by S. M. Soto
The neighborhood is almost too peaceful for a man like Zach to be living in. I literally hear nothing except for crickets, my soft footfalls, and the distant sound of the ocean. We close in on the front door, but instead of following the paved path, Jack keeps to the left, toward the side of the house. I idly wonder if he’s looking for a power box or something he can use to cut the power.
I guess we are taking my dead sister’s advice tonight, after all.
I pause at the side of the house, peering into the shadows. I stay hidden behind Jack, using his body like a shield of sorts as I try to tamp down the adrenaline and fear swirling violently in my gut.
Jack is the first to step forward toward the darkness. It’s pitch-black back there and almost impossible to see, but I don’t see any other way around the house, and quite honestly, staying hidden will prevent Zach’s neighbors from seeing us. I swallow thickly as the darkness starts to engulf me, the streetlight no longer illuminating this area. Digging into his bag, Jack pulls out a flashlight, tossing it at me, and a pair of wire cutters.
“C’mon, give me some light back here, Mack.”
I twist the head of the flashlight, keeping the lighting dim, but it’s still bright enough to light the way for us. I notice something up ahead and shine the light toward it, and I release a shocked breath.
No way.
There’s a power box there. The only issue is the padlock. Unfazed, Jack steps up to the power box, and before touching it, he digs into his bag again.
“Here,” he says, tossing a pair of black gloves at me. They’re a little big, but for the most part, they fit. “We don’t want to leave any fingerprints behind,” he replies to my unspoken question. Jack lifts the padlock, twisting it around with his brows tugged down, deep in thought, as he works out how to get it open. He sifts through his bag again, and I almost roll my eyes. I swear, the bag is a fucking bottomless at this point. He’s quite literally thought of everything.
Jack opens a kit with silver tools, one being a long tension tool with a curved edge and another that’s just as long but skinnier. A lock pick, I’m guessing.
With an anxious glance over my shoulder, I shine the light onto the padlock, trying to make it easier on Jack as he works the tools, wiggling here, turning there, almost expertly. It takes Jack a few tries, his frustrated grumbles the only indication things aren’t going as smoothly as he’d hoped. After some time, the damn thing finally unlatches, and the wicked grin on his face is not one I’m familiar with.
“Why do I feel like I’ve just awoken the beast?” I whisper as he makes quick work of pulling the fuse blocks out.
He shoots me a smirk over his shoulder. “Because you have, baby girl.”
I shake my head, letting him get back to work. I wonder why he’s bothering with the blocks and not cutting the color-coordinated power lines, but in the event that he accidentally electrocutes himself, I figure he probably knows what he’s doing. With each block out, I look at the house, checking to see if anything happens inside, but the blackout curtains are drawn, keeping us from seeing anything in there.
Once all the blocks are out, I shine the light on the rest, keeping it trained on the lever that’s labeled generator. The tip of the handle is up in the “on” position, so Jack yanks it down, shutting it off. I watch with rapt fascination as he flips off the switches that are labeled, too, just in case he missed anything.
“That should do it.” He takes a step back, admiring his handiwork.
“What now?”
“We break in. Now c’mon.”
I consider walking back around and using the front door, but obviously, that isn’t Jack’s plan. He keeps walking to the back of the house to remain hidden. I follow, slowing behind him, when he pauses in front of the fence that leads into Zach’s backyard.
“Hope you can jump, white girl.” Jack hauls his body over the fence with the ease of a man who’s jumped more than one fence in his life. I shake my head, rolling my eyes.
“Couldn’t even give me a boost. Such an asshole,” I grumble, tossing the flashlight over the fence toward him. Gripping the top of the wood, I use the side of the house as leverage to help me climb over.
Even though I’m small, it isn’t an easy feat. Not at all. I hiss out curse words, scraping my entire arm in the process. I drop to the ground unceremoniously with a loud thud. Jack barely catches me before my head smacks the pavement. For a second, I rest there, staring up at the star-speckled sky, trying to catch my breath.
“You’re a dick.”
He chuckles, tugging on my hand. Clambering up from the ground, we sneak around the back of the house, Jack with finesse and me with an awkward limp. He pauses when we come up to the back French doors. Moving toward the glass, Jack tries to figure out how to get it open.
“Shit,” he hisses. “There’s no lock to pick.”
“Well … there has to be something we can do, right?”
Jack glances at me over his shoulder with an agitated expression plastered across his face.
“No, there isn’t. Nothing short of breaking this damn glass to get in, but that’s off the table. It’ll draw way too much attention.”
My eyes slam shut. After everything, I can’t believe we’re going to give up. My hands ball into fists, and I clench my teeth hard. I swear I hear a molar crack. I’m just about to say to hell with it when her voice stops me.
“You can’t stop here. We can’t let them win.”
Heaving a tired sigh, I glance down at one of his limestone rocks near my feet, and slowly, I glance up at the French doors. Jack is still off to the side, racking his brain, trying to find another way in. With the smooth rock gripped in my gloved hand, I toss it at the glass. It shatters. The sound is deafening in the quiet neighborhood, so I pause, listening to the shards crash down. There’s no blare of an alarm, and I can only hope none of the neighbors heard.
“What the fuck!” Jack hisses, his iron grip clamping around my arm.
I yank off his hold on me and pad forward. “Problem solved,” I toss over my shoulder in passing.
Covering my head with my scraped arm, I climb through the glass hole in the French doors and pause just over the threshold, glancing around. Jack grumbles behind me, glass crunching beneath his shoes.
“You’re a fucking idiot, you know that, right? Stay behind me,” he orders, shoving the flashlight into my hands.
I shine it around, keeping it low so no one along Zach’s street notices. I come to the realization that everything looks the same as it did at the poker night.
“Hurry,” Madison urges.
Not following Jack’s advice, I break into a run, hurrying into Zach’s office at Madison’s urgent tone.
“Goddammit,” Jack hisses, pausing over the threshold. “I’m staying outside the door to keep watch, so hurry the fuck up.”
Swallowing the sudden lump in my throat, I place the flashlight on the desk and head straight for the mirror. With panting breaths, I lift and pull it from the wall, grunting as I go. I drop it to the floor, not even trying to be gentle with his stuff. I freeze while I catch my breath, staring at the looming safe. Wiping the sweat off my forehead, I dig into the waist pocket of my yoga pants, finding the Post-it with possible combinations. The hot pink paper is filled with number combos that I spent the past few days coming up with. I’ve done research on birthdays, graduation dates, and business dates. I even converted names into number form.
I don’t know if any of them will work, but it’s worth a shot.
The first one I try is a dud. It’s his birthday. I also try the name of their club. A dud. It goes on likes this: each time I spin the lever to certain numbers, it still doesn’t work. Then I finally get to the last numbers on the Post-it, and I try Savages. And much to my surprise, it opens. I pull the lever, and slowly, as if there’s a fucking treasure inside, I open it.
The inside is deeper than I originally expected. When I reach my arm in, it goes as far as my elbow. There are diff
erent items scattered inside. With my gloves on, I lift and move things around as I inspect them. There’s a handgun that I try not to look at too long and a velvet box that holds a ruby red necklace. I trace the gems, momentarily stupefied by the grandiosity. Next, there’s a wad of cash—a heavy wad—and as I flip through it, I see they’re all hundreds. The rest is paperwork—much like Baz claimed was in his—a passport, his birth certificate, nothing of importance to me.
I push all that stuff aside, still careful with the gun, and I pause on the cherry wood box. It looks like something you’d find at an antique shop. Something handmade that they only sell at landmarks or gift shops. My face scrunches into a frown as I lift it. I roll my eyes when I see what’s hidden behind it.
“Christ. Bet Baz has no idea you really are a druggie.”
“Find anything useful yet?” Jack whispers, popping his head inside.
“Not yet,” I whisper-yell back.
I’m looking at what is a fairly large bag of what I’m guessing is coke. This is like a slap in the face after Baz was left to clean up their mess just to keep the club’s reputation clean. I set the box on his desk, planning to go back to it. I rifle through everything else in the safe, but there’s nothing. Nothing that’s incriminating, and certainly nothing with answers.
With a frustrated sigh, I glance back at the bookshelves, my gaze honing in on the book I grabbed last time. My feet eat up the distance as I pull it from the shelf and open it to the first page. I come up short, my breath lodged in my throat.
No.
Dammit, no!
I grind my teeth together when I realize the picture is gone. Why would he move the picture? What else am I missing?
I toss the stupid book on the ground, and like my hands have a mind of their own, I yank the books off the shelf, opening each one to flip through all the pages and look for anything hidden inside. The pile of books at my feet grows and so does my frustration.
“Fuck!” I growl, tossing down the last book.
I glance around, taking in the mess. Jack pops his head in the room, and his eyes widen.
“Fucking Christ. We’re going to jail,” he groans before turning back to his post.
He’s probably right. If Zach wasn’t sure someone broke in here before, he would be now. I can only hope I’ll have found what I need by the time he gets home to this. Would I be the first person he thinks of? Especially after the poker night?
I wonder if Baz told them? And if he did, they’re probably all celebrating my departure from his life.
Bastards.
I’m sure that’s what their Vegas trip was all about.
Stepping over the pile of scattered books, I lift the lid on the wooden box. My last hope. My heart bangs in my chest when I see what’s sitting right on top. It’s the photograph. He moved it inside here. But why?
As I rifle through everything inside the wooden box, my hands start to tremble. It doesn’t look like anything special, but then again, why would he have something like this in his safe if it wasn’t of value to him? I feel in my gut that something’s in here. There’s a bunch of frayed receipts, the ink now almost completely faded. There’s a piece of rope with what looks like dirt and another piece of what looks like binder paper, folded in fours with the frayed edges and all. There’s a drawing, I think. A bunch of lines connecting little numbers in the corner.
I flip the paper this way and that, trying to figure out what the hell I’m looking at. It doesn’t make sense. It looks like a map, but it also looks like a map that a crackhead drew, so I can’t be too sure. With a sigh, I toss the paper back inside the box and survey the room. It’s a mess. And that’s putting it lightly.
Stuffing the box into my bag, I close the safe, relocking it and placing the mirror back over it. I pause, considering cleaning up the books, but there’s no way I can remember what order they go on the shelves, and with my luck, Zach will know. He’s probably an anal bastard who will notice the simplest of things. I opt to leave the mess for him. Figure it can’t hurt any more than all the damage I’ve done already.
The ride back to the motel is silent again, the air laced with defeat. I didn’t find what I needed. All I have is this stupid fucking box and the random shit inside. I rest my forehead against the glass as I look out the passenger window, watching as we pass cars along the highway.
Jack sighs. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you didn’t find what you were looking for.”
Frustrated tears prick the backs of my eyes. I don’t reply, opting for a nod instead, too afraid I’ll break out in sobs if I try to respond.
I’m so lost in my head that I don’t even notice when we pull into the motel parking lot. Jack throws the car in park and shifts in his seat to face me.
“This could be a good thing, Mackenzie. Maybe it’s for the best you didn’t find anything back there.”
I unclick my seat belt, not saying a word, because I don’t agree. This isn’t a good thing. Not even close.
“Why don’t you come back to my hotel tonight? You won’t have to stay at this place.” I can practically see the shiver that rolls through him as he glances around at the dingy motel that is likely housing murderers, drug dealers, and prostitutes.
“I’ll be fine. I think I need … I don’t know. I think I need to spend some time alone tonight.” I start climbing out of the car and pause just outside the door. I turn back toward Jack, his form swimming before me as the moisture builds, threatening to spill over. “Thank you, Jack. You’ve been … God, I couldn’t have made it this far without you, so thank you.” I grab the bag containing my findings and shut the door as the first tear slips down my cheek.
Back in my shitty motel room, I dump the bag onto the bed and put the TV on the local news station. Just in case there are any reports of robberies, I’d like to prepare myself. I’d obviously take the fall. There’s no way I’d bring Jack down with me.
Once again, I slowly look through each item, trying to make sense of it all. The old receipts, the shitty map, and the frayed piece of rope. I lay everything out on the bed and toss the box toward the headboard when I hear something metal roll inside. I pause, my brows drawing in. Walking around the bed, I lift the box toward my ear and shake.
It’s there, again.
I open it, moving my fingers around inside, searching for whatever it is in there. My fingers scrape something small and metal. Moving the box under the lamp on the nightstand, my eyes widen when I see what it is. It’s an earring. A small stud. A regular diamond. I rest the earring in the center of my palm, feeling more confused than ever.
What the hell? Does he just throw random shit into this box?
Carefully, I place the earring on the bed in line with everything else from the box. I walk toward the TV stand, grabbing the file with everything else I’ve gathered over the past few months. I lay all of that stuff out in chronological order on the table. It’s small, but I manage to fit most of the papers and articles.
I pace the worn, ratty carpet, sipping from a coffee cup as I try to make sense of it all. I turned on the shitty coffee machine and brewed a fresh pot the second I walked in. I needed caffeine if I was going to make it through the night.
Where is the connection? There’s this gap of time that’s unaccounted for. If they did do it, how did they all manage to get away with it? I snatch the court documents and her autopsy report off the TV stand, flipping through the pages and skimming through the information I already know by heart.
Her body was left at the kissing rock. Nude.
Where are her clothes? What happened to them?
And did they move her body from somewhere else to the kissing rock? Or was she left there for dead?
They had to have hidden her clothes. Burned them. I just need proof. Where would you go to burn clothes?
I drain my cup, rub at my eyes, and pace the entire night.
“Goddammit, Madison. Can’t you give me a sign or something? I have nothing. I’ve lost everything. Al
l for nothing.”
Fatigue takes root, and I collapse against the wall, banging my head on the shitty wallpaper. I trap my bottom lip between my teeth, trying to silence the raging voices yelling at me to finish this. To make things right. I’m frustrated. I’m tired. My heart fucking hurts because I’ve ruined my chance with a good man. There’s no telling where things would’ve gone. There’s no telling if we would’ve even worked out, but anything is better than what we got.
“Christ, quit feeling sorry for yourself, Kenzie. At least you’re alive and breathing.”
My eyes fling open, and I jolt when I see Madison leaning against the opposite wall, mirroring my position. Her attitude shines through with the way her ankles are crossed, her arms over her chest, and that pristine eyebrow raised.
I swallow thickly, barely holding back my tears now. I’m insane. I’m certifiable. I need to be locked up for talking to my dead sister as often as I do.
“Tell me how to fix this.”
Madison shakes her head. “You already know how, Kenzie. You haven’t been paying attention.”
“I have,” I grit.
She raises her brows, smirking at my show of anger. “Look harder. You have all the answers you need. Just look harder.”
I push off the wall, my anger boiling to the surface. “I did! I’ve searched! I’ve looked! I’ve done everything, Madison! Nothing makes sense. There is no answer. They’re going to get away with it. Again.”
The smirk drops off her face, and she pushes off the wall, walking toward me. “Look again.”
“Stop it!” I yell, jabbing my finger at her. “This is all your fault. I should’ve stopped a long time ago. I should’ve given up when I had the chance. Now look at me. I’m fucking pathetic, screaming at someone who’s not even here!”
Madison shakes her head at me as if I’m the idiot. “I am here, Mackenzie. I never left. You know that just as well as I do. And I’m telling you—Look. Again.”
