by Ker Dukey
“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 n
ight 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.”
