by Logan Fox
“I need you to take Clover to a doctor’s appointment for me.” There’s a flicker in his eyes. “I’m fine. But something came up, so I can’t—” He cuts off, and then drops his gaze. “Thank you. I’ll tell her to keep an eye out for you.”
He stands slowly, ends the call, and slips his phone back into his pocket. When he makes eye contact again, a cold knife stabs into my heart. “Let me know what the doctor says.” He walks past me, close enough to brush my skin with his, and then pauses while our bodies are still so near that I can feel the warmth of his body.
There’s a rustle. Something touches the back of my hand. It starts itching even more.
Hunter holds the envelope until I take it. “Kindly mail this for me. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t speak to Alexa about any of this.”
I slump on the couch while he heads upstairs and locks himself in his office. My ears buzz so loud, I wonder if I’m going to puke again. I turn the envelope over in my hands. It’s not addressed to anyone in particular, and I have no idea where Number One Greyrock Lane is. Also, there’s no stamp on it. Does that mean it won’t get sent, or does this town work on some strange honor system?
I thought US Mail was regulated like at a federal level or something?
There’s a wax seal on the envelope, with a family crest pressed into it like Hunter’s fucking royalty or something. The urge to crack it and read what’s inside is strong, but I’m glued to the couch by dreadful anticipation.
When Alexa arrives, I stare through the glass wall at her car until she gets out with a hand over her head as if to keep off the rain.
Well, Clover, time to go see if you’ve gotten yourself knocked up by a psycho.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Hunter
If it weren’t raining, I would be able to see all the way to the church, but it’s only visible from my office window on a day with good visibility.
That mockingly white spire is a landmark I’ve come to loathe.
Father took the land, even though MJ was already dead when I made the deal. He made as if returning Ziggy somehow paid for it, but I’ll be fucked if I know why. I was a mess back then; I didn’t even read the papers I signed to hand over the tract of land.
I should have ripped it up.
I should have spat in his face.
Instead, I went home and injected heroin into my veins until I no longer saw MJ’s charred corpse behind my lids every time I closed my goddamn eyes.
It took a lot of heroin but eventually, I got it right.
That was the third — and last — time I overdosed on heroin.
Kane stood beside my hospital bed when I regained consciousness. To this day, I don’t know who contacted him. Each time I’ve seen him since, the question no longer seemed relevant. I assume he happened to visit the cabin that day and happened across my already stone-cold body.
I head back to my desk and take a seat. Open my emails. I skim past several of them, my eyes jarring when a name pops out at me.
Clara Berns.
She was nine when she went missing.
Her case was cold by the time it reached the Mallhaven Sheriff’s Office. But at least they’ve kept it open for a year. I would consider it progress if I didn’t know for a fact that no one’s lifted a single finger to do more than the regulatory amount of police work on this case.
Her parents are no longer in Mallhaven. Just like the others, they moved out of town a few weeks after Clara never came home from school.
They live on the coast now. Retired at the age of forty-two. Not bad, considering the husband was a mechanic, and the wife was a bank secretary. Apparently, a distant relative died, and they came into some money.
That kind of thing happens a lot around these parts. Mallhaven seems blessed for some, cursed for others.
I skim the rest of the emails, most read minutes after arriving. Even at night, I wake every hour or so to make sure I’m on top of all the investigations, to make sure I don’t miss a break in any of the cases.
I know I shouldn’t bother, but I’m driven.
Fuck knows by what. Fuck knows why. Maybe I feel an overpowering need to make up for MJ’s death and Zee’s…history. Or maybe what I said to Clover is true — I don’t want any part of a corrupted town council in a town where hundreds of missing children are as negligible as a few extra hail storms.
Pushing away from the table, I press the heels of my palms against my eyelids.
I could have saved Clover a trip to town; I’ve known she was pregnant for weeks. The very next day after our engagement dinner, in fact.
I could also have told her that her hCG levels look healthy. So far, nothing seems amiss. I took a blood sample last night while she was sleeping and tested it in my own personal lab. Then I spent the rest of the morning attempting to put into words the most difficult announcement I’ve ever had to make.
I wish I believed in a deity. At least, then, I would have had something to pray to.
God, Jesus, Buddha, Allah…let this work. Dear gods, let this work. And, the universe willing, bring back my Clover to me.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Clover
The Doc seems nice, if a bit stuffy. Hell, I guess I’d also be if I dealt with all the sick rich pricks around here. His rooms are immaculate. I’m pretty sure the art on the wall is not only actual artwork but the expensive stuff — you know, those painted by long dead people?
He poked a needle in the back of my hand after he couldn’t find a reliable vein in my arm. If I weren’t in such a foul mood, I’d have laughed. Instead, I told him to try a spot I hadn’t been slamming for five years.
So he took from the back of my hand, right by my itchy spot, judging me over his bifocals like he was about to start weighing my fucking heart.
Then he disappeared for an eternity.
Strangely, he has no anatomy posters up anywhere. Nothing but some calming artwork, and an orchid.
The orchid’s pretty, but it’s got nothing on a TB chart. That stuff’s the shit to keep a girl occupied while she’s waiting for life-altering news to reach her.
I shift in my seat, and the envelope Hunter gave me crinkles. It’s in my hand a second later, and I’m scanning the doctor’s office looking for something to open it with.
I mean, fuck it, I could always just get another envelope, re-write the address, and mail it.
Hunter will never know.
But the door opens before I have a chance to find anything useful.
Guess I should have cracked it open.
“Apologies for the delay, Ms. Vos.”
I nod curtly, mentally urging him to cut the bullshit and just give it to me straight.
“I’m pleased to inform you that you are indeed pregnant.”
I stare at him for a few seconds. He threw me off with the whole ‘pleased to inform you’…but I guess he didn’t have a clue which outcome I was rooting for.
Fuck.
“Miss Vos?”
I come back to earth with a ringing in my ears like I’m re-entering the goddamn atmosphere. I blink hard, swallow harder, and shove a half-empty bottle of pills over the table. “Are these legit?” I ask, my voice shaking.
The doctor frowns at me as he picks up the birth control pills and studies them. Then he puts on the half-moon glasses dangling from his neck by a golden chain and studies them some more.
“These aren’t commercial birth—”
“Yeah, no shit, Doc. I wanna know if they work or not.” Then I laugh, and add, “well, they obviously don’t fucking work, but I need to know if they were supposed to or what.”
“Who prescribed these?” The doctor studies me like a specimen.
“That’s not important.” I lean over and flick my nail against the pill bottle. “Finding out what they were meant to do is. How soon can you let me know?”
“Well, Ms. Vos, I would have to send this into a lab—”
“So, like, tomorrow?”
“In
a week or two, perhaps—”
“You telling me Hunter has to wait a week or two for shit like this?” I glare at the doctor. “I don’t think so.”
“With all due respect, Miss Vos,” the doctor says, taking off his spectacles with undue ceremony, “Dr. Hill is willing to compensate us for after-hours work.”
The doctor’s eyes drop to the few grubby notes I dropped on the table. “This isn’t enough for your appointment, let alone—”
“Oh, fuck that!” I slap my hand over the notes and reclaim them with a twist to my mouth. “This goes on Hunter’s fucking tab. He’s the one that got me—”
I cut off and then wish I hadn’t.
I don’t give a shit if the entire town of Mallhaven knows Hunter knocked me up — possibly on purpose.
I stand, flick hair from my shoulders and give the doctor my most imperious stare.
“I expect the results tomorrow. You’d better make it happen.”
Outside, Alexa’s reading a magazine, one foot bouncing from her knee in obvious boredom. When I come out, she gives me a double take. “Everything cool?” she asks hesitantly.
My cheeks are hot.
It’s rage, of course, but I don’t want her knowing that.
“Peachy,” I mutter. “Doc says I’ll live a long and fruitful life.”
She hurries after me as I storm through the rain to her car. As soon as she’s inside and the doors are closed, I turn to her, holding up Hunter’s envelope.
“Know where this place is?”
Alexa frowns and takes the envelope from me. “I think so,” she says, turning over the letter and studying the seal. “Why?”
“’Cos Hunter asked me real nice if I would hand deliver it for him.”
Alexa shrugs, hands back the letter. “It’ll take us a bit to get there. It’s outside of town.”
I sit back, rubbing my thumb over the wax seal. “My afternoon’s just opened up.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Hunter
I’m so deep in thought when my cellphone vibrates in my pocket, I start and drop the pen I’m holding. It clatters to my desk, and I stare at it as I wrestle my phone from my pant’s pocket.
The instant I see the number, I’m on my feet.
“What?” I snap, holding the phone too tight, pushing it too hard against my ear.
“They’re heading out of town.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. I shouldn’t have given her the letter. Why the fuck did I do that? I told myself it was because it was burning a hole in my pocket, but what if some subconscious part of me wanted her to know?
Did she open it?
But no…if she did, then she would be heading home. After all, it was just an empty piece of paper.
“You’re sure?” I ask, my voice sounding strangled.
“Just turned onto Greyrock Lane.”
Ice washes over my skin.
If I had any doubt whether I could trust Clover, it’s just been annihilated.
If I had any doubt that I’m a fucking paranoid schizophrenic…
The letter was just a folded-up piece of paper, yes. But the address? I could have written any damn thing I wanted on that envelope. I could have sent her to a library, a museum, Mallhaven University.
But I didn’t.
For some reason, whatever convoluted train of thought I’d been following had led me to the same destination that haunts my nightmares.
A white spire I can only see on a clear day.
“Stop her,” I say.
There’s a moment’s pause, and then the man I sent to track Alexa and Clover murmurs, “Got it,” and ends the call.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Clover
When a church appears in the distance, I’m not surprised. I guess some part of me always knew I would come back here one day. It was what that psycho told Hunter when he somehow managed to negotiate my release the day I stumbled into the church grounds.
Blood for blood.
Hunter never paid the price.
“Is this one of the wedding venues you’re thinking of?” Alexa asks, ducking her head to stare at the spire through the window. “It’s fucking beautiful!”
“Yeah…no.” I shift in my seat.
Suddenly, I don’t want to hand deliver Hunter’s letter anymore. I thought I could be brave, I thought I could unravel Hunter’s web of deception…but I just want to go back to the place I’ve called home for so long that it’s begun to feel like it, curl up in bed, and go to sleep.
Forever.
“Hey, can you take me back to town?”
“What?” Alexa turns to look at me. “Why?”
“I just…I don’t feel that great, actually. I think I should see the Doc again.”
“Shit. Are you coming down with something?”
I let out a bitter laugh before I can stop myself and face the church again.
My breath catches, fast and hard. But I manage a breathless, terrified, “Look out!”
But Alexa doesn’t even have time to face the road before the black SUV plows into us.
Ow.
Opening my eyes shouldn’t be this hard, but they’re so heavy; my eyelashes so sticky.
It’s not just my eyes, either. My entire body weighs a ton. In comparison, my head’s light as a dandelion seed.
And holy fuck is my mouth dry. I try to move my tongue to wet my lips, but it’s glued itself to my palate.
Every time my heart pumps, there’s an echo of agonizing pain in my head.
Thump. Ow.
Thump. Fucking Jesus ow.
It’s way bright in this place. My eyes turn to slits and then I close them because I can’t see shit anyway.
Time passes. Hours, days — fuck knows. Eventually, I get enough energy to try the whole exercise again.
Open eyes.
Try to lick lips.
This time, at least, I can focus on shapes around me.
There’s a figure of a person. No, two. Muted voices. A constant beeping.
Goddamn, answer your phone!
No, that’s not a phone. It’s a machine.
Then it all kind of spills back, like water trapped behind a door that’s suddenly wrenched open.
The doctor’s news.
The letter.
The church.
The accident.
I jerk and realize my body’s not that heavy after all.
I eventually managed to shift my focus to my wrists.
I’m cuffed to a hospital bed.
Except…I’m not in a hospital; unless this is some really rich person’s version of a hospital or something. My room, for instance, is enormous; about the size of Hunter’s living room, in fa—
Fuck my life.
I’m in his basement, aren’t I?
Hunter’s gone and locked me up in his fucking basement.
I’m still laughing when I hear a door open somewhere out of sight and footsteps thud closer.
But fuck it, I’ve obviously lost it because I can’t stop.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Hunter
I check Clover’s IV without moving into her line of sight. She’s laughing, a sure sign of hysteria, but I’m loathe to administer more pethidine before we’ve had a chance to speak.
I need her mind clear.
When I reveal myself by stepping forward, her laughter finally tapers off. We watch each other for a few seconds, and then she grates out a nearly incomprehensible, “You fuck.”
I smile as I leave her side to fetch some ice chips from a nearby refrigerator.
I’m not sure if she realized I had a laboratory under the house, but she seems more angry than frightened to be here.
That’s my Clover.
She spits out the first two ice chips I try to push between her cracking lips but grudgingly keeps the third.
“I know you will argue with much of what I’m about to tell you,” I say, drawing a stool closer and taking a careful seat beside her cot. “But I do
hope you will allow me the chance to explain.”
She’s silent; whether because she’s too busy sucking on that sliver of ice or she’s actually going to allow me to explain, I can’t say.
“First off, I want to make it clear there was no other way. And I’ve tried them all, trust me.”
She grimaces at me. “Trust you?”
I remain quiet and try feeding her another sliver of ice.
She spits it out.
I sigh, rake fingers through my hair, and go to fetch a joint. I doubt it would make this any easier, but at least it would keep my frustration in check. From this point forward, I’ll need Clover at my side. I can’t do it alone.
In my office, my hands are shaking hard enough to make rolling anything decent an impossibility. I thump a fist into my desk and stare for the longest time at a streak of blood on my upper wrist.
But when I touch a finger to the streak, it disappears before I can rub it off. I blink hard, squeeze my eyelids with unsteady fingertips, and roll a pathetic joint.
Edward — the man who’d been keeping an eye on Clover — had to be punished. I don’t know how an instruction to stop Clover going to the church had transformed into him ramming into them in a head-on collision.
If he’d killed her, they’d never have found his body.
Doctors say whoever assaulted him may have caused permanent brain damage. They’d only know once his cerebral edema subsided enough for them to bring him out of his induced coma.
Strange; I didn’t think there were any brains in there for me to damage.
I realize now the fault is my own. I should have been more specific. I should never have put the correct address on that envelope. I should have told Clover the truth before she went on that unnecessary trip to the doctor. Unfortunately, it took beating seven shades of shit out of that idiot for me to grasp these facts.
Clover’s still fucking with my head.
