He drove past the tiny one-pump employee serviced gas station and the quiet old courthouse on the town square. He pulled into the gravel parking lot of the small white complex his mother had directed him to and looked for her apartment number. When he finally spied it, he slowed the car to a stop and climbed out.
The porch light flicked on in an instant. He shut his car door, running a hand through his thick, messy hair, and adjusting his rumpled clothes. His body felt stiff from the drive.
She opened the screened door, staring into the dark yard. She was smaller than the last time he’d seen her, a good thirty pounds gone. Her hair was wrapped in a dark blue bandana and even in the dark of the night he could see the wrinkles that had formed around her mouth and eyes. The eight years since he’d last seen her hadn’t been kind.
“Momma?” he said her name, staring at the woman he hardly recognized in her long white nightgown.
She stepped forward, calling out to him in the darkness. Moths buzzed around her head as she spoke. “Gunner? It's really you?”
“I told you it was me,” he said, stepping onto the porch and wrapping his arms around her. She smelled the same, lavender and her favorite old perfume, yet everything about her felt different. Despite the changes, her hug was familiar, and he fell into it effortlessly. “You’ve lost weight.”
“Yeah, well…cancer’ll do that to ya.”
“Cancer?” he asked, his heart falling. “What are you talking about? You never told me.”
“You don’t write, you don’t call. I wasn’t gonna call and pity-party you into coming home.”
“I’m sorry,” he told her honestly. “I never meant to fall out of touch.”
She patted his back. “I’m fine, Gunner. Your momma’s a tough old gal. I ain’t going nowhere without a fight.” She frowned, stepping toward the door and pulling it open. He took it from her, allowing her to enter first. “Now, get in here, we’re letting all the cool air out.”
He glanced around the small apartment. It was quaint, tiny knick-knacks adorning the walls. Two giant afghans covered the backs of her white couches. “This is nice, momma,” he told her.
“I see New York made you into a liar.” She laughed.
“New York made me used to much smaller spaces. My whole apartment is the size of this room.”
She sighed, taking his bag from him and placing it on the coffee table. “So, why are you here Gunner? Do you need something? Is everything all right?”
“I can’t pay you a visit just because?”
“You can, you don’t. You could’ve done that any of the other dozen times I’ve asked you to come home. You’ve not visited in eight years and I can count the phone calls on one hand. Of course, I’m thrilled to have you home, but you’ll have to understand my reservations when you show up out of the blue. I’m wondering what the catch is.” She eyed him suspiciously.
He sat on one end of the couch awkwardly. “I’m sorry, mom. I know I haven’t visited. I just needed to get away from it all. After what happened—”
“I’m well aware of what happened, Gunner, because you left me here to deal with it all alone.”
“Momma, please, you know I would’ve come home if I could,” he begged her to understand, rubbing his head.
“Why are you here, Gunner? What do you need?” Her voice was harsh.
“It’s not important. I haven’t forgotten you just told me you have cancer.”
“I’ve been dealing with it for five years on my own. You don’t have to start worrying about me now.”
“But what kind? Are you doing chemo? Radiation? You should have called.”
“So should you. Now, don’t change the subject. Why are you home?”
He sighed. “Holly Orrick’s dead. She died in New York. And I’m the one who found her.”
She sank down onto the couch next to him. “W-What?”
“I just…needed to be here. I needed to…I don’t know. I don’t know why I’m here. She won’t want to see me. But I needed to be here.”
“Does her family know?” his mother asked.
“I don’t know. I gave the police the Orricks’ phone number. I’m assuming they’ve called them by now.”
“They’re going to receive that news over the phone?” She clutched her heart. “You can’t let that happen, Gunner.” There was urgency in her voice.
“What’s the alternative?” he asked, shaking his head. “And before you say it, no. I’m not—”
“You have to,” she insisted, her voice low in her throat. “You owe it to them. No one deserves to hear that over the phone. You have to tell them, Gunner. You have to go now.”
“It’s the middle of the night. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Gunner, go,” she said softly, standing up. “You go and tell that family their daughter is dead. They need to hear it from someone they know.”
“It’s not my place.”
“Don’t you dare,” she said angrily. “Don’t you dare let your pride get in the way of what you know is right. You will go over there and tell that family what you know. And you will go now, if I have to drive you over there myself.”
“Can’t I just—”
“Now, Gunner Michael,” she threatened, holding open the door. And that was that.
* * *
Gunner stood outside the door of Holly’s parents’ house. He hadn’t been up to this door in years, though he’d once spent many nights in front of it, the dim porch light buzzing and blinking, reminding him his date was over.
There was a light on in the kitchen window and he imagined Scott would be up. Gemma liked to fall asleep early, she always had. It was Scott who had remained up, waiting for them to return home from their evenings out.
He shook his head, pushing the thought out of his mind. He didn’t need to go there now. Didn’t need to think of her. He pressed his finger into the doorbell, waiting to hear movement. Footsteps approached the door almost immediately. He stepped back.
The dark cherry door swung open and he took a deep breath. She stood in front of him, her blonde hair pulled up in a loose ponytail. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face soaked with tears. She stared at him a moment too long, as if she’d seen a ghost.
“Gunner?” she asked, the power taken out of her voice.
“Reagan,” he said, unable to catch his breath. It had been eight years since he’d seen her. Eight years since he’d spoken to the love of his life. She was every bit as beautiful as the day he’d left. Her eyes showed a sadness, a confusion, that told him what he’d feared. They already knew. His trip there had been pointless. His mother had been wrong.
Suddenly, interrupting his thoughts, she pressed her lips together, her face growing stern, and then the door was slammed in his face and he heard the deadbolt click.
He groaned, knocking. “Reagan, open up. I know I’m the last person you want to see right now. I just…I wanted to…” he paused, listening to the silence behind the door. His voice raised. “Oh, come on, just open the damn—”
“Gunner?” Gemma opened the door in shock.
“Mrs. Orrick. I’m so sorry. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“What are you doing here, Gunner?” she asked. He tried to look over her shoulder, desperate for another glimpse of Reagan but she was nowhere to be seen.
“I’m sorry. I just…well, my mom insisted I come over. I…wanted to say I’m sorry about…well, about Holly.”
Her eyes grew wide. “You’re the friend?”
“Excuse me?”
She pulled him inside, shutting the door, and whisking him to the kitchen. Scott sat at the table, staring off into space. Reagan stood behind him, her stare icy as she avoided everyone’s eye contact. “Scott, it was Gunner.”
“What’s happening?” he asked. “What was me?”
“You were the friend who identified Holly?” she asked, dropping his arm.
“Oh. Yes. It was me.” He lowered his head, wishing it hadn’t been.
&
nbsp; “Why was she there? In New York? What happened? Was she with you?” Gemma asked, her eyes full of tears, begging him for answers. This part he was good at. This part he understood. It all came with the job. If he could shut off his emotions, it would be easy enough to treat this just as he would any other assignment. He turned to face her, taking hold of her shoulders.
“No, she wasn’t with me. I don’t know why she was in New York. I’m sorry, I wish I did. I didn’t know she was there until they found her.” He kept his focus on Gemma, trying to keep her calm.
“Was she…they didn’t tell me how she died…they said there were no signs of trauma. What should I make of that?” she asked softly, her eyes telling Gunner she was already imagining the worst.
“I don’t know,” he told her, though that wasn’t entirely true. “I was only there to see her for a moment. I’m sure they’re still investigating.”
“When will they release her body to us? We want our daughter here. We should be able to have her funeral at home,” Scott said desperately, his gruff voice cracking.
“It usually doesn’t take long, but I can’t say anything for certain,” Gunner answered, turning to face him.
“Do you think she was in pain?” Gemma asked, wiping her eyes.
“No,” he said carefully, because it was just what you said at a time like this, “no, I don’t think she was in any pain.”
“She was supposed to be in school in Atlanta,” Reagan told him. “We had no idea she was in New York.”
He nodded. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“I’m just glad you were there to find her,” Gemma said. “God knows how long it would’ve taken for them to locate us if not. We may have…we may have never known.”
“It wouldn’t have taken long. You were her emergency contact on the lease,” Gunner said without thinking.
“Lease?” Scott asked, all eyes suddenly on Gunner. “She was living there?”
Gunner looked around the room in confusion. “You didn’t know?”
They all shook their heads, horror filling their expressions. “How could we not have known where our own daughter was living? What kind of parents—” Gemma couldn’t bear to finish her sentence, looking to Scott and covering her mouth.
Without an answer, Gunner remained silent. He should apologize again, but he couldn’t bring himself to form the uniform phrase that was so overused in situations like this. Then again, he was sorry. Sorry about Holly, sorry he’d ever come there, sorry he’d ever come home.
“Look.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sure you guys need some time. I just came by to express my condolences. If you need anything, I’m staying at mom’s.”
“For how long?” Reagan asked, a sharpness to her tone.
“The next few days. I want to be here for the funeral.”
“How kind of you,” Reagan snapped. “Glad you could work my sister’s death into your schedule.”
“Reagan!” Gemma snapped, her jaw dropping.
“It’s okay,” Gunner told her. “Like I said, I should go.”
“Thanks for coming, Gunner,” Scott said, standing up and shaking his hand. “It's good to see you.”
“I wish it were under better circumstances,” Gunner said, nodding.
“So do I.” Gemma smiled sadly, watching him turn and walk out of the house without another word.
* * *
Reagan stood in front of her locker, shuffling books around to no avail. They weren’t there. She took a deep breath, trying to keep her panic at bay. She felt the warmth pooling between her legs, a sign that she was running out of time. Hopelessness began filling her mind as she weighed her options.
There was no way in hell she was walking into class like this. She took her sweater off, leaving only a small camisole, and tied the arms around her waist to cover the growing stain. She was sure she’d had extra pads left over from her last period, but she couldn’t find them in her purse or her locker. The hallways were completely empty, for which she was thankful.
Of course this would happen on the one day her car was in the shop, stupid deer. She’d rode to school with Emily that morning, but she didn’t have another class with her until sixth period. She couldn’t wait that long. Part of her considered going to the bathroom and waiting it out, someone who had a spare pad would have to come along at some point. But even if she were to get lucky, she would still need to change pants and the chances of someone coming in with a spare pair of those were slim.
Her parents’ wouldn’t allow her to bring the new cellphone she’d gotten for her birthday to school, even though she promised to only use it for emergencies. She could go to the office, have them call her parents…but the mere thought was mortifying. Her skin crawled at the idea of facing Mr. Daniels, hot Mr. Daniels, to tell him she had bled through her pants.
Her house wasn’t far, she sighed, realizing her only option. She had never skipped school before. Her parents would kill her if she got caught. But, if she could hurry, she’d only have to miss one class, two at most. No one would have to know.
She slammed her locker shut, rushing down the hallway and out the double doors.
“Dammit,” a male voice whispered heatedly as the door slammed into him. She froze, knowing she’d been caught. “Watch what you’re doing, would you?” he demanded.
She peered around the door, spying his long, scraggly hair and dark eyes. He glanced down at a cigarette that had fallen into a puddle, cursing at her again.
“Gunner James?” She backed up a step. “What are you doing out here? Shouldn’t you be in class?”
“Shouldn’t you?” he asked, sneering at her. He bent down, picking up the extinguished cigarette and shaking it off.
“That’s none of your business,” she said sharply.
“Agreed. So, get out of here, princess.” The word rolled off his tongue with venom.
“You don’t have to be so rude,” she snipped, turning away from him and walking through the courtyard toward the big red gate that led to her freedom. She could feel his eyes burning into her from behind.
“Wait a minute,” he said, laughter in his voice. “Oh my god, are you…is Reagan Orrick actually about to attempt to skip class?” His eyes were wide when she turned back to him, as if he were witnessing a miracle…and she guessed somehow, he was.
“Shut up,” she hissed, panic filling her.
“Okay, fine.” He held up his hands in mock surrender, a cocky look on his face. He waited until she was standing in front of the gate, her hand held out, before he spoke up again. “But if you’re planning on leaving through there, you’re going to get caught.”
She turned back around. “What are you talking about?”
He smiled at her, lighting a new cigarette and inhaling a deep breath before he pointed above her head. “Smile.”
She looked up, staring into a white video camera that pointed directly at her. “You asshole. Why didn’t you warn me?” She jumped back out of the camera’s line of vision.
“Relax. They don’t monitor it unless the alarm sounds. And the alarm won’t sound unless you open the gate.”
“Then how am I supposed to get out?” she asked, disliking the vulnerability in her voice.
He shrugged. “How should I know?”
“Oh, please.” She scoffed. “You skip more class than you attend.”
“Are you keeping tabs on me, Reagan?”
“You wish,” she said, anger back in her voice. He was wasting her time and that was one thing she didn’t have. She felt another gush between her legs. “Are you going to help me or not?”
“What’s in it for me?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Forget it,” she said, sighing. She turned, walking back toward him and the doors, accepting defeat. As she walked past him, he grabbed her arm. She looked at him, her stare icy. “Let go of me, Gunner.”
“Fine,” he teased, dropping her arm, “but if you want out, all you have to do is ask.”
He
r stare thawed, trying to decide if she should trust him. Everything in her screamed that she should run far away from him. She knew all about Gunner and the trouble he was known to cause. “Will you please help me get out of here?” she asked finally, her only hope.
He pointed to the tall brown fence behind him. “This is the only place they can’t see on camera.”
“How could you possibly know that?” Her eyes darted to the fence.
“Like you said, I skip more than I’m here. And when I am here I’m basically a wall ornament in Mr. Daniel’s office. You learn a few things,” he said simply.
“But, how do you get out?” She looked up the metal bars, double her height.
“Climb,” he told her. “I’ll probably have to give you a boost.”
“Oh, no. You can’t,” she said, embarrassment filling her as she pictured him lifting her up and seeing the mess between her legs.
“Yeah, okay. Give me some credit. You weigh like, what, ninety pounds? I think I can manage.”
She frowned, recalling the scale that had read one hundred twenty-two the last time she’d checked. Without waiting for permission, he scooped her up, lifting her up to the gate. He maneuvered her feet into his hands. She leaned her weight onto the gate, hoisting a leg over. Her whole body shook with dread, but if he noticed the blood he didn’t mention it. She pushed one final time, her body tumbling over the fence and she landed on the ground with a thud.
She stood up quickly, her face flushing. She dusted the grass from her knees and adjusted the straps on her tank top before looking at him again. “Thanks Gunner,” she said genuinely.
“Don’t mention it, kid. Happy to corrupt you anytime,” he said, a slight smile on his face. He began to walk away but stopped. “Ah, who cares?” He spun back around, running toward the gate and launching himself onto it. He threw his leg over and landed gracefully on his feet, the confidence of someone who had done this many times before.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’ve been here too long already,” he explained. “See you around, princess.” He walked past her without a second look. Too tired to argue, she turned around, walking in the opposite direction. “You’re just going to walk past all those windows then?” She heard his voice behind her.
The Cleaner Page 2
