LOST BOY

by Ker Dukey

  “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 tha
t 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 an
d 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.