by Sophie Davis
“It was really scary, Lark. You were the most together person I knew. You’d been prim and proper in public forever, almost like your mother had beaten it in to you. And when you weren’t around adults, you were silly and funny and…. But never like that. I’d never seen you like that. You wouldn’t talk to me, you wouldn’t answer…so I left. I went outside and sat on the swings, waiting for you to come find me. Or…I don’t know. But after a while your parents showed up. I saw you leave. Your dad was carrying you.”
“He was carrying me?” I asked doubtfully. “I was thirteen.”
“Yeah,” Adam said, shaking his head as if to shake away the memory.
“So that’s it?” I asked, hoping desperately that there wasn’t any more.
“Other than you disappearing immediately and absolutely, yeah. I must’ve called your phone a million times that night. When I finally fell asleep, I slept with the phone on the pillow next to me. Every once in a while I woke up with a start and called you again. It would just ring and ring, until I’d get your voicemail, over and over. The same thing the next day. And the day after. Until, it stopped ringing. When I tried calling the next week, it said the number had been disconnected. Even my parents weren’t sure what had happened. They tried calling yours, but they never gave me any explanation. After a while, they said you’d moved away and that was that.”
“That must have been terrible for you,” I sympathized.
“It was,” he said, his eyes glistening. “But it wasn’t about me, I was worried about you. For all I knew, your parents stuck you in a funny farm and threw away the key.”
“Almost,” I replied quietly. “They thought I was on drugs, and talked about sending me to rehab. Of course, it came out that I wasn’t, but not until they put me through hell. In the end, I was diagnosed with exhaustion and that was that.”
“Like when celebrities lose it?” Adam asked doubtfully.
“I know. None of it makes any sense.”
It had never made sense to me. Not the meltdown in school, my parents’ accusations of drug use, the memory loss, or what came after.
“So that was it?” Adam spoke delicately.
“Yeah. My parents cut me off from you, from everyone else back there. They said it was for my own good, that I needed a fresh start. But really, I think they wanted to pretend it had never happened.”
“And you let them?” Adam’s eyes flashed with both hurt and anger.
“They told me that you’d never called. That your parents contacted them and said you didn’t want to see me. Or talk to me. I thought…I thought you hated me.”
With that, the most painful part of the ordeal for me, a lump formed in my throat that was impossible to swallow around.
“Lark! How the hell could you think that?” Adam said fiercely. “You were my best friend. I loved you. I would’ve stuck with you through anything. If you’d let me. I still will.”
My parents had done a lot of shitty things in their time—really shitty, in fact. None of it had ever been directed towards me, though. At least, as far as I knew. But coming between Adam and me, simply because they were embarrassed by my breakdown? So not okay. They’d taken away my best friend and confidant at a time when I needed him most. All to maintain their reputations.
And now, I couldn’t help but wonder…how far would they go? And how could I use that to my advantage?
EVEN ON THE fifteen-inch laptop monitor, the head of Kingsley Diamonds projected power and importance. Phillip Kingsley onscreen was younger than his current, real life counterpart. He’d aged well, though, and looked almost better now than he had ten or fifteen years ago, ala George Clooney.
Most of the other men on the Kingsley Diamond board of directors were old and stodgy, and eye-gougingly boring when they spoke. Their voices never inflected beyond flat, apathetic tones. Of course, it didn’t help that they used words and phrases that required translation for me to make sense of, along with the fact their discussion topics were already enough to put me to sleep. All-in-all, I had no idea what the hell they were saying, what they were saying it about, or why Lark would’ve taken such pains to ensure the safety of the videos.
Naturally, Asher understood it all. He was able to follow the discussions, and assumed the role of instructor. Unfortunately, understanding what was being said did not make it any more interesting. Or relevant to Lark, as far as I could tell.
“There has to be something important on here,” Asher insisted, when I began listing off all of the things more entertaining than watching old men talk about import/export taxes and customs officials.
Seriously, that was all they were droning on about. For like three meetings, they’d debated switching shipping routes because some port in a country I’d never heard of wanted more money because some lady named Kimberley was being a bitch. Truthfully—though I’d never admit it to Asher—I found all of the background drama pretty entertaining. It was the crap about cost-benefit analyses, goodwill, and opportunity costs that made me want to pull my hair out. It was no wonder I was confused by most of it—what did donating old clothes have to do with selling diamonds?
“Not necessarily, to us. It could be that whatever is on here is only important to Lark,” I corrected him. “And I don’t think we’re going to figure that out tonight. We’ve been doing this for hours, and barely scratched the surface of all of this footage.”
My voice had a nasally whine to it that was annoying even to me.
Deep down, I knew that whatever Lark wanted me to see on those videos was likely very important. It had to be, considering all of her safeguards. So, where did my reticence come from? My resistance to watching even another minute, let alone another eight hours?
I had no earthly idea. All I could think was that I was just really overwhelmed. It had been a crazy-long day, and my attention-span was rapidly waning.
My mind kept drifting back to the mystery man. The intruder. That guy had answers. He had to have answers. Definitely more than the video files Lark hid inside of a custom-made pendant. He might not know Lark’s whereabouts precisely, but he knew something. I felt it down to my marrow.
“First off,” Asher began, pulling me out of my thoughts. He trailed off as he got situated, repositioning himself so his body was angled away from the laptop and towards me. If I had to venture a guess, I’d say a lecture was in my immediate future.
Great, I thought. And zoned out.
We were still sitting side-by-side on the couch in Lark’s living room, and Asher’s knee brushed mine when he turned. Maybe it was because we’d talked earlier that day about how wrong kissing each other was. Maybe it was because we’d acted on the sexual tension that had been steadily building between us, and it quashed the curiosity. Maybe it was because I felt numb after the day I’d had. Or maybe it was for any one of a myriad of other reasons. Regardless of the rationale, I was relieved, albeit a little surprised, when the skin-to-skin contact didn’t turn my insides to warm liquid or send shivers down my spine. I felt…nothing.
Okay, perhaps not exactly nothing. But the ‘something’ I felt was nothing like before. The difference between those feelings was a static electricity spark compared to the jolt from sticking a fork in a light socket. Definitely not even close.
With a barely-suppressed giggle, I considered how ass-backwards the situation was. If I’d known that all it would take to get Asher out of my system was a kiss, I would’ve locked lips with him that very first day we met. That wouldn’t have been weird at all, right? Picturing myself cornering Asher, after he’d helped to carry my bags up, and throwing him down on the sofa caused my giggle to turn to full-on laughter.
Alarmed by the sudden shift in moods, Asher’s eyes went wide and his train of thought derailed.
“What’s so funny? Just a second ago you were so bored you thought watching milk curdle was a preferable alternative to these videos.”
“It’s nothing,” I said, reaching for his hand, and then thinking better of it.
>
Even though I knew that any feelings I had for Asher had left Romancetown in favor of Friendville, he didn’t. It would only get more awkward if I was sending him signals saying one thing when I was feeling another.
“And you can save the lecture,” I continued, dialing back into the discussion. “I’m well aware that the endless hours of excessive droning on that flash drive are important. Lark went through a lot of trouble to make sure it didn’t fall into the wrong hands. I am a big girl, and will suck it up and get through the rest of it—if we can go for a coffee run? I need some caffeine if I’m going to pull an all-nighter.”
Asher rubbed a spot on the couch with his thumb, as if to erase a nonexistent stain.
“It’s late, Raven. That’s actually what I was going to say. Let’s call it a night and start fresh tomorrow morning. Another couple of hours won’t change anything.”
“I guess.” I shrugged redundantly.
“What’s wrong, Raven?” Asher asked, his tone gentle but firm.
“Nothing. Why?”
“Well,” he nudged my knee playfully with his own, “first you want to stop watching the videos because they’re boring. Now that I’ve agreed with you to wait until tomorrow, you’re kind of…moping.”
“I’m not moping,” I protested, glaring into Asher’s amused eyes.
“But you are being ornery. Admit it.”
“I don’t know what honoree means. So, no, I won’t admit it.”
“Ornery. Not honoree. It’s like cantankerous. And you’re getting off topic.”
Unable to help myself, I laughed.
“Cantankerous? Seriously? How old are you?”
“Raven—”
“Next thing you know, you’ll be shouting at the hooligans to get off your lawn,” I said, enjoying the mental picture. “Now that’s cantankerous.”
“Raven, be serious,” Asher groaned.
With a sigh of protest, I put on a serious face.
“I’m sorry. I’m exhausted. But I also feel really guilty about going to bed, instead of watching the rest of the videos.”
“Why?” Asher asked, genuinely confused.
“Because of something you said: ‘Another couple of hours won’t change anything’. Maybe it won’t make a difference to us, but there’s a good chance it might for Lark. She might be hurt. Or scared. Or both. And instead of doing something that might help, I’m going to sleep. Because it’s just too boring. That’s horrible. I’m horrible. She couldn’t have chosen someone more incompetent or more selfish if she’d tried.”
The silence that followed was deafening, and lingered for over a full minute. My outburst hung in the air between, the words ringing in my head like an echo. Since he said nothing, it seemed safe to assume that Asher was contemplating the end of my rant, probably agreeing with what I said.
Finally, he spoke.
“Is there anything that I can say this point that will make you feel better? Or should I just keep quiet?”
In spite of my instantly-sour mood, I laughed.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “I’m just kind of out of sorts.”
“Let’s get some sleep. Tomorrow, we’ll get up with the roosters, okay?”
Nodding, I offered my downstairs neighbor a weak smile.
“Okay.”
For the second time, Asher and I held a coed sleepover at the Pines. Once again, he slept on the couch and I took the guestroom. I was surprised—maybe even shocked—that Asher agreed to stay at the Pines for the night. It seemed likely that the whole mystery-guy-with-a-key thing was going to contradict his cautious nature. But no, it apparently didn’t bother him all that much.
Sleep came easy that night, easier than it had in a while. It felt like Christmas Eve night when I was little: the sooner I went to bed, the sooner I’d awake to find presents under the tree. In this case, the ‘presents’ were the identity of the mystery guest.
If I left milk and cookies on the counter would it lead me to Lark? The silly thought lifted the corners of my mouth into a grin as I drifted off to dream land.
After what seemed like only minutes, golden light woke me the next day. Immediately, I reached for my cell, taking a moment to fumble with it before I was able to check the time. 9:08 a.m.
I can’t believe I slept so long, I thought, stretching like a cat to wake my tired muscles.
Right away, something felt off.
Holding absolutely still, I held my breath and listened. For what, I didn’t know exactly. Silence met my ears, nothing more. And then, I realized that was it: the silence. That’s what was off. Asher was there, so muffled voices from the television, quiet footsteps, or even cabinets opening and closing in the kitchen as he searched for something edible—those sounds were what I should’ve heard.
Is he still asleep? I wondered.
If so, he probably needed the rest. Searching for Lark was exhausting, and Asher was pulling double duty, attending classes by day and playing detective with me at night.
Creeping out of the guestroom, careful to make as little noise as possible in the hallway, I made my way to Lark’s room. Using her bed felt awkward, but her bathroom was a different story. After I showered, I brushed my teeth and borrowed another outfit from Lark’s closet. While I combed through my wet tangles of hair, the apartment still felt empty, like a ghost town.
“Asher?” I called his name as I walked down the hallway, towards the living room. “Rise and shine, lazy bones!”
No answer.
“Asher? Seriously, it was your idea to get up with the roosters. They finished crowing hours ago.”
No answer.
The lights were off in the main area of the apartment, but the sun was a sufficient substitute. The wide-toothed comb was halfway down the length of my hair when my eyes landed on the empty couch.
“Asher?”
Turning in place, my gaze swept the living room, then the dining area, and finally the kitchen.
No Asher.
A green throw blanket was folded neatly atop a single pillow in one corner of the couch. My laptop was on the coffee table in the closed position, clues and my notes scattered around it.
“Weird,” I muttered.
My cell phone was still in the guestroom, but there weren’t any new texts or missed calls when I woke. Surely if Asher left during my shower, he would’ve knocked on the door. Or left a note, at the very least. Doing a quick scan of the random pieces of paper on the coffee table told me that all the handwriting was my own. Concern grew like a weed inside my chest.
You’re overreacting, I told myself. Check your phone again.
Rushing into the bedroom, I snatched my cell off the nightstand where it was still laying. One missed call. I breathed a sigh of relief.
Paranoid much?
Only, the call wasn’t from Asher. His number was programmed into my contacts, and the one on my display screen was not. This was especially odd, since very few people had my phone number, and even fewer actually called, as opposed to texting. There was a new voicemail, though. Switching on my speakerphone, I dialed *86, and entered my password.
“Hello, Ms. Ferragamo. This is Darrell Mantz, from the Pines. I am covering the end of a coworker’s shift, and therefore am on duty earlier than usual today. It is usually quiet at this time of morning, if you would like to drop by sooner rather than later. There is no hurry on my end, of course. I just wanted to inform you of this, since I gathered you are quite eager to view the surveillance footage.”
Pressing END, I tossed the phone on the bed without listening to the rest of Darrell’s message. Eager was putting it mildly—I was desperate to view that footage as soon as humanly possible.
Asher forgotten, I was out the door, down the elevator, and entering the main lobby faster than a running back doing his 40 yard dash time trial. Thirty seconds after hearing the message I was approaching Darrell’s post, wet hair and all.
“Ms. Ferragamo, that was fast,” he greeted me.
�
��Sorry I missed your call.” As explanation, I pointed to my wet hair. “I was in the shower.”
“So I see,” Darrell replied, crinkling his nose as if my entrance had brought with it an unpleasant odor. Or maybe the thought of me in the shower was repugnant.
“So, is now still a good time to see those tapes?” I asked, changing the subject before the situation became any more awkward.
“It is, Miss. I have taken the liberty of viewing them myself—”
“And?” I interjected, rudely cutting Darrell off mid-sentence. “Sorry, I’m so sorry. Go ahead.”
Darrell’s lips thinned into a tight smile at my apology.
“No visitors came or went through the main lobby between five and eight p.m. on the day in question. However, a number of individuals did enter via the garage and back door. I have identified all but five as residents. Two of those five were female. That leaves three possible candidates for your visitor.”
“Wow,” I said, impressed by Darrell’s detective skills. “Thank you so much for taking the time to do all of that. That’s wonderful, really.”
I really was grateful—he’d done a lot of the legwork for me. If Lark cut me a check for my services at the end of all this, I was definitely going to throw a tip Darrell’s way.
“I have the footage cued for you in the office,” the desk guard continued. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“I’m ready now, if that’s okay?” I asked, forcibly exercising restraint.
Darrell gestured me around the desk, inviting me into his space. Giddy with anticipation, I followed him through the door and into the office. Considering the way I usually felt when just about to take a big step in the investigation, it struck me as somewhat odd that I wasn’t the least bit nervous about what or, more accurately, who I might see.
Not even two minutes after sitting down with Darrell in the office, I realized that I should’ve been incredibly nervous about watching the videos. I’d thought that learning the identity of the mystery guy was important, that it would be a game-changer.
