

A wisp of air flees my lungs as his scent invades my senses. He’s so close, pushing against me, pinning me to the railing, his face hovering above mine, so close, I can taste his breath. His body melds to mine, engulfing me. So broad and tall. Strong hands grasp my cheeks, so gentle, it’s a beautiful agony. Thick, plump lips brush over mine, tightening my core. What the hell is happening? I both want to pull him closer and push him away, afraid of what this could lead to, who he is, what this means. It’s madness. My body dissolves against him as his tongue probes my lips, parting them. I give in to the sensation and grasp him by the lapels, pulling him into me, starved for affection, contact. The kiss turns desperate and messy, our tongues dueling, bodies trying to get closer. I’ve never felt this need before. It’s overwhelming. He pulls away abruptly, and I make a mewling sound.

We’re both breathless. I mourn the loss of his mouth on mine. What the hell was that? I feel drunk, giddy with a million emotions, and incredibly insane. Who does this shit? I thought he was stalking me not a minute ago, and now I’m making out with him like a…a…Charlotte. Like a Charlotte.

“I have to go,” I announce, my finger to my lips. They still vibrate from his touch. I fumble for my keys but can’t find them, so I pound on the door. “Charlotte, open the freaking door!” Looking back over my shoulder at him still standing there, I say, “You can go now.” Every part of me is on fire. “Charlotte,” I cry out. “Open the damn door.”

“Liz…” he says, my name and my insides vault. Did I tell him my name?

“Charlotte.” I’m almost crying, but have no idea why. My calls go unanswered, and I continue to search for my keys. Just as my hand grasps them, his hand comes down on my shoulder, making me twist to shrug him off.

“Leave now,” I snap.

“I live here,” he says with a wide, probing gaze, pointing upstairs. My mouth drops and eyes expand as I follow his finger. Oh my god. He’s the new neighbor. Suddenly, my door opens, and I stumble backward inside the apartment. Two strong hands catch my fall. Nervous energy buzzes in my veins.

“What the fuck?” Charlotte screeches

Charlotte and Paul, the bakery boy, both naked, stand there, gaping at me. “Lizzy, what the fuck?” she barks again. She’s covered in bruises, and so is Paul. They look like they’ve been ten rounds, and not the sexy kind. “We thought you were being murdered!” she says, making no attempt to cover herself up. Paul has his junk cupped in his hands, like I haven’t already got the image imprinted in my brain. He looks sheepish, not making eye contact.

“I’m sorry.” I gasp for breath, acutely aware Mr. Clark still has his hands clutching my arms. “This is the new neighbor,” I announce, tugging myself from his hold.

“The coffee shop guy?” Charlotte appraises him with her slutty eyes, but his eyes remain on me.

“Paul, the delivery guy?” I quirk a brow. “Not Tim?” I scoff.

“I didn’t want to be alone,” she grinds out. “I’m not like you, Liz. This isn’t second nature for me.” That hurts more than I’ll ever be able to convey to her, so I turn and walk straight to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me. A few minutes later, I hear footfalls above.

“Why didn’t you tell me you live here?” I call out, pissed he’s been lurking around all mysterious when he lives above me. Is the guy I hear and think about? Crap. Closing my eyes, I try to get my breathing under control. One, two, three… I’m spiraling. Four, five, six…

The bed above me squeaks from the strain of his weight. My chest blooms as a pit grows in my stomach. Do I know him? Yes, you feel it in the essence of your soul.

 

 

Fourteen

 

 

Liz Wiz… Liz Wiz… Liz Wiz…

I jolt awake, sitting upright and reaching out, grasping air. My lost boy haunted my dreams last night. Guilt for what happened in the hallway burrowed deep and seeped out into my sleeping consciousness. My lips still feel bruised, and there’s this swirling in my gut I can’t control. I wish I didn’t have to dream...or could become the architect of them.

I stare up at the ceiling, picturing Green Eyes, aka Clark, lying right above me. Are his lips still vibrating too?

“You going to stop being a brat?” Charlotte calls through the door to my room.

Getting up, I pull open my door to her pouting face. “You’re an ass,” I scold.

“You’re sensitive.” She bops me on the nose.

“That’s not an insult, and please don’t touch me with those fingers.” I shudder.

Tilting her head back, she says, “Huh, okay, you’re a bitch.”

I flip her a finger and push past her to pee. “Is Paul gone?”

She follows me into the bathroom and begins brushing her teeth. “Yeah. No sleepovers. What’s the deal with sexy face being the new neighbor?” She rolls her eyes to the back of her head and makes a scene of deep throating her toothbrush.

“He kissed me,” I announce, pulling my panties up and flushing.

“What the fuck?” she exclaims, spitting in the sink and gaping at me, toothpaste foam dripping.

Nudging her out the way with my hip, I wash my hands and take my own toothbrush. “It’s weird, right? Like who the hell is this guy and why are things so…so…”

“Hot?” she teases, fanning her face.

“Intense,” I finish, pulling her hand down.

“Maybe because you’re all dark and broody and some weirdos seek out other weirdos to be weird and intense with?”

Narrowing my eyes, I give her a tight smile. “Thanks, that’s helpful.”

“Why do you have to dissect and put a reason to everything? Just let him deflower you already.”

“I’m not a virgin,” I snap.

“Well, tell that to your vagina. That girl has probably healed back over.”

“That’s not how it works, asshole.”

She places a hand on my shoulder. “After everything that’s happened, I say take the small wins.” She squeezes before adding, “And the big ones. I bet that guy is packing.” Why can she not just be normal for one conversation? She wrinkles her nose, looking around me to the toilet. “Did you poop?”

“Gross. No.”

“What the hell is that smell then?”

She’s right. That awful smell is back. “I think there’s a blockage in the drain.”

“I know a plumber,” she sighs, wiping her mouth with a towel. “I’ll call him.”

“The landlord should sort this crap out,” I groan, shutting the door behind us so the smell does seep into the rest of the apartment.

“We’ll have to wait a month before that douchebag will get anyone here,” she calls out from her room as she disappears inside. “I know a guy—and it will be free.”

“Will it?” I raise a brow, poking my head into her room.

“He likes me.” She shakes her ass at me.

God, I wish I didn’t have to know about the favors she pays off with her vagina.

“I’m late.” She’s out her door, hopping while putting on her shoe. She kisses my cheek and bounces off. “See you later at work.”

 

School is the last place I want to go today, but I need to get out of this apartment and stop overthinking about what Detective Hernandez said about it being my blood on the rose petal. I look at my palm. The scabs are almost healed. I pricked my finger on a thorn, but how could the blood have come from that? I’m losing my mind. I slip on a pair of jeans and one of the tops I washed yesterday, inhaling the flowery scent. Faltering at my dresser to look at the photo of me, Jack, and his mother taken barely a week before everything turned red, memories cutting into me like blades of a knife. I miss you, I say internally, stroking over Jack’s face with the pad of my finger before, turning my head up to the ceiling. I haven’t heard Clark moving around this morning. Maybe he’s sleeping in. Placing the photo against the mirror, I give myself an internal pep talk. Today is going to be a good day. Believe it and it shall come to pass.

Pushing out into the street, my feet root to the spot, and I almost stop breathing. “Hey,” Clark says, biting his lip as he searches my features.

“Hey,” I manage to wisp past my lips. He smells of summer, freshly cut grass, rainwater, and maple. He’s dressed in jeans and a white shirt that’s open at the collar, showing the ink of a tattoo. “I’m sorry about what happened,” I admit. Panic overcame me, and I ran like I always do. “You have to admit, it’s all a little weird.” I tug down the sleeves of my top.

“That I live here?” he questions, a half-smile hooking his lips.

“You could have told me we were neighbors at any time but didn’t.”

He sighs heavily and reaches out, clasping my wrist. Heat spreads, zapping up my arm. His eyes are intent as he stares at me. I look down to make sure I didn’t leave the house pantless. “In time, I would have. I’ll tell you everything, I promise,” he implores, the intensity between us building, an inferno scorching every nerve ending inside me. The skidding of wheels breaks the spell, drawing our attention to Charlotte’s car coming to an unattractive stop, half on the curb beside us. “Lizzy,” she calls out, frantic, racing toward me, leaving her car door wide open. “You have to come. There’s been another one.” She’s shaking, her voice jittering.

“Everything okay?” Clark asks, reaching out to hold her steady.

“Come with me,” she urges me, ignoring Clark as she pulls me away.

I wave a hand behind me. He stands there, his brow furrowed, watching Charlotte drag me down the sidewalk. “You left your car,” I remind her.

“I can’t drive. It’s just a few blocks.”

“What is?” I demand, jerking my arm from her punishing grip. “What the hell? You’re being crazy.”

“There’s another body,” she snaps, her pupils wide, lips trembling.

No, no, no.

“Come on,” she stresses.

Feeling lightheaded, I take off walking, sensing eyes on me from every person I pass. Are they watching me? Do they know who I am? I didn’t want to live my life in fear, but it’s not becoming a choice anymore. Vulnerability hums in my veins. My heart begins to pound as we round a corner. There’s a sea of people gathered, dim blue lights flashing between the cracks in the spaces of bodies. No…no…no…

Chatter fills the air. A stirring of whispered hums and shuffling feet. A dark, somber presence thickens the air around us. We move up to the crowd cautiously, Charlotte's hand clasping mine, dragging me through the throngs.

Thud.

Another one so soon. “She’s in the ally—was dumped in the trashcan,” Charlotte mumbles, coming to a stop at a blockade.

Thud.

Sickness stirs in my gut. I can’t do this. I back away, pulling from Charlotte’s hold. “I’m late for school,” I tell her. In reality, I’m scared to see something I won’t be able to be un-see. Do I know them too?

“Lizzy?” she calls out, her face pale, jaw unhinged. “Lizzy!”

“I can’t,” I mouth. Turning on my heels, I take the longer route to school, hoping the woman died of natural causes and fell in the trash. God, that’s still horrible.

I come to the traffic lights, a dull ache throbbing behind my eyes. I walk across, screeching when a horn blasts and a car skids to a stop before me. For a split second, I wish it wouldn’t have stopped.

“Lizzy?” Stephan calls out from the window. “I could have killed you!” he exclaims, jumping out the car and coming over to me. Looking up at the lights, I realize I crossed without pressing the button or waiting for the beep. “I’m sorry.” I shake my fog-filled brain.

“Are you okay? Charlotte called me.” Concern creases his brow.

“No,” I admit. “I don’t think I am.” He pulls me into his embrace, dragging me over to his car and urging me into the passenger seat. My breathing is erratic. Tears threaten, but I force them not to fall. One, two, three, I count internally, my nails pinching at my skin to distract my thoughts.

Stephan starts the car, then once again slams on his breaks. “Fuck!” he barks. Looking out the window to see what stopped him, a spark of shock eclipses the panic from before. Bruno runs across the street, his lead hanging from his collar. I search the surroundings for his owner. “We can’t leave him,” I state, jumping out of the car and calling for him. “Come here, boy.” His fat body waddles with excitement over to me. Stroking his head, my hand runs through moist liquid coated into his fur. I twist my hand. Crimson smears, wet, fresh. Realization washes over me.

“Is that blood?” Stephan grimaces, coming to kneel beside me. The lead is coated in blood too. I scrub my hand down my jeans, frantic.

“Get him in the car. We have to go back,” I choke out.

“Back where?”

 

 

Leaping out the car with Bruno, I race toward the crowd of people all curious and waiting for a crumb of gossip. Stephan calls my name, but I continue to move with haste, pushing through the crowd until I’m at the front of the police tape, no Charlotte in sight. Officers stand guard, securing the scene. Forensics already has a tent up. Hernandez’s car comes into view, and I call out to the officers, “I need to speak to the detective in charge.” They look between themselves, muttering under their breaths. “Hey! I need to speak to Detective Hernandez now.”

“Calm down, ma’am. This is a crime scene. If you need to speak with someone, you can do it down at the precinct.”

I compose myself when I see the detective coming from the ally, and hold my hand up to him, anxious. He says something to the uniform cop, who then walks over, lifting the tape for me and ushering me toward one of the police cars. “Wait there.” Stephan has joined the crowd. Looking over at me, he mouths, “What’s happening?”

“Lizzy,” Hernandez says like we’re friends. He comes to stand before me, his gaze dropping to Bruno.

“I didn’t know you had a dog.”

“He’s not mine,” I rush out.

“Okay…” He continues to stare at Bruno, noticing the crimson stain on his fur. “What was so urgent?”

“The woman,” I struggle with the words, almost losing them in my throat. “The woman back there, I think I know her—sort of.” I shake my head, holding up Bruno’s lead. “I pass a woman and her dog every Tuesday on the way to school.”

“And?”

“I found Bruno, alone. He has blood on his fur and lead.” His eyes skip to my jeans. “I got some on my hand,” I defend, knowing it doesn’t look good.

Looking behind him, he gestures with a crook of his hand for officers to come over.

“Wear gloves and take the lead from Ms. West. Call a dog unit to retrieve the animal for forensic testing.”

“Is she dead because of me?” I ask, guilt gripping my throat.

“Who knows your routines, the routes you take, your class schedule?”

My mind races, trying to sort through the chaos. “Charlotte is probably the only one, but…”

“Write me a list of everyone you have contact with on these days, people you may regularly pass or stop to speak to. Do you pass any shops, stop for coffee? Have you noticed any strange cars around, new people in your life?”

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Clark.

No way. Can it be?

“How did she die?” I ask, swallowing down what feels like thick tar.

“I can’t disclose any information. You know that.” There’s whisker stubble on his jawline today, cracked lines etched through his forehead from stress. He’s no closer to catching this monster.

“Detective, please,” I beg. “Just tell me if she had any markers. Is this Willis?”

Looking behind him, searching for prying ears, he takes my upper arm and moves me farther away from everyone, so we won’t be overheard, or our lips read.

“She was missing her little finger, but this was done recklessly and quick. Her body isn’t even cold. This was recent.”

Dizziness wobbles my body, the colors distorting all around me.

“It is him?”

“It’s looking probable, and he’s escalating rapidly, deviating from his usual MO.”

“So, he’s coming for me.” I wrap my arms around my stomach. “That could have been me.” I give an irritable tug to my sleeves, trying to cover my scars. Vulnerability makes me feel like a flightless bird with predators closing in. Hernandez taps my arm, hovering for a few seconds before dropping it when I glare at his hand.

“I’m going to catch him, Lizzy. I promise. Until then, I think we need to consider some form of protection.” His promises mean nothing if I’m not alive to see it happen. His protection did nothing to help my mother. “I’m going to station someone outside your apartment for your safety.”

Straightening my shoulders, I say, “Don’t do me any favors.” Before turning away from him, I make my way in the direction of work. I’m not going to school until they find him.

“I’m going to need the jeans, Lizzy. Please let an officer take you home,” he calls after me.

“I’ll bring them to you,” I shout back. Footfalls pound the pavement behind me, and Stephan calls out. “Stephan, stay back,” I tell him, holding out my hands.

“What’s going on, Liz?”

“I’m not safe to be around. Please just stay away from me.” Guilt, anger, and fear washes around inside me, tainting my soul.

“I won’t let you push me away.” He shakes his head, a look of genuine concern on his face.

“I’m trying to keep you safe!” I bellow, throwing my hands up in the air, ignoring curious stares from a passerby.

“I don’t need you to keep me safe, Liz. Let me keep you safe. Its women being murdered.”

Women who all know me in some way. He must not be far if he killed her while she was walking Bruno. “Lee, the cat feeder, was murdered because he came to help me,” I choke out, a cold hand squeezing my chest.

“I don’t give a fuck who’s out there. I’m not letting you walk around alone. I just fucking won’t. You can either accept that and let me be the friend you need, or I’ll follow you anyway.”

Tears fall, and a stone lodges in my throat. “I love you. Stephan loves you. This coldness you throw out will push people away. Let us love you.” Charlotte’s words dance in the forefront of my mind, urging me to take what’s offered and give some part of myself in return. Wrapping my arms around him, I sigh into his embrace, allowing myself the comfort, even if having his hands on me makes me cringe internally. I’m so fucking broken, my best friend’s touch makes me recoil, yet Clark’s made me crave more.

“I need to go home to change.” I sniffle, pulling away and swiping my eyes.

With a slight gesture of his hand behind him, he says, “I’ll take you.”

 

 

Fifteen

 

 

When we finally make it to work, the place is dead. Jeff eyeballs me from across the room where he’s sitting in a booth with a young girl. I round the counter and deposit my coat and purse in the back room. Charlotte is standing at the counter, waiting for me with a scathing glare. “Hey, who is that with Jeff?” I nudge her with my hip.

She smacks her gums together and snorts. “Jailbait by the looks of her, but don’t even try to avoid the ass whooping you deserve,” she hisses, slapping my arm.

“Ouch,” I growl, rubbing where she hit in a circular motion to alleviate the sting.

“Why the hell did you run away?” she demands, fists bunched at her sides.

Closing my eyes, I exhale an exhausted breath. “I freaked out, okay? I’m sorry, I just—”

“Why are you even here?” she cuts me off, looking up at the clock with a raised eyebrow.

“The body…I think I know who it is,” I whisper to her, not wanting anyone to overhear…not that there is anyone to overhear.

“Are you joking?” She steps away from me, not deliberately conscious of it, like her body is using self-preservation.

“I don’t think you should stay at the apartment anymore,” I urge, dropping my gaze to her feet.

She appears to ponder this, looking over at Jeff and the young girl he’s with. “What if it’s Jeff? I can see him turning serial killer because no one bones him.” She wrinkles her nose. Is she serious?

“If it were Jeff, you’d already be dead. Charlotte, come on, I’m being serious.” I pull the notepad on the counter over and begin doodling. Marco.

“Jeff wouldn’t kill me. I gave him a blowy once.” She casually drops that information like she’s talking about making him a coffee, and I almost drop the pen.

“What the hell?” I screech out, gaining Jeff’s and a customer’s attention. I offer a polite smile in apology and drag Charlotte by the arm into the back. “What the hell?” I gag.

She shrugs. “Who do you think covered our rent last month?”

Ew. “Charlotte,” I breathe, bringing her into my body for a hug. “I caught him jerking it in his office once.” I cringe. How the hell could she go near his junk—and with her mouth?

“I caught him jerking it in his car out back,” she counters, and we both break into a fit of giggles that turn into weird fits of laughter and crying, emotions swirling like the current of a turbulent ocean.

“You never have to do things like that. We will figure that shit out together. I’ll borrow the money from my aunt if we have to.” I sniffle, wiping my nose with a napkin.

She pulls back, swiping the black mascara smudged under her eyes. “Seriously, it lasted less than a minute. Don’t worry that pretty virginal head over it.” She pats my head and goes back to serve a customer who just came in.

When she’s done, I grab her arm again, turning her to face me. “I’m serious about you staying away from the apartment.”

“I’m not leaving you or letting some fucking psycho push me out of my own home.” Her face turns red, her voice bordering on hysterics.

“Okay, okay, shhh…” I bring her back in for another hug, grateful this crazy woman is my best friend.

“Everything okay?” Stephan joins us at the counter, his eyes flitting around the shop, worried we’re causing a scene.

“Thank you for driving me to work, but you can go to class now. Honestly, I’m going to stay here until my shift starts, then maybe I can call you for a ride home?”

His gaze is probing, making me fidget. “Only if you’re sure?”

“She’s fine, Stephan. I’ll look out for her.” Charlotte rolls her eyes, her tone tiresome.

“Did I hear you say you sucked that old man’s cock?” Stephan mocks, his eyes narrowed, a sneer hooking his lips.

“Oh, kiss my ass,” she hisses.

The young girl sitting with Jeff stands to leave, shaking his hand and gliding across the room like a runway model. Both Charlotte and I grimace when Jeff tilts his head to watch her short skirt flirt with the line of her ass.

“You aren’t on until two,” Jeff informs me, dragging his sweaty body to the counter, Stephan backs away with a hand wave. “Laters.”

“Don’t get hit by a car or murdered by the serial killer,” Charlotte calls out after him, waving her fingers, a sickly smile plastered on her face.

“Charlotte,” I snap, gaping at her. She shrugs unapologetically.

“I’m only paying you for the shift you’re down to work,” Jeff interrupts, ignoring everything else.

“Who’s the twinkle-eyed Barbie?” Charlotte asks, tilting her head to the door.

“Why, you jealous?” Jeff licks his thin lips, his eyes roaming up Charlotte's cleavage. Pig.

“Ew, gross.” She gags.

“She’s going to be working here starting next week. Gaby quit,” he announces, rubbing a hand down his nonexistent beard.

“What? Why?” Charlotte gasps, wiping down a tray.

Jerking his shoulder, he says, “Fuck knows. She skipped her last three shifts.”

Our heads turn to stare at each other before returning to him. “Jeff, did you try calling her?”

Picking up his paper, he rounds the counter. “I shouldn’t have to chase my staff. She made her choice by not showing up.”

We follow him to his office. “You know there’s a killer on the loose butchering women, for fuck’s sake,” Charlotte barks, grabbing the phone off the wall and flitting through the numbers on the pad next to it. That’s all Jeff had to do. I chew my nails, my feet anxiously pacing back and forth. “Nothing.” She puts the phone down.

“I’ll go over there,” I announce, hating the idea, but also knowing I have to check on her. I have to know she’s okay.

“No way, Liz.” Charlotte shakes her head, her arms folding around herself.

“You’re both being ridiculous. Go back to work,” Jeff grumbles, squeezing his fat ass into the straining chair.

“I’m not on shift,” I remind him. Charlotte looks pale, her eyes unfocused. “It will be fine,” I assure her. “I’ll just go over there. If anything looks off, I’ll call the police.”

“As long as you’re back for your shift,” Jeff grunts.

“Fuck off, Jeff,” Charlotte snaps.

“Who’s the boss here?” he barks back, stretching his neck to look over his shoulder at us.

“It will be fine,” I assure her again, walking back into the shop.

I’m just about to leave when Clark walks through the front door, heading straight for us.

“Hey.” He smiles, looking between Charlotte and me. Dipping his head to the counter, an enchanting smile kisses his lips. “Polo,” he says, and my knees almost buckle. Clearing my throat, I say, “What did you say?” He taps his finger on the notepad where I’ve scribbled Marco over and over. “Polo.” The words slide over his tongue, slow, deliberate.

Snatching up the pad, Charlotte tears off the paper, scrunches it up, and tosses it in the trash. “Stop ruining the notepads with your scribblings,” she huffs.

“Did you get whatever it was taken care of?” Clark asks, dampening his lips with his tongue. I follow his path, wishing it was my tongue. Catching myself before I begin to drool, I tuck a curtain of hair behind my ear, nodding my head.

“You want in Lizzy’s pants, right?” Charlotte spews out of nowhere, making me die a thousand times over. He raises both eyebrows, his teeth biting down on his bottom lip, staring at me.

“Oh my god, ignore her,” I rush out, going around the counter and attempting to drag him away from her. Heat spreads up my neck and over my chest. I’m never going to recover from that outburst.

“No—wait!” Charlotte chases after us. “I just mean, you care about her, right? She has to go check up on someone. I don’t think she should go alone, so…” Folding her arms, she cocks her hip, her eyes laser focused on him.

Looking between us, he nods his head. “Okay. Sure. I’ll go with her, if she wants me to…” His head tilts down to read my face.

I’m going to kill her. “Thanks, that would be great.” I smile awkwardly.

“Call me as soon as you know anything,” Charlotte tells me, shoving us toward the door.

“She’s intense.” Clark grins down at me, a twitch flickering in his eyelid. It’s obvious he’s not comfortable around her, but is good at faking it. I appreciate his effort.

“There was a murder. That’s why she dragged me away this morning,” I inform him, inclining my head to look up at him.

A shadow passes through his eyes, fleeting, but it was there. “Another one?” Concern draws his brows.

I nod. “Looks like a serial killer.”

He looks away, pushing his hands into his pockets. “Doesn’t a serial killer have to kill more than two people?”

I stop walking, looking up into those eyes of his. “Three or more actually.” Is that common knowledge?

“You want me to drive?” He’s casual, this topic not shocking or surprising to him.

“Are you a cop?” I blurt out.

Large eyes spring wide. His broad chest shakes as he laughs out loud. It’s genuine, deep and rumbling. He places a hand to his stomach. “God, no.” Amusement glimmers in his eyes, making them impossibly bright. Such a beautiful man.

“What does that mean?” I reach out without thinking and pick a piece of lint from his jacket. My hand and body still when he stops walking and places his hand over mine before I can pull it away.

“It means I’d never be a cop. I don’t trust them.” I want his touch to last forever, but I know it’s impossible. Within seconds, he releases me, and the echo of his touch dances over my hands. “Did you want to go back and get my car?”

“No.” I shake my head, gesturing forward. “She lives a couple blocks down.”

“Who is she?” he asks, blowing on his hands to warm them.

“A girl who hasn’t been showing up for her shift. With everything that’s going on, I want to make sure she’s okay.”

He reaches for my arm, halting us from proceeding. “Shouldn’t we call someone else to check on her, like authorities?” he asks, his tone controlled.

“I have to know she’s okay,” I tell him, pulling away and continuing without him. He catches up to me and places his hand on my shoulder. It’s comforting and warm. I want to curl into him and feel protected in his hold. “Thanks for coming with me,” I murmur almost under my breath.

“I’m glad your friend asked,” he tells me.

We walk in silence, heavy anticipation hanging in the air between us. What if she’s not okay and I walk into another crime scene?

“It’s this one.” I nod to her house. It belonged to her grandma who left it to her in her will. It’s large, the grass overgrown, curtains pulled, blocking the view inside.

His hand comes down on mine, pulling it away when I go to open the gate. “Don’t touch anything. Stay here, okay?” he urges, his expression filled with confidence. He’s not scared of what he might find, and it’s oddly comforting.

“Okay.” I pull at the sleeves of my top, covering my hands and folding them under my armpits so I don’t pick at the scabs on my palms.

Clark pushes open the gate with his foot and goes inside. He cups his hands, trying to look through the front window. Moving to the door, he knocks, then opens the letterbox and calls out, “Hello?”

Nothing.

Looking back at me, he shrugs, scratching his head. “I’m going to go look around the back. Wait there. Don’t move.” It’s a command, not a request, and strangely sends my heart stampeding.

“Yes, sir.” I raise a brow.

“Please,” he adds, placing his palms together. I nod, and he disappears from view. Anxiety eats through my stomach. I nibble my thumbnail, looking around the street, debating if it’s worth asking the neighbors if they’ve seen her. Minutes pass, excruciatingly slow. God, what if he managed to get inside and she’s dead in there? A lock unbolting sends a flurry of apprehension through my blood. The door opens, and I hold my breath. Clark’s beautiful frame fills the space, and then Gaby slips past him, waving her hand. Oh, thank god. She gestures for me to come inside, and I almost cry at the sight of her.

Once inside, she hugs me, beaming from ear to ear. “I’m sorry. I was napping.”

“Where have you been?” I exclaim. Looking around the old-fashioned décor, you can practically taste the dust in the air.

“It’s a long story. Well,…not that long. I met someone.” She beams.

I look at Clark. His shoulders are stiff as he looks to the shaggy carpet at our feet, then back to her. “Really?”

“I’m moving. It’s fast, I know, but I’m running out of baby-making years, so I decided what the hell?” She’s animated, slapping her hands together, nudging farther inside the house.

“Lizzy thought you’d been killed by a serial killer,” Clark mumbles. I nudge him with my hip when Gaby’s face falls. Hitching a shoulder, he mouths, “What?”

“He’s joking,” I lie, “but you could have called one of us.”

“Oh.” She giggles, copper ringlets bouncing around her face. “I was going to call. It just happened so fast.” She cringes.

“Well, Jeff has given your position away, so I guess it’s meant to be. Good luck. Call us once you settle?” I give her a brief hug.

“I will. Again, I’m sorry for not calling. I was going to.”

“We’re just glad you’re alive,” Clark states, patting her shoulder and exiting through the front door. Gaby follows his departure, her mouth agape.

“See you,” I say again, waving as I follow Clark.

When we’re back on the street, Clark places a hand to his chest. “I really thought I was going to find her in a bathtub or something.”

“I’m sorry.” I grimace. “I honestly didn’t know what to expect. Everything has been so grim lately.”

Studying me, he says, “I heard about the guy falling in our apartment building, I saw you at the station.”

“I know.” I smile, but it drops when I think of Lee. He didn’t fall.

“Did you see anything that night? Someone in the building or looking suspicious outside?”

Scratching the back of his neck, he shakes his head. “I was just getting home and saw the commotion. Did you know the man?”

“No, not really. He lived in the building next to ours. I think this killer is coming for me.” My honesty shocks us both. Clasping my wrist, he pulls me into him, strong arms engulfing my body. Placing my palms against his chest, I breathe him in, unable to tear myself away. He strokes down my hair, then guides me to part from him, his finger cupping my chin so tenderly, my heart stutters. “Let them come. I’ll keep you safe.” The words caress like a touch, and then he’s walking again. It takes me a couple seconds to catch my breath before I jog to keep up.

“Thanks again for coming with me. Can I get you a coffee on the house?” I jerk a thumb to the shop we’ve made it back to without any bodies to report. Shaking his head, he says, “I was just coming in to check on you. I have some things to do, but maybe we could get dinner sometime?”

“Dinner—like a date?” Embarrassed, I turn from his gaze, hiding beneath the veil of hair hanging loose.

“Like a date.” Amusement coats his words, making me blush.

“Sure. I’d like that.” I kick at nothing, biting my lip until it’s painful.

Before we can say anything else, Charlotte walks through the door. “Well?” She exclaims.

Well indeed.

 

 

Sixteen

 

 

Laying, looking up at the ceiling, thinking about Clark, is driving me into a frenzy. I jump up, rummaging through my dresser looking for the dildo Charlotte bought me two Christmases ago, but come up empty. I bet she stole it back. Frustrated, I take a cold shower like a teenage boy in heat. The smell has gotten worse. It’s vile like a rat has crawled in the pipes and died. Drying off, thankful for the mood killer, I find Charlotte watching a Drew Barrymore flick in the living room.

Lifting her feet and planting them on my lap, I salivate when I see she’s got wine and a whole apple pie she stole from work. “Did you figure things out with the plumber?” I ask, leaning forward to steal her glass.

“Yeah. He said he could come by next week.”

“I still say we call the landlord.”

“Go ahead, bet he won’t get anyone here sooner.” She takes the glass from me, sipping the nectar. “Anything more happen with the sexy neighbor?” She licks her lips, looking up to the ceiling. I haven’t heard him come home yet—which is me being a stalker creep.

“What could have happened? It wasn’t like we went on a date. We went to scope out if Gaby was dead.” I roll my eyes, picking up her spoon and taking a bite of the apple pie. The sugar excites my tongue, and my stomach welcomes the food.

“He wants you so bad.” She pokes my thigh with her toe. The feeling is mutual. She shifts, looking over at me. “Do you think it’s weird he moved here around the time these murders started happening?” she muses.

Yes. “He said he came here for work,” I defend.

“What does he do?” She scoots up onto her elbows and opens her mouth for me to feed her a piece of the pie.

“I don’t know.” I didn’t ask after he said he wasn’t a cop. Why didn’t I ask?

My eyes flit to something over her head. “Oh my god.” I startle, pushing her legs off me and dumping the pie. Charlotte leaps up, a hand to her chest. “What?”

“Her light’s on,” I gasp. “The woman.” I point. “Her light is on.”

Taking attentive steps, we move to our window, looking across the divide. “What’s going on?” Charlotte breathes.

Forensics. Police. Detective Hernandez comes into view, looking back at us. He gestures that he’s coming over with a jab of his finger. “Can’t he use a damn phone? That’s creepy as hell after Lee.” Charlotte gulps, pushing her wine glass into my hand.

“Do you think she’s dead?” she asks, a tremor in her voice.

My chest ricochets from the pounding of my heart. “I hope not.”

 

 

I hand the jeans over. I had put them in a plastic bag when I got home this morning with the intention of taking them down to the station. Detective Hernandez stands at our window, looking over to the apartment now being searched for evidence.

“What’s going on with the woman’s apartment?” Charlotte asks, sitting on the arm of the couch.

“She’s been filed as a missing person as of this morning,” he informs us. His gaze locks on mine, concern etched in his brow. “I’m going to need you to tell me the last time you saw her.”

“She’s dead, isn’t she? He killed her too. Who’s next? Me?” I jab at my chest. “Charlotte?” I gesture to her.

He turns, giving us his full attention. “I have everyone looking. I’m stationing an officer outside your building.”

“This shouldn’t be happening,” I snap, panic sending me spiraling.

Holding his hands up as if to calm an erratic animal, he says, “I know things are tense right now.”

“Tense?” I laugh without humor. “Tense would be an understatement.” Rubbing my hands down my face, I pace to the coffee table, pour a drink, and gulp it down. “What’s going to happen to their pets? The women…the cats…Bruno…where is he now?” I ask, refilling the glass and passing it to Charlotte.

“Bruno?”

“The dog from this morning,” I retort, shaking my head. Am I descending into madness? How can he not know what the fuck I’m talking about? What kind of detective is he? The kind who gets your mother killed.

“We’ll try to place him with a relative of the deceased.”

Deceased. What a joke. The victim. “The murdered—let’s not sugarcoat things,” I bark.

“I understand your anger, Lizzy.”

Scoffing, I point my finger right in his face. “The hell you do. Did you have to listen while your mother was murdered? Hear the cries and gurgles while you hide, wetting yourself in fear?” Energy zaps through my blood stream, turbulent and unpredictable. “Listen while a woman you love is raped?” I choke on the words. “Cry until there’s no more water, leaving your throat so dry, it feels like you’re swallowing glass with every inhale?” Pain cuts into me, slicing, slicing, slicing. Will I ever be rid of this pain?

Charlotte stands, tears burning her eyes, the glass of wine shaking in her hands. “Lizzy?” she cries out on a broken wail.

“No, let me finish—let him hear my misery—my broken, fucked-up psyche,” I screech, pacing. “Want to see my scars?” I bellow, yanking up my sleeves and shoving my palms at him. “These are just the ones you can see.” I pound at my chest. “Can you save me, Detective? After failing my mother, Jack, me—can you save me!” Grasping the glass from Charlotte, I launch it across the room. It shatters against the kitchen cabinet, the red wine bleeding down like my heart bursting out, leaking my life essence for them both to witness.

“I can’t change the past. I’m sorry for my part in what happened to you.”

Clenching my fists into tight balls, I scream, letting the pain and anger rip through me until I’m sobbing in a heap on the floor of my apartment.

“Just go,” Charlotte barks out to Hernandez. The door opens and closes, and then she’s covering my body with hers, whispering, “It will be okay. I’m here. I’m never leaving you.”

I cling to her. If she did leave, it would kill me.

 

 

Seventeen

 

 

Muscles in my face ache from the tears. The skin on my cheeks is chapped and sore. I lay staring up at the ceiling, overwhelmed by my surging emotions. Sleep evades me. Sitting up, I grab some running gear and tie my hair into a low ponytail, sneaking past Charlotte’s room so I don’t wake her. Slipping on my sneakers, I snatch up my earbuds and hit the stairs.

The street is empty, all except one car. Crossing the street, I tap my knuckles on the window, startling Detective Barnett. Hitting a button, he rolls down his window, grunting his acknowledgment. “What are you doing out here?” I ask, sounding accusatory.

“Just keeping an eye on things.”

“On me you mean?” The cold seeps into my clothes, sending a shiver through me. “Isn’t this below your pay grade?” Since when do detectives get stationed outside apartment buildings? When they have a suspect. The realization almost knocks the wind from my lungs. “Am I a suspect, detective?” An absurd laugh bubbles out of me.

Shaking his head, he opens his door and steps out of the car, looking around the street. He adjusts his coat and slips on a pair of gloves. “I’m just here to make sure no one enters the apartment building who doesn’t live here.”

Liar. Liar. Liar. And can you do that while napping? Idiot.

“Am I a suspect?” I ask more firmly.

“Your blood was found in the apartment of a missing woman. Your prints were on a knife.” I grabbed the knife to protect myself. Shit, what an idiot. “You know the victims.”

“Not all of them—the street worker.” I cross my arms.

“How do you know about her?” His brow furrows.

“Hernandez mentioned her. I hardly fit the profile for this killer, Detective.”

“What are you doing up at this hour?” he asks, checking his watch and changing the subject.

“I have trouble quieting my mind, so I run.” I jerk my chin to his car.

Stretching his arm to rub the back of his neck, he asks, “Want company?”

Smirking, I look him over. “You can run in that?”

“I can drive in this,” he counters. Pushing in my earbuds, I hit my playlist and take off. Knowing he’s behind me watching makes me feel more at ease. By the time I make it back to the apartment, the sun is kissing the horizon, and I have a sheen of sweat coating every inch of my body. I hold up my hand to wave goodbye to the detective and push into the apartment building. As soon as I make it up to our apartment Charlotte is standing there in her underwear, her arms crossed.

“What the fuck?” she growls.

“I needed to run,” I defend, curling my earbud wire around my phone.

“Alone—after everything?” She waves her hands in the air for effect.

“Would you have come?” I counter with a raised brow, peeling my shirt over my head.

“Gross, no, but I would have talked you out of going.” She sniffs at me, crinkling her nose.

“I wasn’t alone. Detective Barnett kept me company.” I nod to the window, kicking off my sneakers.

She rushes to the window, attempting to crank her neck to see, but it’s not possible from our angle. “Why would he be out there?”

“I’m a suspect it would appear,” I call out. “Be careful, I might murder you next.” I add a, “Muahahaha,” but she doesn’t find it funny.

She’s at my bedroom door, giving me a scathing glare. “Are they fucking serious? A murderer is out there killing women and they stalk you?” Shaking her head, she turns on her heel. “I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.”

“Put your tits away first or you’ll give him more than a piece of your mind,” I call out.

 

 

The shop is freezing again, and Jeff is banging away at something in the basement. He refuses to pay for an actual electrician, the cheap bastard. My hands are numb, and I debate pouring hot water over them to thaw them out. Clicking through some research on Charlotte’s laptop for class so I don’t fall behind is the only thing taking my mind off the fact I’m freezing to death slowly but surely. I read the same article a couple of times over while my brain begins shutting down. A long-term study of over ten thousand adopted children in Denmark strongly indicates a predisposition to chronic criminal components may be inherited.

“That yummy neighbor guy is in again.” Charlotte winks over at table eight before looking at the screen of her laptop and snorting. “That’s grim.”

“It’s research. I have a paper due.”

We came in together today. Detective Barnett wasn’t outside when we came down. Must have had more important things to worry about than little old me going on a killing spree.

“He hasn’t stopped looking over here at you,” she teases, wiping an already dry glass.

My body is acutely aware he’s here. “You asked me if I think it’s weird, he showed up when the killings began, do you?” I find myself asking, a nagging throbbing in the back of my head.

“No way. No one that good looking has issues with women.” She sighs, scooping the whipped cream from a hot chocolate she made herself while looking over at him.

“You know that’s crazy, right?” I scoff. “Ted Bundy was good looking.”

“He fucked corpses.” She snorts. “And they say he was good looking, but have you seen the pictures?” Gesturing with her thumb down, she shakes her head.

“Lizzy, I pay you to work, not play on the internet. Go fill his cup before he scares off the other customers just staring at you like a fucking creep,” Jeff orders from behind me. He’s holding a wrench and stinks of vile body odor.

“For fuck’s sake, Jeff. Ever heard of a shower?” Charlotte gags. His eyes narrow on her, and she faces off with him, hand on her hip, shoulders back, tits pushed forward.

“Ever heard of a filter for that mouth of yours?”

Rolling her eyes, she goes back to placing the glass on the shelf. “Did you fix the heat?” she asks over her shoulder.

“No,” he grumbles. “Need a plumber.” You and us both, pal.

“It’s freezing in here, Jeff. My nipples are going to cut through my shirt.”

“You could always take it off.” Her gasp is animated. I’m already sick of their sparring.

“Are you looking for a sexual harassment complaint?” Before he can reply, his cell phone begins singing some eighties track that makes Charlotte snort-laugh.

The coffee finishes brewing, giving me a reason to go over to him. I catch him assessing me as I approach. My heart stampedes inside my chest. I have no idea why this man evokes such a response from me, but he does. It’s the first time in my life anyone has made me jittery just by looking at me. I make it to his table, each step triggering a stammer of my heartbeat. The pot of coffee shakes mildly in my hand. I top off his empty cup, feeling his eyes burning a hole into the side of my face.

“Anything else?” I ask as the bell dings. Stephan walks in, seeking me out.

“You could join me,” he says, smiling.

“I’m on shift.” I cringe.

He looks around me at the deserted tables. An excited pulse flutters through my blood, leaving a heady feeling in its wake. “I better…” I gesture to Stephan behind me with a jerk of my hand, “get back to work.”

He doesn’t say anything, and I find myself looking back at him over my shoulder, sighing internally when his eyes stay on me. It’s oddly comforting.

“Who’s that?” Stephan asks, frowning back at Green Eyes.

“I’m not sure,” I tell him, because it’s the truth. Who is he?

Stroking a hand through his hair, he adds, “Well, he’s looking at you like you’re on the menu.” It shouldn’t make me feel warm in places, but it does.

“What are you doing here?” Glancing at the clock, I turn to face him.

“I thought I’d give you a ride to class.” He puts an arm around my shoulder, almost possessively.

“I’m not going in today,” I murmur, slipping from beneath his hold.

“Liz, you can’t avoid the place.” He follows me as I wipe down a couple tables.

“Not the place—the people,” I correct.

Looking around the shop, he gestures to a booth. “Let’s at least do some studying so you can get your paper done.”

Resting my hand on his shoulder, I offer him a genuine smile. “Thank you for being a good friend. I have to work, but I’m studying in between. I promise.”

“I can help when you have your break.” He pulls out a stack of books from his backpack and holds them up like a prize.

“You’re not going to drop this, are you?”

“I’m a persistent asshole, what can I say?”

“Asshole is right,” Charlotte sneers as we approach the counter.

“What the fuck’s your problem?” he growls, dropping his stack on the counter and placing his palms down, leaning toward her.

Flicking her blonde locks over her shoulder, she gives him an amused once over. “I just don’t think you make your intentions clear and hide behind the ‘friend’ bullshit.”

Wow, this is not what I need right now.

“Men can be friends with women without wanting to fuck them, Charlotte. You wouldn’t know because you spread your legs for every and any man you meet, but it happens.”

“And is that what you want? To just be her friend?”

“Yes!” he bellows, causing a scene.

“That’s enough.” I step in, narrowing my eyes at them. I sense the wall of Clark behind me before Stephan and Charlotte look over my head at him.

“You okay, Liz?” His tone is so cold with warning, sending a blast up my spine. His hands clasp my upper arms, sliding down to my wrists.

“Who the fuck is this? You said you didn’t know him,” Stephan scoffs.

“Oh, she knows him,” Charlotte teases, flicking her tongue up to her top lip.

Hastily turning, I disengage his grip and place a hand on his chest, feeling the thundering of his heart beneath my palm. “I’m fine. It’s fine, honestly.” It takes a few seconds for him to tear his gaze from Stephan. Nodding, he steps back. Taking my wrist, he turns my palm up and places a piece of paper on it. “Call me when you’re ready for that date.”

Butterflies set loose inside me.

“I will.” I watch as he leaves, turning his head once more before fleeing through the door.

“That there, is your competition,” Charlotte mocks with a snide chuckle.

“Fuck off, whore,” Stephan sneers before holding my eyes. “You don’t feed into the crap she spews, right?”

“Of course not. I know we’re just friends.” I reach out, squeezing his arm.

“So, who is he?”

“Our neighbor and Lizzy’s kissing friend,” Charlotte says, continuing to stir the pot. “And if I had to choose between…” She wiggles her finger at Stephan and the door where Clark left.

Grabbing her finger, I growl, “Stop.”

“Do I look like I struggle to get women?” Stephan snorts. “I don’t have competition because I’m not a child, I’m a grown fucking man. Now, make yourself useful and bring over some coffee.” He picks up his books and marches over to a booth.

Smirking, I shrug a shoulder. “You just got told.”

“Oh, fuck off. He’s a dick.”

 

 

Eighteen

 

 

Flexing my hand, I close my textbook and yawn. The shop’s been quiet, giving me plenty of study time. Charlotte and Stephan left over an hour ago, and Jeff just got back after taking off at lunch.

“We’re closing early,” he informs me. I want to ask why, but this never happens, and my feet are a little sore from being on them all day. I rush over to a table that still has a tray of dirty cups on it. “Lizzy,” Jeff barks, and I startle from his tone, “just leave it.” Pushing my books into my arms, he ushers me toward the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Be here for delivery,” he tells me, locking himself inside.

Good night to you too, asshole.

It’s dark and cold. I hurry to put my coat on and check my cell. I can’t call Stephan for a ride. Besides, it’s bullshit to make him come back here when I can just walk it. It’s not far.

A couple of cars pass me. Once their headlights fade, the darkness of the night creeps over me, making every hair follicle stand on end. My cell phone rings, and my heart almost stops. Charlotte. A slither of disappointment washes through me that it’s not Clark, even though I didn’t give him my number.

“Hello?” Moans greet me back. “Hello?” I try again. She butt dialed me while getting laid. Gross. I end the call. My feet pick up speed until I’m practically jogging. I hate this tense feeling and fear of walking around by myself. We shouldn’t have to go through this. The monsters committing horrible crimes are collecting more victims than the ones they’re targeting. I’m just about to slip inside when a food delivery guy calls out for me to wait. He hands me a pizza and saunters off.

“Hey, jerk, this isn’t for me,” I call out, but he’s already stuffed his earbuds back in, ignoring me.

Checking the name on the pizza, my stomach flip-flops. Clark. I suppose I better take it up to him.

Nerves flutter as I ascend the stairs to his apartment. Rapping my knuckles on the door, I hear his movements.

He opens it a sliver and peers out, his eyes suspicious. Recognition dawns on him, and his eyes widen. “Hey.” I give a half-smile and hold up his pizza. “The delivery guy doesn’t want tips apparently.”

Looking behind him, his forehead creases, but he opens the door, filling the gap with his frame. He holds out his hands. “Sorry about that. Thanks for doing his job.”

I place the pizza box in his upturned palms, feeling a little awkward. A couple moments pass before he says, “You hungry?” He lifts his brow. “And do you like pizza?” he adds, twisting his lips.

A smile touches my face, lightening the somber mood I’ve been living in. “As long as it doesn’t have pineapple on it,” I fire back.

“Are you trying to steal my heart?”

My heart rushes. Butterflies flurry in my stomach. “No, I’m trying to steal your pizza.” I quip, feeling lighter being in his presence.

My stomach growls when the aroma of melted cheese and sauce drifts from the box. He turns to go back inside, letting the door close behind me. I follow him. It’s the exact layout as ours, only his furniture doesn’t look like he bought it at a flea market. The place is also clean, spotless, a hint of bleach in the air. He also has curtains. Lucky bastard.

“Drink?” he asks, holding up a bottle of wine. My mouth salivates at the sight.

I nod enthusiastically, and he chuckles before pouring me an extra tall glass. Untangling my scarf, I place it on one of the stools at his breakfast bar.

“Long day?” he asks, giving me the once over. His gaze feels intimate, like he sees through my clothes to the flesh beneath. I squirm a little and recheck my cell phone. “You have somewhere to be?”

I shake my head. “It’s fine. I have some time.” I have nowhere to be.

He nods and places a plate in front of me. I help myself to a slice and try not to look giddy at the sight of his meat lovers pizza. A guy after my own heart. “Your place is looking nice.” I smile. Everything looks expensive. “So, what is it you do, Mr. Clark?” I bite into the slice and wait for his answer. When he remains silent, I flick my eyes up and find him watching me. Does he realize it’s not polite to stare at people while they’re eating?

“Everything okay?” I ask, running a hand down my hair. Do I look a mess? I’ve been at work all day. Crap, I should have changed, brushed my hair.

“Sorry.” He shakes his head. “As in do for a Profession?”

“Yes.” I nod, licking the oil from my fingers.

“Freelance photography.”

I quirk a brow. There isn’t one picture on the bare white walls. I wonder if he’s still in school. He doesn’t look much older than me. I open my mouth to ask when the door buzzer sounds, interrupting me.

He glares over at the front door, his nostrils flaring.

“Sorry. I’m not expecting anyone.” He frowns, going over to the intercom. I check my cell phone. It’s past eight. The door downstairs will be key and intercom access only.

“Hello?” he barks through the intercom. Ours doesn’t work. It’s yet another thing we need to complain about.

“It’s Detective Hernandez,” the familiar voice says back.

“I’m busy right now. Can this wait?” His tone is clipped and terse.

“It will just take a minute.”

He slams his palm against the wall, dipping his head to his toes, making me startle.

“I can leave. I should be going anyway,” I offer, slipping from the stool, a disappointing cloud floating over me.

He looks between the pizza and me, shaking his head. I notice his quick glance to the bedroom door. Unlike ours, his is a one-bedroom apartment. “No. Eat. I’ll go get rid of him.” He swings open the door and disappears behind it, slamming it shut.

My bladder screams at me for drinking the wine too quickly. I look around for the bathroom, hoping it’s in the same place as ours. As I reach for the handle, I hear Charlotte's voice muffled in the room next to me. My heart rate quickens. What the hell? I push open that door and come face to face with an almost empty void, all barring the far wall covered in photos and newspaper clippings, and a bed just above mine downstairs.

“Stay out of there or she’ll kill me.” I hear Charlotte's voice again so clear, it’s as if she’s in the room whispering. The sound is coming from the vent. I’m about to close the door and go down to kick Charlotte’s ass for being in my room when one of the images gains my attention.

My feet shuffle forward as I fight back tears. My nostrils flare, and my breathing becomes strained.

It’s me. When I was a child. Taken by the reporter who covered Jack’s disappearance. There are hundreds of articles about his father all cut out of the newspaper and pinned to the wall. My scars itch and burn when I see one of me at my mother’s funeral, black rose in hand. I didn’t know there were reporters there that day. I move to another image. Red circles around victim’s faces just like at the coffee shop. My hands tremble. I shift backwards, my legs working on their own accord. Wrapping a hand around my waist to stop from throwing up, I hit a wall and turn, stumbling away. Clark stands there, his brow furrowed, his mouth set in a hard line.

“You shouldn’t snoop,” he admonishes, and the world around me dims.

Oh god, who are you?

I try to keep my eyes trained on him while searching for a weapon in my peripheral. There’s nothing. I back up toward the window, hoping I can scream and be heard and seen through it. “Stop backing away from me. I’m not going to hurt you.” He grimaces, but I keep moving.

“What is this?” I ask, trying to keep him distracted from advancing on me. None of this makes any sense.

“It’s not what it looks like.” He sighs, holding his hand up like he’s trying to tame a wild horse.

“What does it look like?” I breathe.

“I can explain.” He moves closer, and I dart to the corner, holding my hands out in front of me. Fear and confusion shoot into me like bullets from a gun. Images flutter to the floor as my back crashes into the wall he’s created. Images of the slain women. He bends to scoop them up, and I use the chance to push him over and dart past him, my heart racing and head swimming. I make it to the front door before tripping over my feet in my haste to escape. I crash forward. A cracking pain explodes over my skull as I collide with the metal latch, slicing my head against the lock and stumbling backwards. My knees give way, sending me fumbling to the floor. My sight fades in and out, and the air around me whooshes. Crap.

He’s there, pulling me to my feet within seconds. My head swims. The color has drained from his face. He looks…worried for me?

“God, Lizzy, I would never hurt you. Please stop trying to run away. You’re bleeding.” He guides me with a gentle pull of my arm over to the couch and deposits me there before walking somewhere behind me. Warm rivulets of blood drip down my face, creating a mess. I calculate the distance and chances of me getting back to the door. “You may need a stitch.” He’s back too soon. My hope for escape flees. He frowns down at me as he places a wet towel again the wound. I flinch from the contact.

“Why do you have a picture of me on your weird wall of death?” My voice shakes. My skull throbs. I’m not sure if I’ll pass out.

He sits down on the coffee table in front of me, taking the towel with him. “I think I should get you to the emergency room.”

I swipe the towel from him and place it back on my head. “Just answer the damn question before I scream the place down,” I warn.

“I’ve been following the killings,” he says, like it’s obvious

“Why?”

“Because they’re replicas of the murders committed by Willis Langford.” My lungs seize. I gasp, but no air filters in. My chest tightens. I can’t breathe. I slap at my chest, my eyes springing wide. Darkness begins clouding in. I’m suffocating. “Breathe, Lizzy. Fuck. Breathe.”

“Who are you?” I wheeze.

“You know who I am. You’ve always known.” No. No. It can’t be. I can’t breathe. I’m dying. My throat is closing up. My hands go there, clawing. He jumps up and slides behind me, wrapping his arms around my chest and bringing my body against his. I can’t even fight him. Everything is crashing down around me. I’m crumbling.

“Feel the movements of my chest,” he urges.

“One. Breathe. Two. Breathe. Three. Breathe.” Patting his hand over my heart, he murmurs, “Da-dum, da-dum, da-dum.” My body begins to relax, and the oxygen finally inflates my lungs. Tears burn in my eyes. I want to curl up into myself.

“Who are you…?” I break.

“Shhh, just breathe. Relax.” My eyes feel like lead weights are pushing down on them. I fight the urge to give in, but it’s too hard. I’m being pulled under. My eyes close, betraying me.

 

 

Nineteen

 

 

Damn it. My head is cracking in two. My eyes blink open and take a second to adjust to the artificial light. Memories of being in Clark’s apartment cause me to jolt upright. I immediately regret the action when pain flames across my head.

“Whoa! It’s okay. You’re safe.” Clark walks over to the couch where I’m covered in a blanket. “I read that you’re allowed to sleep now with a concussion, you weren’t out long,” he assures me. Concussion? My fingertips brush against my head, padding the cut. A hiss passes my lips when the movement causes a little oozing.

“You need to tell me everything,” I croak. My throat feels dry, and I’m still a little lightheaded. “You’re here because of Willis?” I ask.

“I’ve been following the activity.” His brown hair looks wild, like he’s been running his hands through it nonstop.

“The activity?” I scoot up a little.

“The killers,” he clarifies, the muscles in his jaw flexing.

“You mean Willis?”

His eyes drop to the floor. Coiling in my stomach tells me whatever he’s going to say isn’t going to be good. “I don’t believe it to be Willis.”

My head is going to explode. His eyes shoot up to mine, and I freeze at the piercing torment there. “Ask me again what my name is.”

My heart kicks into high gear. I can’t. I’m so terrified of his answer. “I don’t know if I can.” A tear leaks from my eye, emotions colliding inside me. Stroking my tear away, he leans forward, capturing my gaze. He takes my hand in his palm, and the fear from before lingers into hope. This is all going to be okay. The touch he offers will be around in the long-term. I want him to be the angel in the darkness my life has become. Friend or foe, hunter or hero? Phantom sirens sound in my head. His thumb strokes over my flesh, driving out the alarm.

“Am I the reason you live here?” I croak.

“Yes.” Pulling my hand from his, I sit up further on the couch to put more distance between us. Tension hangs in the air like we’re facing the gallows.

He sighs and gets to his feet, pacing the floor. “It’s complicated, and I didn’t want to just spook you and come out and say I know who you are, and you know who I am.”

I pull a cushion to my chest in a tight fist. “So, stalking me and having a weird wall of victims was a better plan?” I scoff.

His eyes dart down the small corridor to his room, then back to me. “It’s not a weird wall. It’s an evidence wall.” My mind races. I want to ask him all the questions, but I’m struggling to think. The red-circled picture of the murdered girl materializes in my head.

“Why did you tell me I look like the victim?” I get to my feet now, feeling too vulnerable sitting.

“Because I wanted to know if you thought so too…if you put the pieces together.”

I throw his blanket down on the couch and walk around it to create a barrier. “What pieces?”

He stops moving and stares at me. “What do you remember about him—about what happened back then?”

“Nothing!” I shout, feeling defensive.

“What about his son?”

Jack.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

I fumble backwards, my ass hitting a side table. “What about him?” Is he you? I’m almost hysterical now. Are you him? No way. I refuse to believe it. It can’t be, can it?

He takes a few steps toward me. I balk, but can’t go anywhere because of the table behind me. Luckily, the couch is in front of him. Halting his steps, he places his hands up. “Ask me who I am, Lizzy.”

“No.”

“Ask me, Liz Wiz.”

Boom. Boom. Boom.

“I can’t.”

“Tell me what you remember.”

My arms wrap around my waist. The need to be held is so strong, I almost want to weep. “I was a child. All I remember is him killing our mothers and taking Jack.” A lie. I remember everything in excruciating clarity. The sound of our laughter as we played. The smell of freshly cut grass. The hum of a light breeze through the branches of the trees.

Marco…

Polo…

Marco…

My mother’s otherworldly screech. Jack calling out to me. My own screams at the sight of Jack disappearing from my vision. Loneliness. Overwhelming guilt.

You can come out now.

I was seven years old. I couldn’t have helped him even if I’d tried. I was lucky his father didn’t kill me for witnessing the abduction. If he hadn’t been in such a hurry, maybe he would have. Now, he’s back.

“Do you ever think about him—Jack? What he lived through?” he asks, and my soul aches.

“Of course,” I gasp. Tension hangs over my eyes, weighing me down. I move to the stool and sit down before I crumble to the floor.

“Who am I, Lizzy?”

“I don’t know,” I lie.

“You do know.”

No. No. No.

“Don’t. Please don’t,” I plead.

“Fine. I’ll write it down for you.” How is this happening? My head pulses. My heart leaks through my ribcage.

“Here.” He shoves a piece of rolled-up paper into my hand. “When you’re ready, read it.”

I slip from the stool, clutching the paper, the ground shifting beneath me. I move toward the door, feeling the burn of his gaze. Whatever the hell this is between us is so potent, it’s like a thick ball of energy floating in the atmosphere between us. Resistance to the pull is almost impossible. He is the moon, and I the ocean. “I’ll be waiting. I’ve been waiting,” he calls out as I open the door and slip through it. Racing down the stairs, almost tripping on my own feet, I barge into my apartment, startling Charlotte. “Where the hell have you been?” she shrieks.

Ignoring her, I race to my room, slamming the door and throwing myself onto the mattress. My heart races. One, two—breathe—three, four. I squeeze my eyes closed. Open it. Open it. Unclenching my palm, I stare at the piece of paper. Unraveling, the bold letters jump off the page like bullets pounding into me, leaving me wounded. My head spins, my soul freezes, and the world stops.

Jack.

 

 

Twenty

 

 

Thoughts consume me. Depleted in a heartbreaking sob, I cry into my pillow. Overwhelming emotions crash down, devouring me whole. I’ve waited all my life for him to be found, and now he’s here. Can it be him—my lost boy?

Loud taps pound the door. Muffled voices hum in the depths of my mental break. The collision of relief and fear swirls in the dark, seeking out the light. Years of not knowing—of hurting—searching. A weight pushes down on the mattress, the scent of summer rain saturating me as a warm body curls behind me, large, powerful. Jack. All the loneliness, the broken pieces of my shattered soul, wield together in an upsurge of deep yearning. “How can this be?” I croak, drowning, sinking to the bottom of the ocean.

“I found you,” he breathes into my hair. And just like that, he’s diving into the depths, pulling me to the surface.

“Lizzy, what the hell is going on?” Charlotte calls from my doorway. “Do you want me to call the police?”

“No,” I rasp. “No. It’s okay, Char. Leave us.” She hesitant, but finally closes the door.

Heat spreads up my back, my soul reconnecting, fusing to its mate, all the nerve-endings awakening. “Why didn’t you tell me it was you?”

“You needed time.” He clutches me so tight, afraid this is just a dream. Turning to face him, our breathing accelerates, eyes devouring every inch of the other’s face, soaking in the years of changes, the freckles. “Aquila's,” I murmur, stroking the pad of my finger down his nose.

Taking my hands in his, he places them against his chest. “What does that mean?”

“It’s a constellation, the eagle that carried Zeus’s thunderbolt.” Frowning, I add, “It’s also supposedly the eagle who kidnapped a son of Troy to serve the gods.” My stomach dips. “I’m sorry he took you.” Acid churns my insides, a fresh wave of tears searing down my cheeks.

“Don’t. It was never your fault. We were kids,” he urges, clasping my face.

“How did you find me?” I sniffle.

With tender fingers, he moves hair crusted with blood from my forehead, grimacing at the cut there. “Should we get that looked at?”

“No.” I grasp his hand and move it away from the wound. “How did you find me?”

“Would you believe me if I said fate?”

Yes… No…

“Thinking about you became so prominent in my mind, I wasn’t sure if you were just an illusion I’d created in my loneliness or if I was really standing in front of the coffee shop looking in at the girl who’d haunted my dreams for so long. Beautiful. Strong. Mine,” he breathes. Eyes focused on my mouth, the pad of his thumb caresses over my bottom lip, sending a rush of blood pulsing between my legs. “The pane of glass acting as yet another barrier between us, stopping me from reaching out for you and never letting go.”

“Why didn’t you come in—tell me?”

“I was scared you wouldn’t remember me, recognize any glimmer of the boy I once was. I’d dreamed of that moment, played it out over and over, but never had the strength to see it through. But he forced my hand, and now our past has become our present.” My heart thunders. “There was a girl killed who brought me here. Only…she wasn’t important enough to make waves, so not everyone knows about her.” The street worker?

“That’s why I came here.”

“Why do you think this can’t be Willis?”

Breathing heavily, a storm brews within his eyes. “You have to understand, Willis was evil. He was a father by biology only. Everything that makes a man human—empathy, love—was not something he possessed.”

“What did he do to you?”

The turmoil in his green eyes is so vivid, I can see every speck of color there. Summer turning to autumn. Autumn turning to winter. His scent wraps around me, offering comfort despite him needing it himself.

“He didn’t stop, Lizzy.” Dark lashes fan his cheeks as his eyes flutter closed.

“What do you mean?”

Grinding his jaw, the pulse in his neck flickers. “He moved around so much, no one connected the murders, but he never stopped. Decades of women…until…”

“Until?” I urge, so hungry for answers.

“When I was ten years old, I witnessed two women murdered. He tried to make me participate. When I refused, he locked me in a room with a girl…a dead girl.”

Oh my god. I reach for him, grasping his cheek.

“It was your face I held on to. Everything else is like sand in the desert, layers upon layers. I’m not sure what’s real and what’s not, but I remembered you, always you.”

My hands begin to shake. I fist them as I sit up so he can’t see the terror snaking its way through my body. “How many?” I ask, scared to death of the answer.

“How many what?” He leans up on an elbow. Roused hair lays upheaved over his scalp.

“How many women? How many murders did you know about?” Something inside me screams, seeking truths I can’t find. His brow knits. His eyes drop to the mattress, then back up. Focusing on my hair, he picks up a lock and curls it, the crusted blood coming away on his fingers. “Too many, Liz.”

I squeeze my eyes closed. “Tell me how many.”

Silence hangs, the air thickening, pulsing, screaming. I don’t remember a time when darkness wasn’t part of my life. I want to be free of it, but that will never happen if I don’t know all the pain, all the victims. Healing is having knowledge.

With the sound of a million shards of glass shattering, he tells me, “Thirteen I know about, more I don’t.”

My hands clench and a rogue tear leaks free. Shadows dance in my mind, the monster crawling inside me, tainting my existence. I don’t feel like me. It’s like I’m living someone else’s life. I’m numb. “Including the new murders?” I choke out.

His mouth twists, and he shakes his head no. “I told you it’s not Willis.” He moves closer to me, his body almost vibrating, like it’s causing him physical pain to keep himself away. Moments go by, and part of me wants to crawl into his skin, live in the shelter of his chest, let him hold me in his beating heart. But there are so many questions—so much that’s unanswered.

“It’s his same pattern—his signature.” I’m barely breathing. I think I’m going to pass out.

“It’s not him,” he reiterates with a decisive shake of his head.

“But—”

“Lizzy, trust me,” he urges, grasping my cheek. Fire burns under his touch. I want to fade into it, drift away in the exquisite comfort.

“Jack,” I whisper, the intensity thick on my tongue.

The gasp that leaves his lips is audible. “Say it again.”

I want to suspend us at this moment, in the embers of the inferno we create when our skin connects before everything turns cold. “Say my name again, Liz.”

My chest lifts with an exaggerated breath. “Jack.” My voice is barely above a whisper, a sensual kick to the k. Tugging me forward, his lips crash into mine, punishing, desperate, seeking, a feral eagerness. Energy pulses in the air. We fit. He steals the very air I breathe, unrelenting. I know just from this one kiss he’s never letting me go. At this moment, I never want him to. My body responds to his like it was created to do just that. My fingers knead and caress, grasping on for dear life. Our tongue dance, my body being pulled to his like gravity. The chemistry between us is astronomical. If we continue this, he’ll ruin me. “Liz, everything okay in there?” Charlotte's voice penetrates the fog of lust. Pulling back, I try to catch my breath. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Sighing, lips swollen, I feel the rupture of my soul as his eyes reflect my emotions. I’ve never felt more at ease in another’s arms. He feels like…home.

“I can’t believe it’s really you,” I say, placing a hand to my lips to feel the vibrations he’s left there.

“Believe it.”

“I tried to be where you were. I searched for you. Nothing ever led me to you. You were always out of reach. Disappearing back to the echoes of my memories. Am I dreaming you’re here? When I wake, will it all disappear—will you disappear?”

“Never,” he says with such conviction, it hits down to the marrow of my bones. “I promise, I’d give you every last breath inside my lungs before I’ll ever leave you again.”

“Were you lonely?” The thought of him being alone all this time is an unbearable casualty.

Taking my hand in his, he places it against the flesh of his cheek. “Being lonely isn’t a fear of mine—being forgotten by the one who incites my loneliness is.” He sweeps me into his arms, weightless.

“You have been calling out to me, deep in my soul. Missing you caused a physical ache in my bones. I’ve been caught in a bad dream, desperate for you to wake me from it.”

“You’re not dreaming now. I’m right here. Feed on me. Let me set you free,” he begs.

I’ve been so lost until this moment, finding myself again within him.

 

 

Twenty-One

 

 

Heat spreads all around me. Sweat coats my skin. Heavy limbs lay on top of mine. Jack.

Forcing my eyes open, a relieved breath escapes. He’s still here. It wasn’t a dream. He found me.

My bladder protests the weight of his arm draped over my stomach, so I gently lift it and roll out from beneath him. Sneaking out of the room to use the bathroom, I startle when I attempt to pull down my panties and the door opens. Charlotte followed by Stephan walk in, and my mouth drops open as I rush to pull my panties back into place. “What the hell?” I hiss, double-checking nothing’s on display.

“What the hell indeed,” Charlotte snaps, slapping at me. “What’s going on?” She jerks her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of my bedroom.

Rubbing the spot where she slapped me, I say, “It’s complicated.” I wave my hand to Stephan. “Why are you here?”

His stance is defensive, arms crossed, teeth grinding. “Charlotte called me freaking out, said you were crying, and the neighbor guy was acting weird. What the hell happened to your head?”

My fingertips move up to the cut. It’s tender. “I fell.” I shake my muddled thoughts away. It’s not a lie, I really did fall down last night in more ways than one. I found the center of the storm, within me, the calm, and allowed myself to let it all go, untie the binds of the darkness of my old life and chase the light, the burn, into the new, following my heart.

“Earth to Lizzy.” Charlotte waves her hand in my face.

Huffing, I grab my toothbrush and squirt some paste on it. “He wasn’t acting weird. There’s so much you guys don’t know.” I talk around the brush.

“Then tell us,” Stephan snaps. Unfolding his arms, he clenches his fists, making his stand, and I don’t blame him. She should have never called him.

“You can’t do this, Liz, not after everything.” Charlotte shakes her head vehemently.

“Do what?” I ask, swigging a capful of mouthwash.

“Shut us out, not being forthcoming.” Her face grows red as her eyes get a sheen, making them shine.

Spitting the foam from my mouth, I run the tap, swilling my gums with water. “He’s Jack, Char.”

“What?” She flinches like I struck her, her gaze tracking mine in the mirror.

“Clark is Jack,” I state, turning back to her, swiping my mouth on a towel.

“Oh my god, you’re having a breakdown. You hit your head too hard. This has all been too much for you,” she cries, throwing herself at me. I grunt from the impact of her body against mine, my butt hitting the sink.

“Who the fuck is Jack?” Stephan asks.

“He's someone she lost forever ago. He’s not Jack, Liz. You’re confused. Did he give you drugs?”

“No,” I snap, gently shoving her backward. “I know it sounds crazy.”

“Because it is crazy,” she states.

“Crazier than everything else going on around here?” I snort.

“Am I interrupting?” Jack stands at the entrance of the bathroom, his clothes creased, hair flying off in all directions, and still the best-looking one in the room.

“Yes, actually,” Charlotte growls, hand on her hip. “What the fuck have you filled her head with?” He looks at me, silently begging for help.

“Charlotte, that’s enough,” I retort.

“No, Lizzy, I think it’s a reasonable question. Who. The. Fuck. Are. You?” Stephan demands, a cold, deadly warning in his tone. My stomach flips as he punches out each word.

Stepping into the room, Jack’s size dwarfs all of us, a dark cloak shrouding the calm, beautiful man who now looks more like a hunter seeking out prey. It doesn’t terrify me like it should. It excites me, fragments of his soul soaking into mine, burrowing within.

“Who the fuck are you?” He turns the question on Stephan, jaw flexing, height drowning Stephan’s, forcing him into his shadow.

“Okay, can we stop the cock measuring for a second and go into another room? The smell is going to make me vomit.” Charlotte gags, pinching her nose with her forefinger and thumb.

The awful smell is pungent, making it impossible to breathe without tasting it on your tongue.

“What is that smell?” Stephan asks, squinting his eyes, but keeping them fixed on Jack.

“Death,” Jack announces.

“What?” Charlotte whispers.

“Something’s dead in your drainage pipe. That smell is rotting flesh,” he says so casually, like it’s not hideous. Moving around the room, he checks the toilet, then the sink. We move into the hallway to give him the space his size demands. He frowns down at the bath where the overhead shower drains. “It’s here. There must be a blockage. Do you have a screwdriver or something I can use to get this panel off?”

“That’s why it smells worse when the shower is on.” Charlotte shudders.

“How would something get in there?” I ask, thinking about what he could use. “I have a knife?”

“Oh, yeah, give the weirdo a knife,” Charlotte whisper-yells.

Swiveling his gaze to her, he comes toward us menacingly. Charlotte darts behind me. “If I wanted to kill you, you would have been dead the first day I saw you stumbling home at four a.m. No one would have seen you just vanish from the street into the trunk of my car,” he warns. Moving his hand up to her face, clicking his fingers, he says, “Snap! Just like that, you’re bug food.”

“Jack…” I gasp, a cold hand snaking up my spine.

Frowning, he shakes his head. “I’ll go up and get something from my apartment.”

I watch the muscles flex in his back as his t-shirt pulls tight across his shoulders. As soon as he’s out of sight, Charlotte slaps me again. “Not a weirdo?” she screeches.

“Got to admit, that was a bit psycho.” Stephan frowns, looking at where Jack left. “Who did you say he was again?”

“He’s someone from my past.”

“Is he? Can you be sure of that?” Charlotte scoffs, going into her room and slamming her door shut. I am sure. Fate brought him home to me.

“Liz.” Stephan takes my hand in his, stroking the pad of his thumb absentmindedly over my scars. “I’m worried about you.”

“I’m okay, I promise.” A heavy silence hangs between us, then Jack re-appears, his eyes dropping to my hand in Stephan’s before rising to Stephan’s face. His fist grips the handle of a screwdriver so tight, his skin turns white.

“Who is he to you again?” he asks me, ignoring Stephan’s presence altogether.

“We’re friends,” I state, pulling my hand free and dropping my gaze.

“You want to help me get this bath panel off, friend?” he grinds out, raising a brow. Stephan smirks, not intimidated one bit.

“Sure thing, someone from her past.”

“Guys, can we stop this already?” I groan.

Moving into the bathroom, Jack drops to a knee and begins unscrewing the bolt that keeps the panel on. With every turn, the smell becomes more toxic. “Should it smell that bad?” Stephan asks, tugging on the panel to loosen it. He pops it right off with ease. Staring at what they’ve uncovered, Stephan backs himself against the wall.

“What is that?” I ask, nausea threatening. A duffle bag has been stuffed inside, wedged against the pipes.

“It’s not something in the drains. The pipes are warming the bag,” Jack informs, matter-of-factly.

“What’s in the fucking bag?” Stephan grabs the neck of his shirt, lifting it to cover his nose and mouth.

Jack reaches for the duffle, but stops when I scream, “Don’t!” I tremble, my brain buzzing. “We need to call Hernandez,” I choke out. “Don’t touch it. Fingerprints.” I usher them out of the room, closing the door behind them and staring at it. Something bad is in the bag, I know it, and it’s been there this whole time. I race past them into the kitchen and vomit into the trashcan, stomach acid burning up my throat. A warm hand rubs my back as another hand collects my hair. “It’s okay,” Jack murmurs. “You should go get Charlotte, so she doesn’t go in there by accident,” Jack tells Stephan.

“I need some air.” My mouth is dry, raw. “And water,” I add, moving to the window while Jack looks for a bottle of water. Pushing the pane of glass open, I gulp at the fresh air, the cold breeze chilling the tears falling to my cheeks. Looking up, my vision blurs, seeing into the empty apartment.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

No. I stumble backward, turning and racing to the bathroom, pushing the door open.

“Lizzy?” numerous voices call out as I drag the bag from beneath the bathtub and unzip it. A blood curdling scream blacks out my vision. I’m not sure if it’s me screaming or Charlotte.

“It’s her,” I blurt, faintly aware of my own voice. “It’s our neighbor.” She was here all along.

 

 

Twenty-Two

 

 

Flashing blue lights don’t have the same effect they did before. They’re becoming my normal. Death, fear…it’s all second nature. I’m a curse.

“I’m going to need you to come to the station,” Hernandez informs me, a crease etched on his forehead. “Am I under arrest?” I laugh, delirious. When he doesn’t answer, I snap my gaze around the room, then back to him. “Oh my god, I am, aren’t I?”

“No, but you do need to come answer some questions.”

“She’s the victim here,” Stephan grinds out, stepping up and resting a hand on my shoulder.

“And you are?” His tone is silky smooth, strong.

“I’m her friend. We spoke before about Abigail.”

“Ah, yes. Well, I’m afraid this is a murder investigation and I have to follow protocol.”

They both turn to look down to me when I speak out, almost hypnotic. “This whole time, she was here. When? How could he have put her…” Sickness threatens again.

A cup is placed in my hands. “Drink up,” Jack tells me with a reassuring nod of his head.

“And you were here when she found the bag?” Hernandez turns his attention to Jack.

“Yes. I removed the bath panel. I stayed the night.” Jack’s eyes flick to Stephan’s, his words a claim and warning.

“I see. Well, you’re all going to need to give statements, so stick around. I’ll get some officers to escort you down to the precinct.

 

 

I find myself once again in an interrogation room. Dull yellow lights. Dirty white walls. A crap chair that’s cold. “Am I a suspect, Detective?” I ask, pushing away the rancid coffee he places in front of me.

“This is just—”

“Protocol, yeah. I heard you the first few times. I think doth protest too much.”

“Stephan said you called Mr. Clark by the first name Jack,” he digs, trying to get inside.

“He misheard.” My tone hardens, teeth clashing.

Pointing to my cut, he frowns. “What happened?” Is that a genuine concern? Probably not.

“Fell.”

“I’m here to help you, Lizzy. I’m not your enemy.” The words are just that: words.

“No? Then why am I here and Willis is still out there killing?”

Silence.

Pushing the words through clenched teeth, I ask, “Are we done, or are you going to charge me with something?”

With a firm nod, he says, “We’re done.”

I stand. “But you can’t go back to your apartment. It’s a murder scene now.”

I peer over at him, my muscles tensing. “You think he killed her there?” Scenarios play without permission through my head. How? When?

Unbuttoning his jacket, he pushes it aside and buries his hand in his pocket, the gun holstered to his ribcage. “No, but we need to be sure.” How easy would it be for a Willis of the world to tackle him and relieve him of it?

“Lizzy?” I jerk my head from his gun to his eyes.

“You’re free to leave.”

 

When we get to the foyer, my stomach dips. It’s dark outside. How long have we been here? “Do you have somewhere to stay?” he comes around me, opening the door.

“Yes,” I lie. I haven’t even thought about where I’ll go. I just want out of here.

When I step out onto the street, Stephan and Charlotte are there waiting for me. “We thought he was going to keep you all night. Do they really believe you could have something to do with this?” Charlotte looks tired. Dark bags swell beneath her eyes.

“It’s routine. Don’t worry,” I try assuring her, but there’s no conviction behind it. I’m not sure what I believe anymore.

“We should go,” Stephan blurts out, and a wave of déjà vu blasts through me. We’re here again, going around and around the bodies piling up.

“Where are we going to go?” Charlotte shivers, rubbing her arms.

“Maybe I need to get out of town,” I announce. “It would be safer for you all.”

“No,” Charlotte snaps, tossing her blonde locks over her shoulder. “Don’t let him drive you into isolation.”

“Who’s he?” Stephan asks, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Are there things you’re not telling me?”

“Yes.” Charlotte narrows her eyes on him. “Of course there are. You’re the friend who has a crush on her, I’m the best friend who is more like a sister, so she tells me more.”

Grabbing her wrist, Stephan grits his teeth. “You’re over the damn line again.”

“Ouch, you bastard! Let go!” she moans, tugging to no avail.

“Stephan,” I warn, shaking my head and pulling his arm away from her.

“Whatever. I’m sick of this bitch. I’m out,” he sneers.

Spinning on Charlotte, I growl, “Do you have to antagonize him?”

Raising her chin, she jerks her shoulder, calling out to his retreating form, “Yo, Stephan.” When he turns, she flips him the bird before turning to me. “Yes, I do.”

Irritated, I jerk down on my sleeve. “What are we going to do now? He was our ride.”

Tapping me on the shoulder, she turns my body. “We have another.” Jack. He’s sitting at the curb in his car, his eyes glued on me. “Come on.” Charlotte yanks me. “For the record, I don’t trust him, but it’s cold, and I don’t want to sleep in my crappy car.”

Smiling over at her, I slip into the car, grateful she took the backseat this time.

 

 

Twenty-Three

 

 

The yellow tape covers our closed door as we pass it on the way up to Jack’s apartment. It still feels too close—that poor woman stuffed into a duffle bag beneath the place where I shower. A tremor vibrates through my body as I linger my gaze on the door. Jack’s large hand encompasses mine, squeezing. “Come on.” He nods his head to the stairs.

Once inside, Charlotte whistles, turning in a circle in the center of the room. “Wow. You’re a neat freak?”

“I like order. My upbringing was chaotic,” he tells her, placing his keys in a decorative dish and going into the open-plan kitchen, getting out some glasses. “I have water, wine, whiskey.”

“Ohhh, wine for me, please.” Charlotte grins, running her hand down the drapes as she moves around the room.

“Thanks again for letting us crash here tonight.” I take a seat on the stool opposite him.

“Of course.” He uncorks a bottle of red and pours two glasses, pushing mine across the counter with a heart-stopping smile.

“Do you have a TV?”

Darting his eyes up to Charlotte, his jaw ticks. “No.”

“Boring.” She huffs, throwing herself down on his couch, pulling out her cell phone and flitting her thumbs over the screen.

“You must be hungry,” he asks me, studying, dissecting.

“Starving,” Charlotte booms. “Do you have any potato chips?”

“Charlotte,” I groan.

I feel her eye-roll as she gets to her feet, storms over to us, takes my glass of wine, and gulps it down like its water. “I’m out of this snoozefest! Don’t wait up.” She waves her phone and moves toward the front door.

“Charlotte,” I admonish. “You can’t be serious. We found our neighbor in a fucking duffel bag this morning.”

“I know. You have your way of dealing, being a frigid mope, and I have mine.” She kisses her fingers and places it at her crotch, flashing me the phone screen with her dating app up.

“Being a callous slut?” Jack snorts.

“Fuck you, Clark—or Jack—or whoever the hell you are. You could be the one who put her there for all we know and here we are waiting to be your next victim.”

“Charlotte,” I hiss, getting up and pushing her to the door, closing it behind us. “What the hell was that?”

Leaning back against the railing, she crosses her ankles, looks down at them, and says, “He called me a slut.”

“Before that, why are you being a bitch?”

Exhaling, she rubs her palms down her face and shrugs a shoulder. “I don’t know. I feel out of sorts. I’m going to chill with a friend for the night. Give you two some space. I swear, being around you two is like living in a teen movie.”

When I just stare at her with a what the hell look, she elaborates. “The freaking tension is suffocating. You need to bone already.”

“You just called him a murderer not five seconds ago.”

Shrugging, she says, “Yeah…well, I don’t think murdering you is what he has on his mind. Unless he’s murdering your pussy.”

I cover her mouth with my hand and narrow my gaze. “You’re so gross. Go, but text me to let me know you’re okay later.”

“I will. He’s picking me up right outside.” She kisses my cheek and is down the first flight of stairs before she calls up, “Sorry for being a bitch. You know I love you, right?”

“I love you too, asshole,” I say down to her. I’m scared of the way she’s dealing with this. We found our neighbor in a duffle bag, and she seems perfectly okay. We knew that woman, saw her life through our window every day.

“Everything all right?” Jack asks, frowning when I come back inside.

“Yeah. She’s just been through a lot and has her own way of dealing.”

“I was out of line. I just didn’t like the way she was speaking about you.”

Sighing, I re-take my seat and play with the stem of the glass. “I think we’re all a little frayed from…well, everything.” Will she have her breaking point when it all hits her at once and she crumbles?

Pouring a fresh glass of wine and picking up what looks like dusted doughnuts, he comes around the counter and takes my hand, leading us over to the couch.

“You said before you don’t think this is Willis.” I gulp down the nerves chewing away inside me. I take one of the balls and devour the sugary goodness, my stomach twisting in pain from the intrusion of solids. “Do you know where he is?”

Leaning back into the cushions, he jerks his head. “I do.”

Thud.

Trembles dance through my fingers. “Is he here?”

What if he sees him, speaks to him? Have I been reckless letting Jack in?

“No. I’d never allow him to touch you.” His scoots forward, his strong palm cradling my cheek. He’s so soft, yet his strength emanates from him in waves. “Lizzy, he never once mentioned you. We didn’t have TVs, so he didn’t watch the news. We lived in derelict farmhouses away from civilization. He only left for food and to hunt.” A cold shiver snakes through me. He doesn’t mean hunt animals. No, he means girls, victims.

“Then who could be doing this?” I exhale. I’m not sure which is scarier: it being Willis or it being someone new, someone replicating, fixating on the past.

“Whoever it is, I’m going to find them, and when I do—”

“What?” I ask, moving closer, placing the half-eaten doughnut down. His allure is intoxicating. Like a magnet, my body senses the pull. “Is that what all those pictures and clippings are for? Are you tracking him?”

“That’s what I do, Liz. I hunt. I’m a hunter.” Nerves zap around inside me. I don’t know what to make of it all.

“Tell me what you want, Lizzy. What do you want from me?” His voice is hushed, a silk hint to it—a promise.

“For the longest time, I wanted you to release me. I needed closure from you. To let you go. But I never could,” I say honestly.

“And now?” He drags me closer, and I crawl across the couch to be near him, climbing into his lap. A sense of need stronger than anything I’ve ever felt before hums in my veins, like the ache of an addiction desperate for medicine. Feed me.

My heart rushes, and butterflies flutter in my stomach. Reaching out, he swipes the pad of his thumb across the corner of my mouth, making me shiver. He pulls it away and shows me the sprinkling of sugar, then sucks it into his mouth, slow, deliberate. My thighs squeeze together in response. I feel hazy, like I drank the entire bottle of wine—and I like it. I need it after today. I need to forget, if only for a moment. Visions of us naked and writhing on each other assault me. I gulp, looking away from him. I’m positive there’s a crimson blush creeping over my neck and up my cheeks.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, his voice a raspy tone that delights me in parts that haven’t been touched in a really long time.

Is this normal? To feel such a quick, intense connection with someone?

Grasping my jaw, he tilts my chin, “Penny for them?” He brushes his fingers across the nape of my neck. A shock of electricity shoots down my spine, pooling between my legs. Desire burns, fire raining down all around us, setting us ablaze.

“What do you need?” he groans, long fingers sliding into my hair and tugging, exposing my throat.

“I need you,” I moan.

The tension in his body dissipates as he dilutes right in front of me, a sigh wisping from his lips as our eyes lock, and our souls greet their mate re-introducing old friends to the new bodies they inhabit. “You’re so fucking beautiful. More so than I could ever have imagined.”

The clothes are yet another barrier, stopping us from connecting on the level we so desperately need.

“Jack,” I moan, writhing. Tightening his hold in my hair, he drags me forward, his lips latching onto mine in a dominating, heart-rendering kiss. Everything heats as the clash of two forces detonate. His touch is claiming. His hot tongue begs for entry. And I give it. I let go and give in to the need.

At the heart of all this darkness, we seek comfort and light within each other.

Tearing at each other’s clothes, wild and free, we touch, feel, seek more. Lips caress over fevered flesh. Lifting me, he twists our bodies almost violently, placing me beneath him, demanding my legs to part with a nudge of this thighs. Teeth nip at my skin. His hands are everywhere, exploring, tantalizing.

Inhaling sharply, he hesitates, resting his forehead against mine. “Is this real?” he gasps, sweat coating his skin.

“Yes.” I recapture his lips, wrapping my legs around his waist and grinding myself against him, offering, giving permission.

Grasping the back of my neck, his kiss grows rough, possessive. His hard bulge grinds against the apex of my thighs, stroking. Wet need soaks my panties. Tilting my head back to give him access to my throat, I squeeze his ass, pushing him farther into me, needing the friction. When my eyes flutter open, a mirage takes form. My nightmares creep to the surface, taking over my reality. Bracing up, Jack’s powerful shoulders tower above me. The grip of his fingers closes around my throat, and panic seizes my lungs. Visions of my neighbor lying looking up at her killer, dying in fear and all because of me, barrel into me.

“Liz?” Jack croaks, and tears burn the corners of my eyes. I slap at him, my body twisting and turning, struggling to free myself. Jumping up, he scurries away from me, his skin almost white, hands out in front of him. “Did I hurt you? What’s wrong?”

I claw at my throat, desperate to get oxygen into my lungs. A sob pushes its way out as I collapse to the floor.

“I don’t know what to do. Can I touch you?”

Embarrassment and guilt taunt me as the panic subsides. I look up to see Jack terrified. “I’m sorry,” I sob. I’m in his arms in seconds, the strength of him protective. “I’m sorry.”

“Shhh…it’s okay.”

 

Encompassing me into his arms, he carries me to the kitchen, placing my butt on the counter. A cold breeze blows over my skin, reminding me we’re both topless. Jack’s body is covered in little scars I hadn’t noticed when ravishing him earlier. Toned muscles strain as he pours water into a glass and passes it to me. “Drink.”

“I don’t know what happened.”

Tucking my hair behind my ear in a gentle, affectionate motion, a ghost of a smile touches his lips. “You’ve been through so much.” He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, closing his eyes briefly. “Too much.”

“So, have you,” I murmur, swigging from the glass and pulling his body between my legs, my fingers dance over the tiny bumps on his chest. “What about all you’ve been through?”

Taking the glass, he kisses the fingertips. “None of that matters now.”

My body sags against his, flesh to flesh, my heart hammers against the ribcage, arousal blooming. “Take me to your bed, Jack,” I beg.

I catch him off guard, his head jerks back, wary eyes search my features for reassurance. “Please,” I beg.

 

 

Twenty-Four

 

 

Giddiness and nerves fight for dominance inside me as we crash down onto his mattress, I yank at the buttons on his jeans, using my feet to aid them loose. Hungry lips latch onto my nipple, grazing with his teeth before suckling to soothe the sting of sweet torture. Sitting up on his knees, he keeps his eyes locked on mine as he drags my panties down my thighs, bringing my body to life. Using his lips, he traces a path back up my leg, biting the soft flesh of my inner thigh, leaving his mark before dipping between the apex. My chest hitches. Am I dreaming? Digging my hands into his hair, I move him where I need him. When he swipes out with his hot, delicious tongue to part my folds, it sends electric pulsing through my bloodstream. The sensation is so exquisite, I could come from that alone. My thighs encase him as he works me over, tasting, flicking, sucking. My eager body responds to his every touch, writhing, begging for more. When his fingers push inside, peace washes over me. Heat blooms up my cheeks, across my chest. Surrendering moans of approval echo around the room. His returning growls make me feel alive, sexual, beautiful. Stretching his fingers deeper, he curls them to stroke the little bundle of nerves to send me spiraling into ecstasy. Every part of me is hyperaware. Overwhelming pulses of euphoria flood through my veins when I reach the peak of my orgasm, my body shuddering, toes curling. Fuck.

“You’re so beautiful.” He traces his lips up my body, capturing my nipple and sucking before moving to my neck, chin, lips. The hard length of his cock strokes through my folds, each divine movement eliciting shockwaves of arousal. Reaching between our bodies, I take his thick cock in my hand, making him hiss. Rubbing the pad of my thumb through the beads of precum before lining him where I need him, I use my legs to force his ass forward. Inch by delectable inch enters me, stretching me open, filling me up. Consumed with need, he thrusts hard, rough. “Fuck…more…” I cry out, meeting each thrust with an uplift of my own. We’re lost to the rhythm, hypnotized by the sensation coursing through us both, every kiss driving out all the fear and doubt. I’m floating at the height of bliss and I never want to come down.

 

I wake to my cell phone chirping, my aunt calling for the thousandth time. I mute the ringing, knowing I’ll have to call her later or she’ll show up here.

Every part of me aches in ways I’ve never felt before. I wasn’t a virgin, but sex with Jack was mind-altering and body-exhausting in the most delicious of ways. “You smell so good.” He hums against my skin, kissing a path down to my navel. I’m sure I smell of sweat and sex, but I won’t stop him. “What do you want to do today?” he asks, moaning while kissing my inner thigh. This. I want to do this all day, every damn day.

“I need to go to the store, then I have a shift at Marley’s,” I groan, my breath hitching when his lips kiss over my mound.

“Really?” he teases, swiping his tongue, making my body shiver from his touch on my sensitive clit. “Can you not take a day off?” Swipe.

“He’ll dock my pay,” I moan, pulling the pillow over my face and biting down.

“I’ll give you money.” My pleasure turns to laughter, and then I’m writhing in rapture.

 

 

Twenty-Five

 

 

The air is thick today. Gray storm clouds loom above, threatening. I read a text from Charlotte letting me know she’s at work and survived the night with a knife emoji, asking, DID YOU?

I tease her back with a BARELY. Smiling, I slide my phone back into my pocket. Rain tap dances over the windshield as we pull into the supermarket parking lot. Taking a breath, I smile over at Jack. “I won’t be long.”

“You sure you don’t want me to come in with you?” A line appears on his forehead.

“No. Stay here and keep dry.” Leaning over, I kiss his lips, knowing we’re not going to be able to stay in this bubble long. People need to know Portland’s Lost Boy is alive and here. My aunt deserves to know. I need to call her.

Rain hammers down as I open the door. I didn’t bring a coat, so I make a dash for the doors, managing to only get half-soaked.

Shaking the water from my hair like a stray dog, I grab a basket and head straight for the cake aisle. There’s a drip coming through the roof, causing a puddle to form on the floor next to my feet.

Am I carrying a rain cloud above my head, being mocked by life? I won’t let the doom ruin the high I feel from the night I spent with Jack. Flashes of this morning sing like a lullaby in my head, making me glow from within. I grasp a single cupcake and head to the baking aisle.

Why do they only sell candles in packs of ten? I want one fucking candle. One!

Snatching the packet of ten multicolored candles from the shelf, I drop it into my basket and make my way to the checkout. A teenage boy grins at me from behind the counter like I’m the first female he’s been in contact with. His scrawny figure stands taller than my five-foot-seven frame, his small, round eyes dipping to my chest. I follow his gaze to see the rain has made my shirt almost see-through, showing my black bra beneath.

Placing the single cupcake and pack of candles on the counter, I try to ignore the toothy grin plastered on his lips as he looks down at me. “Just these?” he asks with a raised brow. If it weren’t, why would I come to the checkout? I don’t say that. Instead, I nod.

“Your birthday?” he asks with a smirk. It’s a pity smirk that makes me want to poke his eye out with the damn candle, like I’m celebrating myself alone.

“No.”

“Boyfriend’s?”

I stare at him until he frowns, taking the damn hint. “Five dollars and thirty cents.”

I take out the exact money from the change in my wallet and drop it into his hand, almost retching when he curls his clammy palm, brushing mine. Snatching up my products, I leave without my receipt.

I used to hate this day. I’d want to go to sleep and wake up when the ache passed, which was never. But today is different. Today, I have Jack.

Pulling open the car door, I sit in the luxury leather, a complete contrast to Charlotte’s rust bucket. Jack isn’t here. A note sits on the dash. “Had to use the bathroom. Be back in two minutes.”

Pulling a candle from the packet and stuffing it into the flaky chocolate frosting, I place it on the dash, a shiver racing down my spine—regret, guilt, the twinge that’s never left me since my mom was stolen from me.

Blood pumps hard through my body, resonating the pounding of my heart as I grip the lighter, waiting for Jack. The lonely wave that usually would be crashing over me isn’t as powerful today. There’s a light rumble in my chest, an aftershock rather than a full-blown earthquake.

Tipping my head against the headrest, a sigh deflates my lungs. It’s not normal to hold on to something that happened so long ago. Memories of her are fuzzy now, but I can’t help the way it shaped my life. Sudden tapping against the window makes me screech. Rain blurs the image on the other side, but I recognize the red apron of the checkout clerk. Rolling my eyes and holding a hand to my chest, I reach for the window button. Before I can press it to open, his body slams into the window. Once. Twice. I jolt, jerking back.

There’s a shadow behind him. Crimson stains hit the window. A soul-shattering scream howls from my lips as his body slides out of sight, his blood smeared all over the window. A black silhouette stands there looking in. He’s come for me.

I throw myself into the backseat and rush to open the back door, spilling out to the wet ground. My palms smart at the impact, the air whooshing from my lungs. Looking beneath the car, I see the clerk’s lifeless body, eyes open, staring at me from the other side of the car. My pulse roars in my ears. Tears leak from my eyes, mixing with the rainwater. I manage to gain movement in my legs, and with everything I have in me, I take off running without looking back to see if he’s chasing me. Fire burns my calves. Air is like acid in my lungs. I run until my lungs seize and my legs feel like they’re filled with stone, throwing myself at the coffee shop door. Struggling to grasp the handle, a startled customer opens it for me, and I crash inside, skidding across the floor, landing painfully on my hands and knees, dripping wet and shaking like a wounded animal.

“What the fuck?” Charlotte cries out. People whisper, their eyes piercing into me.

“He…he…killed him,” I choke out. “At the grocery store,” I finish, a sob ricocheting through my body like a ping pong ball.

“Who? Who killed who?” someone new asks. A crowd has gathered around me. Someone’s arms circle me in their embrace. “She’s shaking. Someone do something,” a distressed voice calls out, but I don’t know who it belongs too.

“I’m calling the police,” another says.

Warm material encompasses me as a jacket is placed over my shoulders.

“What happened, Lizzy?” the voice distorts.

“I was in the parking lot…and…and the clerk came to my window…then he just hit the window—his body—there was someone behind him. I ran—I got out and ran,” I sob. Guilt washes over me. What if the kid wasn’t dead? Should I have stayed to fight him off? Jack. Where was Jack? Oh god, I left him!

“Jack,” I scream, looking to the door. “Oh god, Jack.” I can’t breathe. I grasp at the air. My throat restricts and closes. I’m suffocating. I try to stand, but my legs fail me. “I can’t breathe,” I cry out.

“You’re having a panic attack. It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

“You’re safe now. Come out of there.”

“I can’t breathe,” I cry out, darkness closing in around the edges of my sight.

“You’re breathing right now. Try to calm down.”

Marco…Jack…Jack…

Blank blackness steals all the color, all the air.

Jack. I lost Jack.

 

 

Twenty-Six

 

 

Sharp stabbing shoots through my hand, jolting me awake. Bright lights hurt my eyes, making me squint to see through the slits. “Where am I?” I croak, lifting my hand. There’s a tube stuck in it. Fully opening my eyes, the room floods in. Charlotte jumps up from a chair, rushing toward me. “Hey. You’re awake.”

“What happened?” I ask, but the words stick to my tongue when the images of the clerk hitting the car window batters my mind.

“Jack?” I ask.

“I’m here.”

“Convenient,” Stephan growls from somewhere in the room. I scoot to a sitting position, taking in the IV and white sheet draped over me.

Catching my gaze, Jack strokes hair from my face. “You were dehydrated.” His smile is one of sorrow. “I’m so fucking sorry. I was gone for minutes.”

“Again, convenient.”

“Back the hell off before you’re the one in the bed,” Jack growls in a warning.

“He’s just saying what we’re all thinking.” Charlotte folds her arms, eyeballing him.

“Guys?” No way. I’d know if he had that darkness inside him. I’d sense it, right?

“Come on, Liz. He has you brainwashed. We don’t even know who the hell he is,” Charlotte snaps. She looks exhausted, dry, makeup-streaked tears on her cheeks.

“You just don’t like him because I do. First Stephan and now Jack,” I argue.

“This is different, and you know it!”

“Is it? How? You don’t like it when men see past you to me. It’s why you’re such a bitch to Stephan,” I accuse, sick of this shit.

Running a hand through his hair, Stephan keeps looking at Charlotte, then the tiled floor.

With a mocking laugh, Charlotte sneers, “Stephan is an asshole who bangs me whenever you blow him off, so you got that one wrong. And you’re wrong about this one too, you just can’t see it yet. You will when he’s cutting you up and stuffing you in a duffle bag. But I won’t be around to become his next victim. I’m done.”

Her words wound, her tongue a whip lashing out and cutting deep.

Stephan makes a grab for her, but she pulls free, growling, “Don’t fucking touch me. I’ve worn enough of your bruises for one lifetime.”

My mouth is agape as I stare at Stephan in disbelief. They hate each other, how could he sleep with her?

“It was a mistake.” He shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck, red blotches coloring his cheeks.

“Charlotte, Stephan?” I hear the disgust in my own voice. She’s my best friend. What they did was thoughtless, a complete disregard of my feelings.

“It was a mistake,” he reiterates.

“I can’t deal with this now.” I close my eyes, my thoughts muddled. “Just go, Stephan.”

“Liz.” I sense his movement toward me, but he must think better of it.

“Just go,” I bark, the strain hurting my throat.

“I’ll be outside. I’m not letting her come between us over something that didn’t fucking matter,” he rages, kicking a chair across the room and storming out.

“Were you and him…?” Jack asks, a mirage of emotions dancing in his eyes.

“No, we’re friends—that’s it.”

“There was nobody,” Jack says, changing the subject, the pad of his thumb stroking down my cheek.

No. There had to be. “I saw it. I saw him.” I pull the covers from my body, yanking some sticky pads from my chest.

“Whoa, calm down. I know. There was blood on the ground, but there wasn’t a body.”

“He’s toying with me,” I croak, a strangled cry tearing from me.

“Who?”

“Willis. It has to be him, Jack. It has to be.” Tears burn a path down my cheeks. Grasping my face, he kisses away the sorrow and clutches me to his chest. I listen to the pounding of his heart.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

“It can’t be him, Lizzy.”

“Why? Maybe he outwitted you like he has the police all these years.”

“He didn’t.” He pulls me back, his green orbs penetrating mine. “It can’t be him. I refuse to believe it.”

Boom. Boom. Boom.

My head shakes uncontrollably. “That’s not a good enough reason.”

“Can’t you just trust me?”

Can I trust anyone? “We need to tell Hernandez who you are.” I gulp as fear settles in my chest.

“I can’t do that.” He backs away like my words burn him.

“Jack.”

“No!” he snaps, sitting, his head collapsing into his hands. “They’ll take me away from you again, make me relive things.” He’s back on his feet, grasping me into his arms, his hold so strong, it steals my breath.

“I can’t lose you again.” His voice hitches. “I refuse to ever let you go. Please, Liz.”

“Okay.”

 

 

I scrape at the scars on my palm beneath the white sheet as Hernandez pins me with a confused gaze. “He didn’t speak to you?”

“No.” I try not to look at him, afraid he can see all the lies stacking up.

“Did you recognize him?”

“No.” I shake my head and reach for a tissue, wiping my nose. A smudge of blood soaking into the white quickens my breath. I’ve re-opened a scar.

“Sorry, I cut my hands on the ground.” I shrug, more lies coming with ease.

“We have something I didn’t want to tell you until it was proven.” He frowns. The grays through his dark hair are more prominent under this bright light.

“You found Willis?” I swallow, shock stiffening my body.

“A known location. Our officers are there now with Barnett.” He grips the railing at the end of my bed.

“Is Willis there?” my voice breaks off.

“We’ll know more soon. Until then, the store confirmed the clerk is missing.”

“I didn’t imagine it,” I snap. Everyone thinks I’m crazy.

“As soon as I have any information, I’ll let you know.” He nods.

“Thank you.”

 

 

Twenty-Seven

 

 

Listening to the nurse as she tells me to take it easy for a few days makes me want to laugh. I can’t go one fucking day without a body dropping.

Jack grabs up my stuff and guides me out, insistent on taking care of me. I bite my nails almost down to the quick, then hide them in my sleeves when blood blossoms there, embarrassed for Jack to see how I brutalize myself. Charlotte plays on my mind. Where is she? We need to forgive each other, be more open. “Are you okay?” Jack reaches a hand over to stroke my thigh. Inhaling, I lift my legs to my chest and gaze out of the window into the darkening sky. “I’ll be fine.” Will I?

Pulling up to the apartment building, anger flickers through me. My aunt is sitting on the step outside, a grocery bag at her feet. “Perfect,” I groan, stepping out of the car.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, a nervous flurry in my stomach.

“I’ve been calling. You always send me to voicemail,” she admonishes, her eyes flitting to Jack. “Who’s your friend?”

“Oh,” I wave a hand awkwardly at Jack, “my neighbor, Clark.” She wouldn’t understand, yet. This takes a much more planned conversation.

“What’s with the bag?” I gently tap it with my foot.

“Groceries. I know you and Charlotte live on scraps,” she tuts, her eyes dropping to my trim stomach.

“That’s thoughtful. Thank you.”

“So, should we go up to your apartment or are you keeping me on the street for a reason?” Fuck.

“Actually…” I teeter, hoping an excuse pops into my head.

“I watch the damn news, Lizzy,” she fumes before I can come up with something. “Why the hell haven’t you called, come home? Another girl murdered?” She throws her hands up in the air.

It’s apparent she doesn’t know about the duffle or the store clerk. “I’m booked in at the hotel off Candace Lane. When you’re ready to talk to me about all this, you can find me there.” She huffs, slamming the bag into my chest and waltzing off.

“Is everyone pissed at me?” I groan, looking up at Jack.

“I’m not,” he says, a proactive smile hooking his lip as he takes the bag from my arms. “Come on.”

I follow him up to his apartment and text Charlotte.

Where are you?

 

Kicking off my shoes, I go to the grocery bag and rummage through it. “What’s in it?” Jack muses, taking out a couple of glasses from the cupboard.

“Fruit,” I bitch. There’s some pasta and canned goods too, but nothing exciting to the palate. An incoming text from Charlotte gains my attention.

We’re allowed in our apartment. I’ll be by later to grab some things. Then I think I’m going to go stay with my parents for a bit.

Thud.

She’s found her limit and she’s leaving me after all.

“Liz?” Jack frowns, reading my face. He walks over to me. I can’t do this now. It will be safer for her to leave. This is a good thing.

“My apartment has been released.”

“So soon?” His shoulders drop. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he asks, “How would you feel about still staying here, just a night or two?”

A hint of a smile touches my lips. “I’d like that. Maybe you could come with me to grab some clothes?’

Pulling his hand from his pocket, he reaches out, and I clasp his palm, curling my small fingers between his large ones. “Let’s go.”

Coiling in my stomach aches as I push into my apartment, fragmented memories of the day we discovered the bag punishing me with each intake of breath.

“Do you want me to just go in?” Jack offers.

“No.” I smile tightly, walking farther inside. The trashcan is gone. Some cushions from the couch are missing. The knife block isn’t here. Can they just take whatever they want? Moving to my room, I don’t look at the bathroom, avoiding it altogether. My room has been searched—bedding tossed around, trinkets laying on their sides, drawers open with clothes hanging out. Assholes. Jack begins righting the order of things. This room must make him quiver in repulse.

The ringing of my cell fills the room. Smiling, I look over my shoulder to Jack and say, “I used to hear everything from your room in here.”

A dark allure resonates from his eyes, pulsing between my legs. “Ditto.” He raises an accusatory brow, making me blush. Looking down at my phone to hide my giddiness, a shiver rakes over my skin. All joy flees my body like the sun disappearing into the night.

“You going to answer that?” Jack questions, righting the perfume bottle on my dresser. Yes.

 

 

Twenty-Eight

 

 

“Detective?” I answer.

“We found Willis’s remains.”

Boom. Boom. Boom.

The room spins, the floor shifting, my world turning on its axis. I reach for the doorframe to steady myself. Jack messes with crap on the dresser, unaware of my turmoil. “What?”

“They’re old, Lizzy. But they have identifying markers from a surgery Langford had on his knee after a motorcycle accident when he was a teenager.”

“So…it’s him?” My voice is barely a whisper.

“We need to get the remains tested, but we’re pretty certain it’s him.”

Silence—all but the piercing screaming in my mind. It’s not Willis. I need him to say it.

“What aren’t you saying, Detective?” I breathe. His tone is cautious. He’s withholding. His heavy exhale sends a swarm of bees through my blood.

“We also found other remains on the property.”

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Women? How many…

“A child. Bones. Old.” Swirling acid retches up my throat. “We need to have them tested, but it’s likely the remains of Jack…”

“No,” I say sharply, cutting him off. No. No. No. My eyes strain, staring at the man in front of me.

“I’m so sorry, Lizzy.”

I shake my head vehemently. “That can’t be.”

“There’s something else.” Rustling sounds echo around him, like he’s walking somewhere. “Your friend…he’s not who he claims. There’s something you should know about him…” Wind whistles. More rustling. “Are you still there, Lizzy?”

No. Please no.

My skin itches, the truth breaking the last part of me.

“Who is this?” Jack…or whoever the hell he is, mouths to me, holding up my photo of him and me, his mother’s arm around us both. It’s all I had left of him—my Jack, my lost boy.

My phone drops from my hand, crashing to the floor. Hernandez's muted voice vibrates the device. Horror washes over me. This man is not Jack. He’s playing me. “Lizzy, what’s wrong? Who was that?”

Lifting my hand, I point to the picture. “That’s Jack’s mom,” I croak, my voice breaking. He’s not Jack. He’s not Jack. He’s not my lost boy. Jack’s dead. Has been dead his whole time. No. No. No.

Sorrow creeps over me like moss clinging to a derelict building. He frowns, studying the image. “They found, Willis,” I announce, watching, studying his face for surprise or shock. He closes his eyes, his breathing increasing with each inhale. A stray tear leaks down my cheek.

“I can explain,” he murmurs, taking a step toward me as I take two back.

“Don’t,” I whisper, my hands outstretched.

“Liz…”

“No!” I bark, a sob bursting from my chest. “Who are you?” I scream, the veins in my skull straining.

“You know who I am. You know, Liz. You feel it.”

Shaking my head, I try to think, to play everything back, but my head is too muddled. “Who is killing people?” I blurt as the thought bursts in my head like a balloon popping.

“I don’t know…”

“No!” I bellow, keeping my hands up and bending down to reach for my phone. His eyes track my movements—a hunter is what he called himself. “Willis is dead. He’s fucking dead. It can’t be him.” Is it you? Oh god, it’s you. I stand, flicking my eyes to the screen. It’s cracked and the call has ended. Slipping it into my pocket, I say again, “Willis is dead!”

“I know he’s dead!” he roars, launching the picture across the room. The frame obliterates against the wall, showering the room in speckles of glass. My body is frozen in fear, grief. A collision of every emotion leaves my insides a car wreck.

“I killed him!”

My heart obliterates at his confession.

“I fucking killed him,” he reiterates, taking a step in my direction.

Run! I move through the apartment at full speed and take off running, knowing he’s behind me. I feel him there. My feet stumble as I reach the stairs, slipping and tumbling down the last few steps as Mrs. Briggs pokes her head out her front door, frowning at me.

“Call the police!” I screech, but she slams her door in my face. The pounding of footfalls has me spilling out onto the street, crashing into passersby. Their shocked gasps don’t stop me. I run, thrashing the asphalt. My screams are internal, tearing at my soul, trying to rip free. This can’t be real.

“Lizzy,” his voice calls out, roaring, but I don’t slow down. I run and run.

My feet are on fire, the skin chaffed and raw. I reach Marley’s and slam my hand against the door. All the lights are out, and it’s locked up. Every headlight appears to head straight for me. My mind screams for me to keep going, flee, find safety. Everything hurts, but I push my body to its limit, hammering the asphalt until I find myself on Stephan’s porch, hammering on his door. “Let me in,” I cry. “Please?”

Please be home. Please be home.

The door opens. Stephan looks shocked to see me. I launch myself at him, cradling my body to his, needing stability, safety, familiarity.

“What are you doing here?” He’s rigid against me.

“He’s not Jack,” I choke out. The agony of my words cuts so deep, I may bleed out right here at Stephan’s feet. Frowning, he checks the street, then pulls me inside, closing and latching the front door. Entwining his hand with mine, he drags me upstairs and into a bedroom.

“How did you know where I live?” He picks up a box from a shelve and shoves it beneath his bed. The room is nothing like I pictured for him. It’s barren, sterile. A bed, desk, small mini-fridge, nothing else. Everything is white. No pictures, no posters, no personality anywhere of the boy I know. “Liz, how did you get here?”

I swallow past the stone in my throat. My body is trembling. It feels like the floor is moving beneath my feet. “I ran.”

“Barefoot?” He frowns, pulling out a chair from his desk. “Sit down. You’re bleeding.” I comply, almost robotic. He leaves the room, disappearing into a bathroom, and returns with a washcloth. Bending a knee, he takes my ankle, lifts my foot, and dabs the sole. “How did you know where I lived?”

“You brought me here before. Made me wait in the car while you ran in to get your wallet.”

He pauses a couple seconds, then continues to clean my feet. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

“You were right about Jack. God, if that’s even his name,” I ramble, my words coming out rushed, exhausted.

“Don’t move,” he orders, leaving the room. My head swims, a thousand different thoughts racing through it. Why did I feel such an instant connection with him? How did he know who I was, how to find me? Why would someone pretend to be a missing child? Questions barrel into me, knocking the air from my lungs. Could he be capable of murdering those women? It has to be him. It can’t be a coincidence.

“Here, take this. It will help with the pain,” Stephan says, coming back into the room, handing me a pill and a glass of water.

Swallowing the tablet, I down the water, spilling it a little in my trembling hand. I can’t control the shaking of my body. “Willis—Willis is dead,” I stutter out.

Stephan jerks away from me like I hit him. “What did you say?”

“I know, shocking, right?” I hobble to my feet, the sting centering me. “He’s not the one killing people.” A painful throb on my side makes me flinch. I lift my top to see a bruise forming there from my fall on the stairs.

“Wait, how do you know he’s dead?” Stephan asks, holding his hands to his head. I’ve blown his mind. I’m right there with you…only, I’ve shared my body with the real killer. Moving to his window, looking out, the trees sway to the rhythm of the wind. The world just keeps moving despite mine coming to an abrupt halt. All I see are the streets coated in blood, the moon mocking me.

“Lizzy, fucking talk to me. How do you know Willis is dead?”

“The police found his body.” My head becomes thick, my words slurring. Dropping to his bed before I stumble, my eyelids feel heavy. “What pill did you give me?”

“It’s just a Valium. Lay down, Liz.”

“No, I can’t.” Everything feels thick like I’m in Jell-O. My cell phone vibrates against my leg. Scrambling to free it from my pocket is such a task. My arms feel so heavy, I almost drop the phone when I finally grasp it. Charlotte’s picture fills the screen.

“Charlotte.” I panic. She was going back to the apartment. What if he hurts her? It takes me a couple attempts to swipe to answer her call. Stephan’s piercing eyes watch me with interest.

“Charlotte,” I groan, my tongue too thick inside my mouth.

“Liz, thank god. Where are you? Jack is freaking out.”

Run.

“He’s not Jack. Stay away from him.” It sounds weird to my own ears.

“Lizzy,” Jack’s voice croons down the line, making me weep.

“Don’t hurt her please.” Being responsible for her death is something I’d never recover from.

“I would never hurt her—or any girls, you have to know that.”

“I don’t know anything,” I sob. Stephan moves around the room, pulls out a sweater jacket, and places it over my shoulders. Something thumps from somewhere in the house, summoning Stephan’s attention, leaving me alone, fragile, broken.

“Willis kept a photo of my mother. It was the only damn thing he cared about and kept with him always. He would take it out of his wallet and show it to me, telling me about her. I think she was the only person he ever loved.”

He killed her. That’s not love. He was a beast, an animal.

“Liz, it wasn’t the woman in the photograph you had.”

I pinch the top of my nose, trying to ground myself, to stop the floor beneath me from quaking. “What?”

“I’m going to send you a picture of the picture he had. I kept it after—”

“After you killed him,” I slur my mouth too dry. I need water. Standing on unstable legs, I stumble to the dresser, knocking the glass over when I reach for it. My phone dings, so I pull the phone away from my ear and open the image. The racing of my heart roars in my ears. A beautiful woman, hugging her rounded tummy. “That’s my mother,” I croak. Darkness closes in around me and I drown into the abyss.

 

 

Twenty-Nine

 

 

The sun has been hiding from me. I’m lost in darkness, clawing to get free, only to gasp and choke on my own despair. My skull quakes and groans, my eyes fluttering open. It takes me a moment to remember where I am.

Moonlight drips in through the window, highlighting Stephan’s bed I’m lying on.

Jack.

I search around me for my phone, the image of my mother burning into my brain.

What did that mean? Finding it next to me, I bring up my aunt’s number and call it. The battery beeps in warning. Shit.

“Lizzy?”

“I need to ask you something—and don’t lie to me.” Her breathing is all I hear. “How did Willis Langford know my mother?”

Silence.

“Tell me!” I bark, my hands balling into the duvet.

“Why don’t you come to the hotel and we can talk?”

“I don’t want to come there. Just tell me,” I demand.

“Oh, Lizzy.” Sorrow coats her words.

“No!” I snap, my head cracking in two. “Just answer the question.”

“Willis…Willis and your mother.”

Don’t say it. Please don’t say it.

“She met him when she was too young—married too young.”

No. She’s lying.

“No! He’s Jack’s father! He stole Jack! He came for Jack!” I try to make sense of her words, of the photo.

“Your mother told him she was having a boy. It made her ill knowing all the girls he killed only for her to give him a daughter.”

“No!” Hot wet streams flood down my cheeks.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“But how—why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“I thought about telling you a thousand times, but you not knowing was safer. The police held this information from the public. They feared Willis would kill Jack if he found out he took the wrong child.”

I’m dying. This is what dying feels like. My insides are disintegrating. Willis was there for me that day, he just didn’t know it. I killed them—Jack’s mother and mine—just by existing.

“Lizzy…”

“My phone’s dying,” I grunt out, ending the call. Dropping back onto the bed, guilt crashes in with the power of a storm.

My heart skips when someone steps from the shadows of the corner of the room.

“How do you know that name?” the figure whispers. She steps into the light, frail, skin hanging over bone, sunken eyes an aqua blue just like Stephan’s.

“How do you know that name?” she urges, coming at me like a crazy old lady. Only she’s not that old; she’s just been beaten down by life.

“What name?” I ask, scooting up the bed, wary of her approach. She’s like a witch creeping from beneath the bed.

“Langford. Bad man. Bad, bad man.”

Pounding of my heart roars in my ears. The bedroom door flies open, and Stephan waltzes in, wearing Hades himself like a suit, his eyes stone cold.

Hands reach out for me, the woman grasping my arm. Weak, cold, fingers nip at my flesh. Stephan wraps an arm around her from behind, placing her in a headlock.

“Stephan?” I cry out as he bites the lid from a syringe, spits it across the room, and injects a needle into the woman’s neck. Fragile arms try to fight him to no avail. Her eyes flutter, arms dropping limp to her sides, and that’s when I see it. A gasp whooshes from my lips. I cover my chest with my arms to prevent my heart from bursting free. She’s missing her little finger.

Leaping from the bed, I grab a hold of her as he attempts to pull her backward.

“Who are you?” I breathe, my mind exploding with all the new information.

“She’s Natasha,” Stephan grinds out, heaving from her dead weight against him.

Natasha Presley, missing teen, victim of the Hollywell Slayer, survived her injuries…

The muscles in my legs solidify, my body frozen in utter disbelief.

“He left her with more than scars that night—a baby in her womb.”

Stumbling backward, his words whip out, striking me. Backing out the room, taking his mother with him, he says, “I know you have questions. Let me just deal with her and I’ll be back.”

The room expands, the air thick and threatening. I need air or water or to wake the hell up. My fingers splay over my chest, the thundering of my heart almost painful. Searching the room, my eyes fall on his mini-fridge. Water. I yank it open, only to realize it’s not a fridge. It’s a small freezer with a lone plastic food storage container inside.

“I wouldn’t open that,” Stephan calls out from the doorway, rubbing down his shirt to remove the creases.

“What did you inject her with?” I ask, my voice shaking. Who is this man I’ve allowed into my life? Your brother.

He takes another step into the room. It appears to shrink around him, his demeanor suddenly menacing.

“She suffers from breakdowns, delusions.” He puts a finger to his head, swirling it around in a crazy motion. “I gave her a sedative.”

My hand lingers on the box, the cold chasing a shiver up my spine, chilling my blood. He hasn’t looked away from the freezer. Why would he have a freezer in here?

“Why did you never mention who she was?” Nerves eat at my stomach. My skin tingles all over with the need to flee. The boy I called my friend looks nothing like the man before me now. There’s a change in his character, a shift to his posture, the look in his eye.

“I didn’t want you figuring things out too soon.”

This isn’t happening. Pain spreads out over my palm, my nails burrowing into the flesh. “What does that mean?” My head feels like it’s full of helium. I’m about to float away.

He takes another step toward me, so I pull the box out, holding it like a hostage victim.

He fixates on it, and tenses, his eyes glued to my hand. “Don’t make me take that from you,” he growls, and for the first time, I fear him. His jaw flexes, his mouth twisting into a sneer. “Lizzy…” My name is a warning, terrifyingly pungent on his tongue. Without thinking, I rip off the lid, my body flinching back when he roars, “Nooo!” His hands are outspread, eyes wide with horror.

I drop the box like it’s made of hot coal, each finger hitting the floor in slow motion.

Dink, dink, dink…

Vomit races up my throat, spilling from my mouth, splattering at my feet. “It’s you!” I cry out, retching. A calm appears to wash over him. He closes his eyes for a fleeting moment, then walks to where the horrors litter his bedroom floor. Kneeling down, he collects his trophies like it’s an overturned jewelry box, not human flesh.

“Why? Why!” I scream, my soul wanting to tear through my skin and flee the carcass holding me hostage.

“To draw out our father—at first.” He shrugs. Our father. “Then, I have to admit, I got a taste for the kill.” He stands, tucking the box back into the freezer. I eyeball the door behind him, weighing my options. As much as I want to escape him, I want answers just as bad.

“Do you know what it’s like growing up being hated by your own mother?” he asks, looking over at me. Rolling his shoulders, his size appears to expand under the moonlight, the monster coming alive, taking the reins. My heart splinters, the shards cutting through bone, skin, deserting me.

“I didn’t have a mother. Willis killed her,” I spit out, hatred overwhelming my sense of fear.

“Well, he failed to kill mine.” His brow quirks. “He tried. If they hadn’t caught him right at that moment, she would have bled out and died, and little me already taking root would have died right along with her. Does that terrify you or make you feel alive?” He turns to me, a callous smile transforming his pretty face.

“Impregnating her without knowing?” I breathe.

“She was sixteen when she had me. The wounds barely healed, and the scars never would. They called me a miracle child. So much trauma, yet I stuck.”

“I’m sorry.” And I mean it. What a twisted way to enter this world.

“I believe you.” He smiles, pacing the floor between us before stopping in front of me. Taking a strand of my hair, he curls it around his fingers. “You were nothing like I expected, Liz. Damn, I thought after everything you’d witnessed, you’d be just as fucked up as me. Willis’s blood in your veins on top of the ordeal…”

“I’m nothing like him,” I grit out.

“Oh, I know. But you’re not exactly normal either, are you?”

“Is that what you are—normal?” I mock.

“Fuck no. What a boring waste of life that would be. The Abigail’s of the world disgust me.”

Abigail. Sorrow and shame marinate inside me. “Is that why you killed her?”

Moving away from me, an expression of satisfaction shining in his eyes, he says, “That and to see your reaction. Someone you knew but weren’t particularly friends with. Close enough to get a reaction, not close enough to cause you pain.”

Is that what he believes? That her dying because of me wouldn’t cause me pain? Seeing people lose their lives in gruesome ways, dredging up my mother’s murder, wouldn’t have a profound effect on me? “I’ve been in pain. It fucking destroyed me thinking that bastard came back and was killing people to torment me. Why the rose? How did you know about Marco Polo?”

Scoffing, he scrunches his nose like I insulted him. “You’re always scribbling Marco on any piece of paper in your vicinity. I knew it must be for a reason.” Tilting his head, he adds, “The rose—a prop to get under your skin.”

“Why now?”

Leaning against the dresser, ankles crossed like he doesn’t have a care in the world, his shoulder jerks up. “I’d been watching from afar for so long, it became a game for me, testing my restraint, an edge game that kept my adrenaline pumping and my fire burning like a fine wine I’d been saving for the right moment. I spent weeks watching, learning your routines, the people in your life.”

Glancing over at me, his lashes flutter. “You are so fragile, numb, lonely, like me, drifting through life almost asleep.”

Lies. I’m nothing like him. I will never be anything like him.

“There’s something missing inside you.” He moves toward me again, coming too close and tilting my chin with his fingers. I try to tug free, but be pinches the skin, making me wince. “It shows in your soft, muted, dark eyes. They have a smoky flare waiting to be ignited in a fiery passion. I can be the spark you’ve been missing all this time,” he breathes, his gaze dropping to my lips.

“Fuck you. I hate you,” I seethe, spitting in his face.

The backhand to my cheek causes pain to explode up my face, knocking me off my feet to the floor, inches from the puddle of vomit. My tooth pierces my lip. Copper liquid fills my mouth, dribbling to my chin.

“Dramatic much?” he snarls, rubbing the back of his arms over his face to wipe the saliva away.

“You’re as crazy as he is.”

Dropping to his haunches, he grabs my throat, making me squeal. Lifting me to my feet, he pins me to the back wall, my back smarting from the impact. “I’m not crazy,” he growls. Strong fingers grip hard, pushing against my windpipe. “I’m real fucking lucid.”

Releasing me with as much strength as he used to pin me, I stumble. He runs his hands through his hair as I slide down the wall, massaging my throat to alleviate the ache, each inhale burning like lava. “What now? You’re going to kill me? What’s your end game?” My voice is raw, broken. “How did you know I was his daughter? I didn’t even know.”

Tipping his face to the ceiling, he says, “I think you didn’t want to know is more accurate. It wasn’t hard to figure out. Once I started digging for information on him, it all came together pretty easily. Guess who was high school sweethearts?”

My mother?

“Your mama was from Hollywell, did you know that? Jack’s wasn’t.”

Jack’s wasn’t? Why did I not know that? I didn’t look into any of it, I just believed what I was told.

He moves to the bed, pulling out the box he stuffed under there when I first arrived. Taking the lid off, he empties the contents to the mattress. Images of me flutter to the duvet, followed by newspaper clippings like the ones I keep, files, books. My breathing stutters seeing his collection of my life splayed before me.

He picks up what looks like a yearbook and flips through it, grinning when he finds the page he wants. Tapping his finger on the image, he shoves it at my face. “Your mother—before the name change of course.” He goes back to his collection, swiping up a piece of paper. “Quick internet search on marriage and divorce records—and boom, your mother again. God, this shit was too fucking easy. It’s kind of pathetic you didn’t figure it out for yourself.” He throws his hands up before letting them slap against his thighs on their descent.

“I thought we were collateral damage, unlucky to be friends with Jack and his mother,” I breathe. It had been the other way around.

“Your grandmother was killed the same day as your mother—did you ever wonder why, how?” His tone is mocking, humor layering each word. Bastard. I didn’t know I had a grandmother or that she was killed. How does he know this, and I don’t? You never asked. You never wanted to know. You didn’t want the truth. Why didn’t my aunt tell me?

“It didn’t take much to find out, flash of fake credentials about an article I was writing had everyone singing. People won’t admit it, but they like that Willis made their crappy town famous.” He picks up a file and waves it in my face. “A lot of files are open to the public. It just took looking in the right places. By the look of her autopsy, your Grandmother was tortured. It’s no doubt how Willis got your address. It’s why your aunt lives like a frightened little mouse. She’s terrified he’ll come back here and cut her up next. You weren’t the collateral damage—they were.” There’s a smug arrogance about him I’ve never seen before. How can he be so different? Was it all an act?

“She’ll be relieved then, when she learns he’s never coming back. He's dead. Jack killed him,” I remind him.

Blanching, he shakes his head. “What did you say?”

“Oh, you didn’t know? I thought you knew everything,” I sneer, swiping at the blood on my lips. I feel ill learning I had a grandmother Willis also claimed the life of. My poor aunt, raising me after everything that was taken from her because of me…

Grabbing me by the neck of my shirt, he slams me into the wall once more. “Who killed him?”

“Jack killed him,” I groan, my head spinning.

“That’s why he hasn’t come for us,” he whispers, the news chinking a piece from his armor. “Because Jack fucking killed him?”

“Willis didn’t even know we existed,” I mock, dropping my head, exhaustion depleting me of strength.

“What do you think all of this was for?” he bellows. “To show him we do!”

I’d rather die than ever let that man think of me as his child. Jack…poor Jack. Everything he thought to be true isn’t. It never was. His world has been altered forever by me.

A cell ringing fills the room. “Fuck,” Stephan growls. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he sneers at the name flashing up. Charlotte.

“You ruined my plans tonight,” he informs me, muting the call.

I snigger, a deranged laugh. I’m descending into madness. “Did you have a date?”

“With Charlotte actually,” he taunts.

“Don’t fucking touch her,” I sneer, all humor fleeing.

“Charlotte’s a whore. You’re better than her, Lizzy. Will be better without her.” He goes to his dresser and pulls out a drawer, looking inside. “As soon as she thought I was interested in you, she was all over me. She needs a man’s attention—daddy issues.” A hook tilts his lips as he winks over at me, completely disconnected from reality. “Am I right?”

I drop my eyes. The color drains from my face as he pulls a blade out from the dresser. “Charlotte is complicated,” I defend.

Jerking his head up and down, he points over to me with the knife. “It helped me. I kinda get these confused feelings around you.”

He doesn’t have feelings. He’s cold. Dead inside. Just like Willis. “Thought it may help me feel close to you in some fucked up way. You know, the whole can’t fuck your sister, so get close to her best friend thing.”

“You’re disgusting.” It’s crazy to antagonize a psycho with a knife, but his words make me feel ill.

“Fair statement. It was a low point, I’ll admit.”

Breathing heavy, I ask, “What do you want from me?”

He bends, holstering the knife to a strap on his leg. “I want you to admit who you really are.”

“And then what?” I demand, forcing myself to fight the dizziness, to remain present.

“The world is our oyster.” He holds out his hands in a dramatic gesture. Did he really think I’d just be like him and want to go around the world murdering innocent people in Willis’s name?

“The police are looking for you,” I remind him.

Tutting and wagging his finger, he asks, “Are they? I think they don’t have a clue who is doing this. Maybe a tip about who your new neighbor really is will help clear that up for them.”

My back straightens, anger boiling. “No,” I bark.

“Why?” He leans forward, an amused glint in his eyes. “It’s perfect. He shows up after being kidnapped by a serial killer over a decade ago right when the killings began. It’s kismet.”

I’d never let Jack go down for this. I’ve failed him so many times—never again. Desolation cloaks me in a mist of regret. How could I think he was capable of hurting those women?

Ringing from his phone begins again. Irritation flares his nostrils. “Fucking Charlotte. She has to go, I’m afraid. I’ve been fantasizing about cutting into her pretty fucking face.”

Leaping forward, I snatch his cell phone from him and dart for the door crashing through it almost toppling over the banister on the small landing, I click the answer icon. “It’s Stephan!” I scream into it racing down the first couple of steps before a boot lands against my spine, launching me forward, hurtling me down the entire flight of stairs. The phone flies from my hand as my body flops like a rag doll, hitting the steps and tumbling. My knee screams in pain. My head cracks against the hardwood floor when I reach the bottom. Everything warps. A loud buzzing deafens my ears. Stephan’s silhouette fades in and out of my vision as he descends the stairs at a leisurely pace.

Tsking, he says, “This is really disappointing, Lizzy. I’ve tried so hard with you—enrolling in your class, taking those stupid assignments just to get the conversation started, to plant the seed, and now look where we are.” His words sound distant, distorted to my ears.

A hard thud hits my stomach, knocking the air from my lungs. “What am I going to do with you?”

Another hit, and the world fades as my body sags. I fight to keep my eyes from closing, but it’s too late.

 

 

Thirty

 

 

Pain emanates throughout my entire body. Lifting my head sends a wave of nausea through me. I jolt when I realize my arms won’t move. Anxiety hitches my breath, and my eyes spring wide open. Ropes bind my wrists to the arms of a desk chair, my legs tied at the ankles. “Stephan,” I cry out, “what are you doing?” Hot, salty tears scald the corners of my eyes. “Shhh, we have company,” Stephan whispers from behind me. A cold press of a knife against my cheek warns me it’s not a request.

The silence is deafening. My ears strain to hear any noise or movement. Adrenaline and fear spike at a sound of clicking, then soft thuds. “Breaking and entering is a crime, right?” Stephan whispers across my cheek, sending a shudder down my neck. Squeaking of the front door opening floods me with a sense of relief and terror. Who is it? Can they even help, or will they end up another victim? Stephan’s blade moves down to my neck, skimming the skin.

“Come out, come out wherever you are,” he taunts.

My pulse accelerates when Jack’s figure steps into the light, his name on the tip of my tongue. “How nice of you to deliver yourself to me by breaking in to make me killing you so justified.”

“Let Lizzy go,” Jack demands.

The knife digs in, a sting blooming. “Now, now, neighbor, Lizzy and I are family—and there’s no bond stronger than that.”

Confusion furrows Jack’s brow. “Did you never work it out, trace it back to the beginning?” Stephan asks, incredulous. “You were just a mix-up—an unfortunate mistake. Lizzy was Willis’s daughter. Only…her mother played games as all mothers do and he didn’t know the baby in his wife’s womb was actually a girl, not the boy he was promised.”

“Jack, I’m so sorry,” I sob.

“Calm down, Liz. We don’t want you jerking around too much and my knife slipping into your artery.”

“Fucking move the knife away, asshole,” Jack grinds out, pulling out a gun and aiming it above my head to Stephan’s.

He fists my hair, and I cry out from the sharp sting as the knife moves toward my mouth.

“I’ll cut out her fucking tongue and feed it to you if you speak to me like you’re the one making the rules here, cunt.”

“I thought you cared about her. You said she’s your family?”

“I do care about her.” His tone softens, his fist loosening. “She can survive without her tongue.”

“Just let her go. Take me instead,” Jack offers, holding up his hands, his eyes darting to the gun, showing him he’s not aiming anymore.

“Oh, you won’t be leaving here. You’re a fucking fool for coming here alone. You’ll take the fall for the killings after I add one more to the list.”

“No!” I cry out, knowing he means Charlotte. The clicking of a gun sounds from behind us. “Put down the knife.”

Hernandez.

My soul weeps at the sound of his voice.

“I never said I was alone,” Jack informs him, relining his gun in our direction.

Sensing the vibrations of rage radiating from Stephan, I close my eyes, waiting for him to slice my throat before Hernandez fires his weapon, it will be suicide but maybe he would prefer to take us both out then go to prison.

“It’s over, Mr. Preston,” Hernandez tries to reason. Sirens blast in the distance, coming closer with every inhale of breath.

“Brother, please,” I beg, feeling the moment my words hit him. His hand falls from my hair, the knife hitting my shoulder, and then a sharp bang pierces the air. A splatting sounds so close to me, my head drops to see if it was me Jack shot.

Blue and red lights flicker over the ceiling, dancing up the walls. The thud of Stephan’s body crashing to the floor incites a wretched scream from my lips. All the pain hits me like a thousand bullets. Jack’s scent washes over me, the heat of his body encompassing mine. “Sorry,” I cry. “I’m so sorry.”

With a shuddering breath, Jack says the only words that can set me free. “I forgive you. It wasn’t your fault. I forgive you, but it wasn’t your fault.”

The room floods with officials. Hernandez called in the update before they were even out of their cars. Hernandez’s hand rests on my shoulder, squeezing for reassurance as Jack unties my bindings. Paramedics move toward us with medical kits, but they walk past me to Stephan.

“He’s alive?” I choke out.

“Step back,” another paramedic tells me, curling a blanket around my shoulders and flashing a flashlight in my eyes. “Do you have any pain?” Questions barrel into me, faces, lights…it’s all too much.

Jack is whispering things to me, but I’m fixated on the paramedics working on Stephan like he’s just some regular joe—a victim, not a monster. An officer bags the knife he dropped into an evidence bag while another bags the rope used to bind me. “Come on, you don’t need to see this,” Jack informs me, moving a paramedic out of our way. “I’m taking her for air,” he informs an officer who tries to stop him. My legs move, but it’s like I’m not connected to my body. An observer from above.

“She’s my best friend. Let me in,” Charlotte calls from the front door. Moving toward her voice, I suck at the air when we manage to make it outside to the small lawn.

“Lizzy—oh, thank god! Jack was with me when you answered the call. We’ve been looking for you all night,” Charlotte sobs, pushing past a police officer and launching herself at me. I wince at her impact, but wrap my arms around her with the little strength I have left. “It’s over,” I murmur. “It’s over.” Tears build in my eyes as my own words begin to register.

“I can’t believe it was Stephan,” she sobs. Sensing Jack’s presence at my back, I pull him into our hug, needing them both.

“There’s a woman alive upstairs. And we found a container. You’re going to want to see this, sir,” an officer tells Detective Barnett, who I hadn’t noticed was even here until now. I search the scene with a trembling lip. Storm clouds move overhead, a war drum still pounding in my chest. A wisp of air escapes my lips when Stephan is wheeled out on a stretcher, his shirt gone, a white cloth patch on his chest with a crimson stain, one arm cuffed to the bed, an officer by his side. Blue eyes flutter open. “Lizzy?” he croaks, crushing me. How could I have not seen the evil inside him? Deep down, I know we’re different people. His mother would have influenced his mentality. Psychopaths aren’t just born; they’re made. And when he learned about me, I became his cold obsession. Stepping toward him, we watch each other with haunted eyes. Jack’s hand rests on my shoulder. The officer turns toward me with a shake of his head, a hand sitting on his weapon in the unclipped holster on his hip. “We should get you looked at, Liz,” Jack murmurs. I nod, dropping my gaze to my feet, taking in a deep breath.

“Oh my god, Lizzy,” Charlotte screams, her hands reaching out for me. Officers move in slow motion around me. A piercing bang shatters the air. Jack shoves me to the grass as shouts and screams pierce the sky. I hit the ground, my eyes wide, taking in Stephan’s raised arm, the officer’s lifeless body on the ground, his own weapon used against him and now clutched tight in Stephan’s fist, pointed at me. He’s on his feet so fast, the stretcher overturns, his other arm still cuffed to it. I scurry away as guns are drawn and shouts of “Drop it!” ring out. Jack, strong, powerful, and fearless, kicks out his foot, colliding with Stephan’s stomach. Hitching forward at the waist, Jack smacks the arm with the gun aside and grips Stephan around the neck. Everything happens so fast, no one can keep up or stop him as he twists, snapping Stephan’s neck, the crack audible from the short distance between us.

Jack’s tackled out of the way, and officers surround the limp body of the brother I didn’t know I had—the killer I had once called a friend. Now, it’s over.

 

 

Epilogue

 

 

Four months later

 

 

Packing up my bag, I walk over to Professor Ashraf’s desk and drop my paper in front of him. His eyes flick up, looking over his glasses at me, before picking it up and running his gaze over it. “The Evolution of a Serial Killer: Nature versus Nurture,” he reads the title out loud.

“Sorry it’s late. I appreciate all the extensions you’ve allowed me.”

Taking off his glasses, he tilts his chin. “I’m just happy to have you back, Ms. West. I look forward to reading your findings.”

A smile tilts my lips as I nod and slide my backpack up my shoulder. The halls are buzzing, the stares and whispers finally subsiding. Pushing the door open and stepping outside, my heart pulses—the pull of the moon calling to the sea. The enigmatic force that is my lost boy summons my eyes to a lamppost where he’s standing, arms crossed, hair mussed, those penetrating green orbs rendering me almost catatonic. Such a beautiful specimen, he gains longing stares from both girls and boys on campus. But he’s all mine. Detective Hernandez worked tirelessly to get any charges recorded as self-defense after Jack ended Stephan’s reign. The witnesses were all police force and paramedics, so he had that on his side. The Willis death was never brought up. It’s been too long, and frankly, I don’t think they cared how he died, just grateful he had. The child’s remains turned out to be a victim of Willis’s, a thirteen-year-old girl with a small stature. Her family now has closure despite it being the worst possible outcome imaginable. I’ve been seeing a counselor to help with the guilt and trauma, and it’s helping, much to my aunt’s delight. Jack’s seeing one too. He’d never really dealt with everything either. Finding out Willis wasn’t even his father didn’t change things for him. I asked if he ever looked into his own background to try and find relatives, but he said he didn’t remember anything before Willis, and fear of what he could uncover if he did go searching was too strong. He’d wanted to leave Willis in the past—in the shallow grave he put him in.

Jogging over to where Jack pushes off the lamppost, he takes my cheeks in his palms and delivers a soul-detonating kiss that leaves me breathless.

“Hi,” I exhale.

“I missed you,” he groans. Mmm, I missed him too, even if it was only hours ago he had me naked and sated.

“Charlotte has a late shift,” I croon, walking my fingers down his stomach.

Smirking, he takes my backpack from me, hitches it on his own shoulder, and entwines his fingers with mine. “Sounds like you may want something from me, Liz Wiz.”

“Oh, I do.” I waggle my eyebrows, making us both giggle.

 

 

I wind my leg over his. Our sweat hasn’t even dried and I already want him inside me again. “Are you ever going to think about moving out of this dump?” he asks, looking up at my ceiling.

Playfully slapping his chest with mock offense, I sigh, “I’ll think about it, but it will be tough to find neighbors who are as helpful as mine.”

His chest rumbles with amusement. “I hate that your bed is a mattress on the floor.”

“We can always go up to your apartment. It’s been a while since you even slept there.” I rub circles over a risen scar, wishing I had the power to take them from him—erase everything he went through. It should have been me.

“I know you don’t like leaving Charlotte here alone. I don’t mind sleeping here. I’m just going to go up and grab my pillow and some clean clothes” He kisses my head and uncurls his arm from around me. Sitting up, my eyes feast on his naked flesh as he slips his jeans up to his thighs. “Pervert,” he admonishes, and I blush, throwing myself back against my pillow and covering my face. “Don’t be long,” I groan from beneath the duvet.

When I know he’s gone, I yawn, stretching out my limbs. Pushing the duvet from my body, I slip on a t-shirt and shorts.

The front door opens and closes, the scent of pizza dough hitting my nostrils. Yum. Walking into the kitchen, I grin. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”

Charlotte rolls her eyes, dumping the box and her keys on the counter. “When my ass is the size of my car, you’re paying for my gym membership,” she huffs. All we do these days is eat comfort food and veg out. Opening the fridge, a gasp whooshes from her lips. She turns, facing me. “We’re out of wine!”

Laughing at her dramatic flair, I steal a bite from a slice and point upwards. “Jack will have wine. I’ll run up and get a bottle,” I say around a mouthful of cheesy goodness.

“I love having his stash,” she calls out as I grin and pull open the front door, taking the stairs up to Jack’s apartment. Trying the handle of his front door, I push inside when it gives way under my hand. “It’s just me,” I call out, seeking him out but coming up empty. “Jack?”

A thudding of feet race from his room, the door slamming. “Lizzy, what are you doing up here?”

Jerking a thumb over my shoulder, I say, “Charlotte forgot wine.” My gaze flicks behind him. He looks like I interrupted something. Secrets, I can’t bear to have more of them. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” His answer is too quick. Shadows pass through his eyes. My moon is trying to hide from the tide. “Don’t lie to me, Jack. Not ever. I can’t bear it.” I whimper almost losing my breath, a hand to my chest.

“Lizzy…” He says my name with so much emotion, tears spring in my eyes. God, what is it? What more could we have to overcome?

Reaching his hand out, he implores me with his eyes alone. Stepping forward, I take his palm in mine. “I love you. God, no one has ever loved a woman the way I love you. You’re my everything. My soul is tethered to yours—now, then, always.”

“What’s happening, Jack?” I ask, fearful of the answer.

“Willis was a monster. No matter how much I want to deny it, it leaves a stain, my sins, his sins—they haunt me, Liz.”

“Jack,” I hiccup his name, my free hand cupping his jawline, “you’re so much more than you give yourself credit for. You saved me, and god knows how many others.”

“But there are others who need saving.”

His words confuse me. “What are you saying?” Furrowing his brow, he turns toward his room, tugging me along.

My heart drums in my chest as he twists the handle and pushes it open.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

The wall that was once filled with my face and Stephan’s victims is now plastered with new images, a new girl, clues, newspaper clippings. A title scribbled at the top, ‘Doll maker’

“There are a lot more Willis’s and Stephan’s out there. It’s my duty to stop them. My salvation lies in saving kids like us—women like our mothers.”

This is what he does. “I hunt.” His words resurface in my mind, bouncing around like a ping pong ball, lighting up every emotion imaginable. Gathering all the pieces of my soul, heart, and the strength he gives me, I nod. “Who is she?”

“She’s missing. They think taken by a serial killer. People in the chat rooms online are calling him the doll maker. He keeps his victims alive for at least a month, dresses them up like dolls.” He looks over the images on the board.

An icy cold shiver dances up my spine at the thought of this girl being kept somewhere, terrified, waiting to die. I slip my hand into his. “What can I do to help?”

A smile, half sad, half elated, broadens his features. “Really? You don’t have to be a part of this,” he implores, raising our joined hands to his chest.

“I’m part of you. Whatever we do, we do together. Let’s help this girl.” I jerk my head in silent confirmation.

Wrapping me in his embrace, his lips dance over mine, causing a fever to rise within me. “I love you.” His lips continue to devour before pulling away when we’re both breathless, his vivid green eyes boring into mine. “Together.” He nods.

Slipping from his embrace, I go to his board and rub away the title Doll Maker. This isn’t about the killer. I don’t want to feed into the hype and fame of them. It’s about the victims, finding them, giving them a voice and retribution. I write the fitting words above her face: Lost Girl. Just like with my lost boy, we will find her.

 

The End…

 

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