by Ker Dukey
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.
