by Harlow Stone
“I don’t have much time, just wanted to make sure you got settled in alright.”
“All good here Ryder, and thank you for bringing my bags of clothes in.”
I hear voices in the background, but not close enough to make out what they are saying. Ryder begins speaking to someone but obviously covers the mic on the phone because his voice is muffled.
“Got to work. Glad you made it home babe, I’ll talk to you soon.”
Short, sweet and straight to the point. Normally this is a quality I like in people, being as I’m still not one to sit around and shoot the shit, but in this case it displeases me.
“Alright, bye Ryder.”
That’s all I manage, hearing the dial tone immediately after. I know something is up and I’m determined to find out what it is when he gets back. Until then, I’m going to drink the rest of my coffee which will soon be switched to wine. Regardless of Ryder’s aloof behavior, I’m happy to be back, and I’m damn well going to celebrate.
Chapter Six
“I don’t care if you lay here all day. I don’t care if you don’t shower for a week. But for shit’s sake you will eat something Jayne! You can’t sustain your life with only water, and I’ll be damned if I let you die on me now.”
I stare blankly at the cream colored wall as Laura continues to plea with me from the doorway. I’m not listening to her, but instead I’m wondering why I never bothered to paint it something brighter. Was it because I knew that one day I’d need something to focus on besides the fact that my family was murdered and I was held captive in a basement for three days?
Or did I do it because I knew this was not going to be my forever home. It sure felt like it was at the time, but maybe the mind knows what the heart doesn’t yet understand. I know in this moment I won’t stay here. It once held the happiest memories of my life, but now I realize the memories can come with me. I don’t need this tainted house, photographed repeatedly by my stalker.
The house is now contaminated, poisoning me from the inside out. I’ll never be the same and I’ll never feel the same. But regardless of what’s happened, this place is no longer my home.
“I’ll fucking force feed you Jay and you know it! Now eat the goddamn soup.”
I shift my eyes to the doorway, taking in Jimmy for what feels like the first time in weeks. He looks the same, minus the light that’s normally in his eyes. His brown hair is messy and a little longer than usual, just brushing the tops of his ears. The stubble on his sharp jaw is longer than usual, giving away his distress over me being captured and beaten. His brightly colored tattoos are on display, and his jeans are covered in paint, letting me know he’s been self-medicating with long work hours and less sleep. I feel like cracking a joke at him, but I soon realize I don’t have it in me to do so. I don’t have it in me to do anything.
I don’t want to eat.
I don’t want to sleep.
I just want to stare at this ugly fucking wall and remain mute for the remainder of whatever the fuck this is I’m going through. I have no idea how long I’ve been out of the hospital. I don’t know what day or what time it is.
I just don’t care.
I hear the door opening downstairs, and I register that at some point Laura got fed up with me and sent Jimmy to take her place. I don’t want either of them here, but I don’t say that. I would do the same for them, and I know they are only trying to help.
Jimmy pushes off of the doorway and moves to lean against the wall, blocking my line of vision to the ugly beige paint. It pisses me off because it’s been my focal point since I came home. His right thigh is blocking the crack in the plaster that looks like a fucked up letter ‘L’. The ‘L’ has kept me awake because it was the first letter of my daughter’s name. Angrily, I pull my eyes from the wall, ready to tell him to move out of the way and stop blocking the ‘L’. I need the ‘L’! It keeps me here, it’s my focus. I no sooner open my mouth before a small cry comes from the bottom of the steps, followed by the quick thud-thud-thud-thud of someone running up the stairs.
Jimmy pushes off the wall faster than I could tell him to. I’m thankful yet half-concerned at the weeping coming from the hallway outside my bedroom.
“J-J-Jimmmy.”
He is at her side in an instant.
“What the hell?”
“H-he-he’s n-no-not d-d-d-dead.”
For once in what feels like a lifetime, my body and mind react at the same time. I twist my neck, trying to avoid tearing open the stitches on my back. I push myself up on my elbows so I can face my terrified friend who’s the closest thing I have to a sister. I stare blankly as she trembles, dropping what’s in her hands to the old wooden floor.
I blink my eyes, certain I must’ve seen it wrong. I’m not so fortunate as I register the black petals that have fluttered to the floor.
My mind flashes back and his voice grates on my ears, like it was just yesterday he spoke into them. He spoke the words that only now make sense, the words I ignored at the time.
I open my mouth and speak them from memory. At the same time, Jimmy reads the note card. Our voices blend together as we say the words that’ll send me away from the place I once called home.
“Black flowers for a black heart.”
They aren’t just black—they’re dead. I allow myself one last look at the ugly roses, allowing them to seal my fate.
Jayne O’Connor died in Andrew’s basement. Whoever I am now needs to go.
***
I’ve been home for a few days. It’s now Monday.
I haven’t heard anything else from Ryder, so I’m not sure if he’s coming home tomorrow or not.
Yesterday I dug out most of my casework and started searching for any signs indicating that Andrew had a twin brother. I looked through the few photographs the police took from his home, not that there are many. After going over each of the pictures with a magnifying glass I noticed there were no photographs in any of the rooms of his house, much like my home here where there’s nothing personal—almost unlived in.
One thing that stood out to me was that there was no computer, only a desk where there should be one. If I were a detective, this would’ve stood out to me, but there was no mention of it in the case file.
I stayed up until two in the morning trying to wrap my head around it all again, trying to come at it from a different angle; the angle that there were two brothers, not just one. The only conclusion I have is the obvious one: if Andrew Roberts does indeed have a brother, then obviously the mother separated them at birth, and the grandmother that raised Andrew didn’t know about the other twin. If she did, surely you’d think she would’ve taken both. What grandparent would separate her twin grandsons?
But why? And why in the first place did the mother separate them and give them up? I don’t get it.
Deciding my mind needs a break, I grab my burner off the counter. I tossed and turned last night and after finally falling asleep the nightmares came flooding in. There’s only two ways I’ve learned to burn off enough steam to sleep. Since Ryder isn’t here, that only leaves me one option. I put the phone to my ear and wait.
“Black.”
I wasn’t expecting him to pick up on the first ring, or answer with his last name. Since it’s just barely been a week since Brock spoke with his friend Denny, I don’t elaborate when I respond.
“It’s Elle.”
He clears his throat and his rough voice responds.
“Wasn’t expecting you to call so soon.”
Since he’s not trying to bore me with pleasantries, I assume he must be my kind of person. Either that or Brock mentioned I don’t do small talk.
“Well, I need to get back to the gym. Are you free to meet with me today?”
He cuts straight to the chase.
“Our team has a room rented in the Mannick building, it’s off Eighty Third on the south side of the city. Use the west entrance. It’s on the second floor, room 201. I’ll be there around seven if you
want to meet.”
It’s only four now. As much as I was hoping to meet up with him sooner, I’ll take what I can get at this point in hopes that I’ll sleep better tonight.
“I’ll be there.”
* * *
Not wanting any questions thrown at me right away, I put on a light long sleeve sweater to wear to the gym. Once I get some gloves or tape on my hands, Denny won’t notice the marks on my wrists. I put a light layer of bronzing cream on my already tanned neck to cover the strangle marks and wear a dark short sleeve top so if any rubs off on my shirt it won’t be noticeable.
I have no trouble finding the Mannick Building in Jacksonville. It’s about six stories tall and mostly made of glass. I use the west entrance and use the directions Denny gave me to find room 201. This whole building seems dedicated to health and wellness. Most of the rooms are private, but I noticed the main gym, which was visible through the floor to ceiling windows, is located on the ground floor.
Thankful for the privacy beyond the first floor, I open the door to room 201 and see a familiar setup to Brock’s gym. There’s a boxing ring directly in front of me, the space to the right is filled with weights and a few workout machines. The entire left portion of the gym is mats, like I used to work out on with Brock. My body would have been bruised from tip to toe without them.
I hear a door open from behind the ring and see a giant headed in my direction. I thought Ryder was a big man. Sweet Jesus, not next to this one. Denny is the definition of big. He’s probably an inch or two taller than Ryder, and has an extra twenty pounds on him. His skin is not as tanned as Ryder’s and I can tell from this distance that the blue of his eyes has probably melted many-o-panties off the ladies. His longish light brown hair is tied back at his neck and I only notice one visible tattoo on his arm. Writing of some sort that I plan to read once he gets closer.
“Elle.”
The incredibly deep voice suits the man. I nod my head.
“And you’re Denny Black.”
He extends his hand toward me and I get a closer look at the writing.
Grace.
“Nice to meet you. Brock told me a little about where you guys were at with your training. He also told me this might not work out, you and me doing this. What’s your take on it?”
I love a man that gets straight to the point. I’m not uncomfortable around him yet, so I assume I won’t be later. Knowing he’s a friend of Brock’s, and also an employee of Ryder’s, I’m ready to give this a shot.
“Only one way to find out.”
He looks me over from top to bottom before nodding his head.
“Good answer. How about you get your training gloves on and I’ll meet you on the mats.”
Denny turns around and heads toward the room he came from while I head over to the bench beside the mats. I take out my tape and gloves and work quickly getting myself ready after I take my sweater off. I throw my dark hair up in a messy knot on top of my head to keep it out of my face.
I begin warming up with some stretches when Denny comes out of the back room with punching pads and a bottle of water. His muscles strain against his black shirt. He’s removed the jogging pants he had on and changed into red gym shorts.
“Alright Elle, let’s start out with some basics so I can get a feel of where you’re at, we’ll go from there.”
I nod my head and get lined up with him before he raises the pads.
“You know the drill girl, hit me.”
I give it everything I’ve got, for some reason wanting to impress this man instead of look like some pussy wanting to prove a point. I’ve worked my ass off these past few months with Brock, and I hope it shows.
I begin punching at the pads, and surprisingly quick, we develop a rhythm. Judging by his face, I assume he’s a little caught off guard that I’m not the weak little duckling he presumed I might be.
“That’s good, Elle. Leg work now.”
I nod my head and jump right into the leg work, starting with knee jabs up into the pads, and moving into full out kicks. We continue this pattern for about ten minutes before he tosses the pads to the side of the mats.
“When Brock told me you two had only been working together for a few months, I wasn’t expecting you to be this far ahead. Did you train with someone before then?”
I take a swig of my water before answering.
“Nope.”
He too takes a drink of his water before studying me.
“Good way to get your anger out then.”
I look at his incredibly blue eyes and nod my head.
“That it is.”
We silently stare each other off for a few moments, me taking in his chiseled face and broad shoulders, and him trying to figure me out before he breaks the silence.
“Hand to hand. I want you use your arms more. Your legs will get someone down, but you need more upper body strength.”
This isn’t news to me, I recall Brock saying the same thing. My jogging keeps my legs in great shape, but I don’t do much with my arms other than when I was training with Brock.
We practice a few of the moves I’m familiar with, and to my surprise I feel like I’m back in Indy at Fist. Obviously these two developed a technique together because their moves are quite similar.
I see Denny’s right hand coming at me. I know this move. He’s going to fake out and use his left to grab my arm and spin me around before it forces me to my knees. I move quickly and dive low, bringing my left hand up to block his move and jabbing my elbow back into his stomach.
Clearly he could kick my ass if he really wanted too, but that’s not what this is about. I don’t wait for a second to pass before tugging on his arm and bringing my foot down on his leg.
“Fuck. Damn Elle, you’re full of surprises.” Denny chuckles.
I know I didn’t hurt him, but I’m thankful I got him down to one knee, even if he wasn’t giving it his all. I brush the hair out of my face and the sweat off my forehead.
“You and I both know you could’ve kicked my ass by now.”
Denny stands up and uses his shirt to wipe the sweat off his brow. As much as I enjoy going to bed with Ryder, I’m not dead. I move to sit on the bench and discreetly admire the black ink that is partially hidden behind his shorts while he cleans himself up.
“Yes, I could have. But I’m not most men, Elle.”
No, he definitely is not.
“I make a living doing this, you pull on a regular man what you just pulled on me, and he’d still be lying there.”
“Yes, let’s hope so,” I say in a low voice, not meaning to but it just came out. I ignore his questioning gaze and quickly change the subject.
“I appreciate you doing this Denny. I’m not sure how often you have time, I used to train with Brock three nights a week.”
He runs a towel over his face again before tossing it on the bench.
“Well that explains it. Most guys went three times a week. Women only went for the self-defense classes a few times a month.”
I shake my head as I recall the group woman I hope to never see again.
“Well, I’m thankful I never have to work out with those PTA moms again. What’s your schedule like, and do you want the same fee I paid Brock?”
Denny rubs the back of his neck before he looks at me.
“Not sure the boss man wants us making cash out of this room, Elle. I’m doing this as a favor to both Brock, and Ryder.”
That gets my guard up.
“I don’t want any favors Denny, and I don’t do handouts. If you have a life to live and this is taking up that time, let me know. I came here because I thought this is what you were doing while you guys were out of work, not because you owed someone something.”
He holds his large hands up in a placating gesture.
“That’s not what I meant girl, but either way I’m here most nights anyway. Or at least I have been since we got back to Jacksonville.”
“Well if I had of known that I would
’ve come sooner. Brock said you guys had the week off, or at least until tomorrow I assumed when Ryder gets back, so I didn’t want to disturb you.”
He looks at me, a little confused.
“Thought Ryder was with you? In Indy?”
This is more confirmation that something isn’t right, I can feel it in the hairs on the back of my neck.
“He left early for Chicago.”
Denny averts his eyes from mine and stares at the boxing ring for a moment before speaking again.
