Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
BELLATRIX
The neon lights of Sullivan’s flickered every few minutes like one of those flashing signs outside a nightclub.
Except in this case, it wasn’t intentional.
Just a consequence of age and a staff too lazy to make upgrades.
But it was the glowing window of the little apartment on top that had me shoving a piece of gum into my mouth—I needed something to chew on and finished my last power bar an hour ago—tucking my hands into my pockets, and crossing the street.
It wasn’t usual for me to drop in on potential homicide victims, but I’d been scanning the news over the last few days and nothing had popped up on my radar.
No mentions on any of the police scanners either.
Fucker could have stumbled his way into some dark alley, bled out, and croaked on the spot.
But someone should have noticed the smell by now.
I pushed my way inside the noisy dive bar, pulling the balaclava up over my nose and tugging the beanie cap lower on my head.
I threw the bartender a two-finger salute before making a beeline for the back staircase.
I didn’t know the guy but the best way to look like you belong somewhere was to pretend you did.
Your average Joe was too polite to question if they actually knew you.
By the time I got to the third step, I spotted a light blood trail leading up to the apartment door, or down from it, assuming I was right and the fucker had stumbled his way out of here and over to his car only to find the tank empty.
I grinned at the thought. I never would have figured out which one was his if it weren’t for the weird candy bar wrappers crumbled up and tossed on the dash—the same ones piled high on the nightstand. Untouched. The door slightly ajar, like someone had forgotten to pull it closed all the way.
I glanced around the room. At the unmade bed (not that he seemed the type to make it up on the regular), the thin layer of dust on the most used areas (two to three days old), and the brownish ring around the sink basin (telling me he’d at least attempted to flush out the hole in his gut).
A dumb decision. Everyone knew you didn’t remove an object from an open wound.
You left it there to staunch the bleeding.
He hadn’t been back here since that night I left him with a prickly parting gift. My eyes climbed up to the number I painted on the wall. Not the smartest move. You also didn’t leave clues behind, no matter how obscure the context. I suppose we were one for one on dumb decisions.
But what can I say? I couldn’t resist.
I turned at the sound of creaking steps behind me, immediately reaching for the gun on my ankle. Reholstering it when I spotted a familiar face leaning against the doorframe a few seconds later.
“You really need to stop sneaking up on me,” I grunted as I yanked the mask down, tucking the mouth portion under my chin.
Gabby rolled her eyes. Pushed off the jamb and clicked the door closed. “Wouldn’t have to sneak if you weren’t being sneaky.”
I brushed my gloved hand over the light switch, turning the dull glow into a bright-yellow beacon before tugging the single blackout curtain closed.
I probably should have done that first but all anyone looking up would see would be a shadowy figure in the window—an everyday occurrence around these parts.
“What’re you doing?” Gabby plopped herself down on the bed.
I quickly pulled her back to her feet. “Don’t sit there.”
She glanced over at the rumpled sheets and scrunched up her nose. “Oh, ew.”
Now I was the one rolling my eyes. “Not that.” She breathed out a sigh of relief until I added, “Well, not only that.”
Then she sucked that sigh back in again.
“I don’t need you leaving any hair or fibers behind.” I’d cleaned up the best I could—wiped down anything I might have touched, picked up all the loose hairs I could see with the naked eye—before rushing out that night. But I hadn’t exactly been wearing my gloves… or all my clothing.
“What about DNA? You worried about leaving that behind?” she threw back at me.
I didn’t answer her as I continued to search the room.
I didn’t know what I was looking for at this point.
I’d already figured out everything I needed to know.
The next best step would be to follow the blood trail until it ended.
At a body. Guess I was just trying to keep myself busy while Gabby continued to analyze me.
I also didn’t know why I cared so much. About where he was or about telling Gabby. It, not he. He was an it now. There was no mention of any John Does turning up at the local hospitals and there was no way the fucker was staying upright without some extreme medical intervention.
“So where’s the body?” Gabbie asked, tapping her foot like an impatient kindergartener.
“What body?” There was no reason to lie but I found myself doing it anyway. Like it was second nature. Which was great if you were being interrogated by the cops. Not so great when it was by someone who knew you better than your favorite clit fingers.
“The one that belongs to all of that.” She gestured to the blotchy brown stains on the floor, then to the sink, and finally the bloody footprints leading up to the door. “And that. And that.”
“Good question,” I muttered under my breath, and her eyes practically popped out of her head.
“You don’t know?”
I shrugged a single shoulder, crossing my arms over my chest and narrowing my eyes. Vee did it to appear intimidating. I did it when I got defensive. “It was here. And now it’s not.”
“Bodies don’t just get up and walk out of a room, Bells. People do. Live people.”
“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” I grumbled before turning around and peering out the window. The car was gone. But I figured it had gotten towed. Now I wasn’t so sure. “I think he got away again.”
“Again?” Gabbie cocked an eyebrow. I didn’t need to see it to know the face she was making. I could hear it in her voice. “Who is this guy? And why are you fucking him?”
“I’m not.”
Another eyebrow. Or the same one but higher. This time, it was her breathing that gave it away.
“Fucking is something you’re actively doing. And, as you can see with your own judgy eyes, I’m not actively fucking anyone,” I clarified. “I fucked him. As in, in the past.”
“Right. And you still didn’t answer my question, smart-ass. Who is he?”
“A ghost,” I whispered. “Or at least I’m starting to think he is.”
“Ghosts don’t bleed, Bellatrix.”
“Yeah, and they don’t die either.”