I’ve never seen a snake like this, but I can automatically tell it’s an albino constrictor, though if it’s a python or boa eludes me. Moreover, no matter how hard my heart beats inside my chest, I press my lips hard together and remain still. Its movements are majestic, a predator knowing it has no threat here, and I’ve seen enough animal shows to know snakes sense movement and prey through their tongues.
And the last thing I want is for it to strike.
I want to appear bigger and unafraid. I want to get up and run. God knows I do, but I’m unable to so much as flinch while trapped in its gaze. The large body slides off the cadaver a few inches from me, coiling into itself while the head and a few feet of its body stand upright. Eyes a milky blue, the snake lifts its head and tilts it to the side, then waits. And waits.
No movement. No striking.
The only signs of its menacing power are the dead body and the albino skin wearing splatters of blood along the body and drying across its mouth. How did Tim get here? How did this snake end up here, killing him?
My rational mind isn’t looking at the gash across the man’s neck, but instead focusing on the bite marks and ripped skin straight across. Was it the pressure of a constrictor’s hold that forced the skin to split open, which he then further ripped apart with its jagged teeth?
A possibility? Yes. I’ve seen enough wild animal documentaries to know that they’re powerful and once the teeth sink in, tearing the flesh apart is the sole way to extract them.
Even as my mind conjures scenarios, the snake continues its perusal of me—judging my reactions while flicking its tongue lazily in and out. We stay like this for a while, without so much as a muscle twitching. A few beads of sweat dot my upper lip and brow, and yet, the animal isn’t showing any signs of aggression. His body is unmoving—watching.
I wait for the right time, psyching myself up to run toward the laundry room, when my cell phone rings. The sound is loud and the animal’s reaction is swift, turning away from me and slithering down the back porch area and then disappearing into the trees. This catches me off guard; one second it’s staring at me and the next, it’s gone, completely lost within the greenery and limbs of trees and the leaves on the ground.
I’m unable to move. I have no idea how long I stay with my eyes set on the area the constrictor disappeared to.
Again my phone rings and I ignore it until a loud banging at my front door accompanies it. Then, there’s the Ring alert telling me someone is at my door, and only then do I stand, noticing how much warmer the morning feels. My movements are on autopilot while my reaction is cold, eyes sweeping across the dead body before walking in the direction of the noise.
I don’t know how to act. I can’t even comprehend that this is real.
Is it, though? Could I still be asleep?
“This nightmare sure took a twist tonight,” I mutter under my breath, glaring at my front door as it comes into view. Someone is pressing incessantly on the doorbell, fist pounding, and I’m tempted to punch the person for making an even weirder dream more annoying. Without pause, I open the door and glare. “What now?”
At my outburst, Tero stops all movements, eyes wide. “Are you okay?”
“No.” A bubble of laughter escapes me; the sound is shrill and a bit manic. “There’s a dead body in the back, a snake tried to charm me, and I’ve completely accepted that insanity has overtaken me. This is all probably a hallucination, and you aren’t even here.”
“Can I come in?” He’s talking to me as if I were a scared animal. Unpredictable.
“Sure. Be my guest.” I wave my hand in a gesture to proceed, and then frown when I catch Theodore standing by the all-black SUV outside my door. “Why are you here?”
“You didn’t show up and didn’t answer your texts. Mr. Astor has been trying to get ahold of you for the past hour; it’s midday now.” He’s walking deeper into my home, almost following the growls of my dog, and I’m right behind him. His footsteps don’t make a single sound, something I find odd and reaffirms my belief it’s all a dream, but the presence now behind me refutes the thought.
Theodore doesn’t have to utter a single word, but I feel him. His touch seeps into my bones, making my heart race. His scent makes my mouth water, the temptation almost too great, and I catch myself before turning around and embarrassing myself.
There’s something about his presence that overtakes my senses—pulls me closer—and when his warm, large hand grips my arm and tugs me back a step, reality smacks into me with the force of a freight train.
This is all real. This. Is. Not. A. Dream.
I’m awake.
There’s a dead body...
“Oh, God.” A sob slips past my trembling lips as my legs threaten to give out. I’m shaking, teeth chattering as I try to explain—say anything to Theodore who’s holding me close to his chest—but can’t. The sounds leaving me are full of fear and sorrow, and I’m fighting against my fight or flight that demands I do something.
Anything.
To save myself.
“Breathe in, Gabriella.” The deep baritone of his voice breaks through my mental fog, but doesn’t break the invisible binds tightening around my neck as I recall the time I spent this morning watching a snake while a corpse lay at my feet. “Come on, beautiful. I need you to breathe and—”
“Snake.” Somehow I manage to utter the one word past my harsh breaths and the loud curse that comes from Tero. Not that Theodore moves us any further or asks his assistant what happened. Instead, he places his large palm across the center of my chest while pulling me closer.
“Breathe.” One word, and I feel the way his broad chest expands against my back, holding the air trapped inside his lungs until I follow, and only then he releases. He keeps me like this, pushing me to follow the cadence of his warm breaths, and I do without hesitation as if commanded to do so. “Good girl. Just like that...” his lips are at the crown of my head and I shiver when he leaves a tiny kiss there “...you’re doing so well.”
In the distance, I hear the sirens. They’re coming closer and closer until doors slam closed and heavy footfalls follow. There’s shouting. I can make out the click of guns and instructions are being followed, and yet, I don’t move from his embrace and continue to match my breathing to his.
I’m trapped by fear, and he’s my lifeline.
I need him to anchor me because I’m close to crumbling.
“Police!” a male voice calls into my home, his hard raps against the door making me whimper.
“Come in.” Theodore doesn’t stop his calming ministrations. Instead, I feel him turn his head in the officer’s direction. “My assistant is in the back and will fill you in. No one here is armed.”
“Is she okay? Does she require medical attention?” Theodore answers him with a shake of his head, but the man seems to need more and from me. I sense him come closer. I feel his hand hover on my shoulder, and my panic rises once again. “Miss, are you harmed? Can you tell us what happened this morning?”
“Dead.” Another sob. The small amount of relief in my chest once again tightens and I cough, scratching at my neck. “He’s dead. He’s dead and a snake—” Something in me snaps at that moment, the tethered string of consciousness withering into nothing, and when I meet the man’s eyes for the first time, everything goes black.
15
Gabriella
Music plays in the background, the cacophony of instruments creating a melodic cadence that most inside the room sway to. In pairs, they twirl in a circular fashion while spectators talk quietly amongst themselves dressed in their best garments—sizing up their counterparts.
Some with greed.
Some with lust.
Some with a calculative stare while I watch from my seat at the center of it all.
The choreography follows the light tone playing from a small band of musicians entertaining the crowd, keeping those within the circle twirling and counting steps, switching partners between well-pr
acticed hand maneuvers before tapering to a more sophisticated waltz.
Each couple falls in line and their forms, the sophisticated posture in the stance, become poised and full of finesse. Each step is refined, their pivots regal while onlookers give a small applause that lasts no longer than three heartbeats before silence ensues and all eyes remain on the crowd of dancers.
They do their best to ignore my presence atop a small, elevated platform where two intricate black chairs occupy most of its space. One throne is empty. One has me perched atop while dressed in an extravagant gown a deep shade of red reminiscent of the color of blood with a golden lace overlay. It’s strapless, the bodice tight from my chest to my knees where it then flares out a bit. The silk feels soft against my skin while the lace is light and eye catching, provocative, and nothing like the dresses the women in attendance are wearing.
I’m modern to their Victorian modesty.
As my eyes traverse the room, my head is held high and shoulders are pulled slightly back. I make out many faces, all strangers, and yet, I don’t feel out of place. If anything, this amuses me, and I find myself making a game out of catching the eye of someone daring enough to look my way.
“Not very nice of you, pretty girl,” a husky voice says from behind my chair, his finger caressing the skin from my right shoulder across to the left. Goose bumps rise and a small illicit shiver rushes through my every limb. “You want me to paint the walls red?”
“Well, you’re no fun tonight.” There’s a pout on my lips, which causes the man I’ve yet to see to chuckle. I’m being coquettish. I’m so comfortable with him, more than I’ve ever been with anyone in my life, and it’s so outside my normal behavior. “I thought indulging me was the highlight of your life?”
“It is.” Sharp fingernails leave a small trail of goose bumps, dipping ever so slightly beneath the thin material of my dress over the ridges of my spine. “But you must go back now.”
“Back where? You’re not—”
Screams rend the air and four male bodies fall on their knees, each one simultaneously cupping their necks. Blood pours from a thin line, their clothes quickly drenched in the crimson shade while those around them laugh.
So much laughter. So much morbid glee at the sight, and what’s worse, I’m not affected. Not like I should be.
“Are you ready?” he asks, his breath fanning my cheek.
“Ready for what?”
“To wake up, pretty girl.”
I’m pulled to consciousness with a harsh start. The noise inside the room is loud and matches my rapidly rising chest; a beep, beep, beep that fully awakens me, bringing into focus the white walls and lone window with partially opened curtains. The view showcases that I’m on a high floor and no longer in a ballroom where high society beauty—opulence—fill every corner. Instead, there are machines all around me, the blanket atop my bare legs is a bit scratchy, and I gasp when my eyes land on the lone figure sitting in an uncomfortable-looking chair to my left.
Theodore’s leaning awkwardly with his head lulling to the side. His breathing is deep and hair an absolute mess, but in a way that’s attractive while dressed in casual clothes like yesterday when—
Tim’s body. The bloody snake. Oh God.
“Shit,” I whisper rubbing my chest area, my voice almost indiscernible, and yet, Mr. Astor’s eyes snap open at once. They meet mine; amber on green, and in them I find concern and understanding, two things that bring tears to my eyes. Not that I let them fall. I’ve embarrassed myself enough by passing out and who knows what happened after that. “It’s nothing, really. This is all just one of those bizarre things that happen and become some anecdote I share as an old lady.”
“Shouldn’t I ask the question before you lie?”
Instead of denying his claim, I turn my face and pretend to take in the one-bed hospital room. “How did I get here?”
“You had a panic attack and passed out,” he says, voice low, yet there’s a hidden scolding there for looking away. “The officers at the scene called in the paramedics who brought you here. That was five hours ago.”
I cringe, my cheeks turning pink. “Five?”
“You’re safe, Gabriella.”
“Am I?” The question slips from me before I can stop it, showing a man I barely know—a stranger—how vulnerable I feel.
“No one will ever touch you. Please trust me.” I don’t miss the emphasis on the word you.
“No one is fully safe, Mr. Astor, and tomorrow is never guaranteed.”
“Look at me.”
The sun has begun to set, the blue sky turning a gorgeous shade of orange with hints of pinks and purples. It reminds me of the subject matter for my showing, how danger always lurks and comes out to play in the dark.
The dark. Why didn’t I think about the motion sensor cameras!
“Where’s my phone?” I’m still not meeting his gaze. Instead, I catalog the changes in hues. “How long will I need to be here, or can I—”
“Look at me.” It’s a command this time and I follow, my face snapping toward his without conscious thought. And damn him, I’m once again hit with tenderness and concern. With understanding, without him uttering a single encouraging word. For a few minutes we stay this way, slowly leaning toward each other, and I let out a low gasp when his large hand cups my cheek. “You’ve done nothing wrong. You are safe.”
“But—”
“I’ll take care of it. I promise.”
Those words put me at ease for no reason at all, but maybe it’s someone caring that helps my mind cease its dreary movie reel. I grew up with no one defending me, much less giving me comfort, because in a group home where nine other kids are in your same position, the youngest are always shown off to potential adopters while the rest are left to figure it out.
For years, all I did was manage. Worked small jobs and fed myself, and even with the money and home my uncle left behind, I’ve been frugal and low maintenance because the future can be volatile and unpredictable.
Elise herself has never been involved in my life outside of my work or social settings where I’m invited. And I’ve been accepting of this. Have allowed her to go in my place multiple times because it was the easier alternative.
Because her whine is something I’d rather not deal with.
Never again, though. Her actions as of late show a side I’m not fond of nor need around me.
Hell, I don’t think she’d sit here with me while I slept after a panic attack.
Taking in a deep breath, I let it out slowly and nod. I’m choosing to believe him. I’m choosing to breathe in deeply and gather my thoughts and think rationally, and not like the frazzled girl I’ve become as of late. “Thank you, Mr. Astor—”
“Theodore to you. Always Theodore.” His thumbs caress my cheeks twice before he sits back in his seat, the action abrupt while creating a bit of space between us. My lips part, the question sitting on the tip of my tongue. “After. Ask me after.”
I nod, even though he makes no sense.
“Miss Moore,” a male voice calls out before tapping twice on my room door, and my gaze turns to him. He steps inside without prompting, without explaining why he’s here, and when he notices my fingers about to press over the red button for the nurse, the stranger whips out a badge. “I’m here to talk about what happened—”
I cut him off by holding a hand up. “First, I’d like your name, that of your precinct, and under what guise you are here. If you are here to get my account, you are more than welcome to stay, but if I’m being suspected of any wrongdoing, then it can wait until I am discharged and in better form to withstand your line of questioning.”
Where my sudden bout of confidence comes from, I don’t know or question it. And while I’m guiding myself based on crime shows watched with a bit of common sense mixed in after having had a panic attack years ago—the doctor then demanding I avoid stressful situations—I wait for his reply. I doubt he’s taking kindly to my demands, his pinched
face telling me as much, but I won’t back down. Something has to give after the hellish crap I just lived through.
“That isn’t up to you.” The tone isn’t one of warm regard while his posture is a bit threatening. “You are the last person to see Mr. Roy alive and—”
“That is a lie and we both know it.” Theodore places a hand on the bed right beside my own, not touching me but leaning forward. His expression is hard, eyes narrowed on the detective who’s yet to introduce himself. “Now, answer her questions and state your business. This will be her call on how you proceed, and if you want to test that theory, be my guest. The doctor can have you escorted out, citing unneeded duress being placed upon his patient and you’ll have to abide by the penal code which ties your hands on all accounts.”
“Who are you to interfere with a—”
“Theodore Astor.”
The man swallows hard, his face losing a bit of color while taking a step back. “I didn’t come here to create a problem for her. I’m just doing my job, nothing more.”
“Then answer her questions.”
My fingers drum against his hand to gain his attention. “Thank you.”
The anger of a few seconds ago vanishes the moment our eyes meet. His face softens, and a small smile curls his lips. “Never thank me for taking care of you.”
“I can, and I will.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.” In that moment, everything disappears and all noises stop. I’m trapped in his stare, in the small flutter of butterflies in my stomach and how the tips of my fingers tingle from where I tapped his hand. Why does he affect me so? I’ve never been a prude, but no man has ever made me want the things Theodore does.
I’ve never wanted a man to claim my virginity. To touch me.
A throat clears then, and I feel my cheeks warm as I watch Theodore’s grin widen. He’s aware of the effect he has on me. “Miss Moore, I’m detective Ricardo Consuelos and I’ve been assigned this case. Mr. Tim Roy was found on your property this morning by you—is that correct?
Little Lies Page 10
