Hawk

by Tiya Rayne

  And just like that, I know he’s done with the conversation. Albany told me about that. She said he had a way of cutting off conversations he didn’t want to have, and no matter how hard you pushed, he wouldn’t talk.

  I let it go until we get off the train. He’s still holding my hand, guiding me toward a row of brick apartments. They’re a lot like mine, but they have fancy foyers with chandeliers and marble flooring with a receptionist. Which isn’t hard to believe given what side of town we’re on. Apparently, this Church job was lucrative.

  We walk into the foyer of the apartments and instead of taking the elevator that has no line or a wait, he heads for the stairs.

  “Why aren’t we taking the elevator?”

  He pushes open the door to the stairs and allows me to go ahead of him. “Because if someone is waiting for us, they will expect us to come by way of the elevator.”

  My eyes widen. Look, I’m not built for this spy shit. I’m a teacher.

  Toss me a handful of hormonal pre-teens and I can navigate the shit out of that, but I’ve got people shooting at me and trying to break into my home. I’m not cut out for this. It makes me question what the hell Albany was involved in.

  “I thought that Priest guy said that you had two weeks. Why are they shooting at us and why would they be waiting for us?”

  “It isn’t the Church shooting at us.”

  “What? How do you know that?” I ask over my shoulder as I climb the stairs. He follows me up the steps like I know where I’m going.

  “Because if it were the Church, we’d be dead. These are amateurs. I’m pretty sure they’re the people responsible for your sister’s death.”

  I stop short on the steps and he bumps into my back.

  “Wait, the people that killed my sister are now trying to kill me? Why?”

  “I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to find out. Now walk faster, we’re going to the fifth floor.”

  Even though I want more of an answer than that, I continue up the stairs, keeping the fast pace he sets from behind.

  It takes forever, but we thankfully make it to the fifth floor. I’ve never felt more out of shape than I do at this moment. However, the man that chased me up these stairs like I was running a race, isn’t even breathing heavy.

  I get it. He looks like he’s in shape, but damn we just jogged upstairs. He needs to be sweating or something.

  He steps in front of me. Pulling the door open at the top of the fifth floor and peeks his head out. He shuts the door and then turns to me.

  “It’s clear, but you’re going to need to be quiet and stay close to me.”

  I frown. “I haven’t said anything.”

  He grins down at me. “Yeah, but you’re breathing really loud.”

  I narrow my eyes and stick up my middle finger at him. He doesn’t even react to it. He turns around and opens the door, walking out slowly before grabbing my hand. I don’t know why he keeps doing that as if he’s scared I’m going to get lost or something.

  We stop at the apartment that reads 523. Even if Walker hadn’t taken us to this door, the yellow police tape would have tipped me off.

  It seems odd. I haven’t quite come to terms with the fact that my sister is gone. I have moments where my life seems a little normal and I’ll think of something to tell or show Albany.

  Since I got that visit four days ago, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve picked up my phone to talk to her. Then I’ll get these little reminders like an unanswered phone call or a strange man showing up in my home. Or like now, yellow caution tape across a door socks me in the gut. It hits me like a ton of bricks that Albany isn’t here anymore.

  He lets go of my hand to tear the tape down. “Should you be touching that?”

  “The place has already been cleared and is due to be cleaned. We’re safe to touch whatever we want,” he replies and fiddles with the doorknob.

  Faster than I thought it could without a key, the door swings open and he steps aside for me to enter. I stare at the open door like it’s the entry to hell.

  “I don’t think I can go in there.”

  He swings his head around to me. I take a step back, not sure if I’m going to run, but I definitely needed to take a step back.

  “Brook,” he calls me by the name only my sister has ever called me. “What are you afraid of?”

  I shake my head still eyeing the door. Logically, there’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s not like monsters are hiding behind the door to grab me.

  “She died in there. That’s where my sister left this world. I don’t think I can face that place yet.”

  “You can.” That calmness he exudes still bothers me. “I need you in there. She needs you in there.” He wraps his hand around my wrist. “Someone took her from you, and in there are answers. I need you to help me find those answers.”

  “You can do it without me,” I plead.

  He shakes his head. “I need the eyes of someone that knows Albany and can spot if something is out of place.” He takes a step closer to me, not crowding my space, but close enough that I have to tilt my head back to see his face. “You can do this because you’re strong and you’re not a quitter and you will do anything for her.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “How do you assume you know me?”

  He smiles. “I pay attention. Now get in there.”

  Look, it isn’t that lame ass pep talk that gets my feet moving. It’s the realization that I wasn’t there to save Albany. It was the first time that she needed me and I didn’t come.

  When that fourth grader tried to fight her at the bus stop, I was there. Even though I wasn’t supposed to be. When her boyfriend junior year tried to pin her down and take what he wanted at that dumb ass party, I told her not to go to, I was there. It was my job to protect her, I was the self-appointed protective big sister.

  I couldn’t save her from what happened to her that night, but this is how I can make up for it. I’m going to solve this case. I step into the apartment with new determination.

  The first thing I notice after Walker enters and shuts the door behind us is the mess. It’s obvious that someone trashed this place. Things are flipped over and tossed around, glass is broken everywhere, and there are holes in the wall.

  “What do you see?” he asks, stepping up behind me.

  “A freaking disaster. This place is destroyed.”

  I step down into the living room of the apartment. My gaze scans over the brightly colored throw pillows in different patterns. The wicker accent chairs, the plants, and the hodgepodge of lamps.

  I laugh. It seems this version of my sister had taste like mine. This could absolutely be my apartment.

  “Look again,” he calls from near the door. He has yet to walk further into the apartment. “Don’t just see the surface. Look deeper.”

  “Who are you supposed to be, my Mr. Miyagi? The place is trashed there’s nothing else to say.”

  He gives another one of his smug smiles. “Please try.”

  I exhale loudly to fully convey my annoyance with this bullshit, but I do turn back to the room. Instead of staring at the mess in front of me, I take a deep breath and close my eyes. My brush strokes are quick dabs as I paint the room.

  The couch appears on my canvas first, it’s turned over and the cushions are tossed to the floor. I then move to the bookshelf. The books have been removed and flipped open.

  The walls don’t only have holes. As my brush details the shape of them, they’re actually foot size. On the wall is a picture of the astrological signs at night.

  Right in the center of the glass is a crack that spider webs out. A picture frame lying on the floor catches my attention. I pop my eyes open. Walking over to it, I pick it up off the floor and a smile tugs at my lips as I look at the upside-down picture of a rose bush.

  “She’s hiding something.” I turn to tell Walker and bump into his chest. Damn, he really needs a cat bell. “She was notorious for this when we were kids. You s
ee this picture?” I ask, glancing at him.

  “What about it?”

  “Well, at one of our foster homes, they tried to keep me and Albany apart because they thought I was a bad influence. Whenever Albany had something to tell me, or a secret to share with me, she would always take one of the pictures out of a picture frame and turn it upside down.

  “That was her code that she needed to speak with me urgently. I think she is hiding something. And looking at the large shoe size holes in the wall and the way the furniture is turned over, I think her killer knew this.”

  A cunning smile covers his face. “I told you there was more to it.” Is he seriously trying to get smart with me?

  “Look,” I place the picture frame back down on one of the only end table still sitting upright. “I never told you that I was an expert at this shit, okay. I teach art to middle schoolers.”

  That smile expands on his face. “I know. Now, what else can you tell me about this place?” He ignores my comment.

  “How about you tell me what you see?” There’s a glimmer in his eyes when he smirks this time.

  “What I see isn’t as important as what you see.”

  “Then what the hell is your purpose here?”

  He shakes his head and laughs. “Do you smell that?”

  I sniff the air like a damn bloodhound. I don’t smell anything in particular. There are so many damn scents going on in this place. The lingering scent of some familiar essential oils still clings to the furniture.

  “There are a lot of scents going on here, you’re going to need to help me out.”

  “I’m not exactly sure what it is, it’s very distinct. Feels like I’ve smelled it before.”

  I toss my hands up in the air. That doesn’t help us, but I don’t point this out.

  Instead, I make my way further into the living room, kicking pillows and books out of the way to make a clear path for myself. Something on the floor catches my eye. A silky red fabric.

  I pick it up, flicking it in the air to brush the glass off of it. Holding it up, I realize it’s a robe. The fabric is tugged out of my hands. I didn’t even notice he was that close to me.

  He brings the fabric to his nose and sniffs. I have to turn away from the look on his face. My stomach twists at the sight. I might have been wrong about him.

  He doesn’t look like a man that fucked my sister only to leave her high and dry. The way he clutches the robe to his chest and closes his eyes, tells me that he might actually have cared for Albany. That stomach-twisting thing happens again.

  “Do you need a moment,” I say with more snark then even I mean to.

  He drops the robe down from his chest to clench in his fist at his side. He stands right beside me, but his mind is a million miles away.

  Not waiting for an answer, I decide to give him his moment. I head into the bedroom, continuing to make a clear path for myself.

  I take in everything around me, trying to get an idea of this sister that I didn’t know. The bohemian theme from the front room continues throughout the apartment. The bed is tossed and the sheets are on the floor.

  Sheets that are exactly like the ones on my own bed at home. I laugh to myself. She bought me those sheets for our birthday a few years ago.

  I do notice something else about this apartment that I don’t tell Walker. This place is a far cry from the apartment that I know Albany to have. There’s no blue or Parisian themed furniture that she favored.

  There are no personal items, no inspirational words on the wall, or fancy sparkly pillows that she bought tons of. There aren’t even any pictures that she loved to take. Albany took pictures everywhere.

  Her phone was constantly filled with photos. I think it had to do with the way we grew up. We moved around often, never having anything to tie us to a place other than the scars we carried. Wherever she went, she documented it with pictures. The things on her walls and on the floor aren’t her pictures.

  “What are you noticing?” he speaks from behind me, causing me to jump.

  “Fuck, Walker. I swear I’m putting bells on your shoes.”

  “My apologies.” He laughs. “Now, what have you noticed?”

  I place down the generic picture frame that I’d picked up from the rubble on the floor.

  “Why do you assume I noticed anything? I’m only looking at a picture.” Of a white family with their dog. Not something Albany would’ve taken.

  I turn around to face him head on, my arms folded across my chest. “You spent a lot of time in this bedroom with my sister, right?” He tilts his head.

  “You ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”

  I scoff. “Why wouldn’t I want the answer to it?”

  He lifts up my hand, wrapping his fingers around my wrist. Then stares at me for a moment. My heart races for no apparent reason. I wait for him to answer at least one of my questions, even though that twisting appears in my belly. He drops my wrist with a smirk.

  “I need you to think about your sister. If she were to hide something, where would she hide it?”

  Okay, complete subject change, and even though I know he’s prone to these, it still irks my nerves. “I have no idea. Remember, I don’t know this Albany. Or should I say, Red.” He frowns. An action that rolls across his features briefly like a thunderstorm, but it disappears.

  “Think, Brooklyn. You would know.”

  “Look at this place. If someone was looking for something, I’m pretty damn sure they would have found it by now.”

  He takes a step closer to me as if he isn’t already close enough. “They don’t know your sister.”

  “Ding dong, neither did I. Hell, at this point, I’m not even sure if anyone knew her.”

  I walk away from him, taking in the remnants of a girl I didn’t know. I notice all the wigs lying on the floor. So many different styles, long, short, curly, straight. The only thing they have in common is that they all have some shade of red in them.

  “She had beautiful hair, did you know that?” I ask him, but I don’t give him a chance to respond.

  “When we were in foster care, one of our foster mom’s put a relaxer in our hair. It fucked mine up real bad, but Albany’s was gorgeous. She would wear it straight and long. It fell to her lower back.

  “People would always ask her if it was hers. They assume black girls can’t have long hair, but Albany did.” I pick up the long straight wig with its red strands. The color a few shades lighter than mine. I twirl it around my fingers and then toss it to the floor. “I don’t know who the hell this person is. Red isn’t even her favorite color, it’s blue.”

  I look back at Walker and he’s watching me with that burning gaze.

  “Why does this side of her bother you so much?”

  I roll my eyes. “I don’t need a damn psychiatrist. I’ve seen enough of them over the years.”

  My barb doesn’t faze him one bit. He continues to keep that calm façade that’s starting to drive me crazy.

  “Where do you think she would hide something?”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” I’m so pissed, I’m yelling. “What part of I don’t know this woman, don’t you get? You were the one fucking her, why don’t you answer the question?” I place my hands on my hips. “Tell me where would the woman you couldn’t keep your dick out of hide something?”

  As I suspect, he doesn’t react. Only continues to look at me with that unbothered fucking expression on his face. I growl.

  Like legit growl my frustration. I kick the closest thing to me, which happens to be one of her mannequin heads. The wig has long been tossed aside.

  I don’t stop there. I throw a full toddler tantrum in this weird ass apartment that looks nothing like my sister and more like me. I scream, toss things, and shatter something. In all that time he only watches me. When there’s nothing else to toss and I have no more energy, I break down.

  Fuck, I hate crying, but I break down in a stranger’s room. Exactly like I did today a
t her funeral. I don’t know what tips me over the edge.

  It could be the fact that I’m standing in the place my sister took her last breath. It could be that I didn’t even know this place existed. Or it could be that I’m hungry because I never ate my leftovers that are still in my microwave at my shot-up home.

  All I know is that I’m ugly crying like that girl from the Blair Witch movie. And I’m doing it wrapped in Walker’s arms. I don’t even know how I got here. He’s holding me so tight that I’m pretty sure it’s him that’s keeping me on my feet.

  When I have cried all that I can and I’m doing nothing but making noises and sniffling, I pull away from him, wipe my nose with the back of my hand and sigh. Even though I’m not wrapped in his arms, he still holds onto my wrist.

  “Do you feel better now?”

  Actually, I do. I don’t know why but crying it out does make me feel lighter. It also helps me see the importance in what he needs me to do.

  “I do, but I still don’t know how to help you. I wouldn’t know the first place to look for something Red would hide.”

  He grins. “Where would you hide it?”

  “What?”

  “Red was smart. Very smart. She knew that if something were to happen to her, one of us would find you. She may not have told you about any of this, but she would have left you clues, like the picture frame. Just enough information to help you out. Don’t think of where Red would hide something. Think of where you would hide it.”

  That makes a little more sense. When put like that there are only two places anything could be.

  “When we were kids, we would sneak things into the house. Money, extra food we didn’t want to share, toys and things like that. In one of our foster homes, the mom would always buy us those frozen fish sticks. We hated frozen fish sticks and so did she, but they were cheap and she never cooked, we did. So, we would hide things in the box.”

  He spins on his heel and storms out of the room. He navigates this apartment the same way he did mine like he has the layout imprinted in his memory. He goes straight into the kitchen like he’s been here a million times. When I think about it, maybe he has. I follow behind him.