5. Zira
ZIRA
Aweek of nightmares.
A week of waking in a cold sweat and immediately throwing up.
A week of jumping at every knock at the door, every clatter from my neighbor’s apartment, every scrape of furniture or noise from Peter moving around my home.
When will it end?
I lay in bed, half my face pushed into the pillow while my attention locks on my bedside table clock, watching it count down to my alarm. Not that I need it. I’ve been awake for hours after once again dreaming of murdering that poor man for Harris.
All to protect my brother.
I told myself it was worth it when Harris dropped me off here the night of, and Peter was waiting on the doorstep.
I told myself it was worth it when Harris swore their debt was settled and we’d never have to see each other again.
I told myself it was worth it when we shared dinner and Peter thanked me over and over for saving his life.
Then I took a shower and it didn’t feel worth it.
Even now, as time creeps closer and closer to my alarm, it doesn’t feel worth it. We robbed my store, traumatized my co-workers, and then I murdered someone. I can’t even look at myself in the mirror for fear of who or what I might see looking back.
My stomach cramps, but there’s nothing left inside me to throw up.
I’m empty, haven’t eaten in days. Keeping anything down has been a challenge, but I accept it as my punishment.
Somewhere in the city, there will be people missing the man I killed.
Despite my attempts to avoid it, each night I crawl into bed, I spend hours on social media looking for missing persons reports or people reaching out because the Bradley they loved has vanished off the face of the earth.
During the day, I flinch at news reports, waiting to hear about the body dragged from the river.
But there’s nothing.
Just silence that echoes in the cavern of guilt that swallows me up from the inside.
Seconds before my alarm, I throw my hand out and turn it off to save me from the blare, but I still lie there for ten more minutes just watching the numbers tick up.
I’m back at work today.
The store’s been closed all week for the police investigation and to give staff time to recover, but it reopens today and everyone’s been called in.
I’m going to quit.
I can’t stomach being there and I can’t look those people in the eye knowing I’m the one who scared them.
After dragging myself from my bed, I shower quickly and wander into the kitchen to make some tea.
Halfway through squeezing the teabag out, the door clacks open, and I jump out of my skin, losing my grip on the spoon.
It clatters with the tea bag across the counter, and I manage to snatch it before it falls to the floor.
Heavy footsteps thump down the hall toward me, matching the thundering pounding of my heart, and every nerve in my body lights up as the kitchen door swings open.
“Hey.” My brother Peter stumbles inside with a lopsided smile.
The sight of him doesn’t relax me as much as it did that first night. Being free from Harris was supposed to be a new start for us, but the sharp cloud of alcohol that follows Peter shows me exactly where he’s spending his time and his money.
“You didn’t come home last night,” I say quietly, watching him collapse into the wooden chair next to my small kitchen table. “I was worried.”
“I could tell.” Peter sniffs heavily and tosses his phone onto the table with a loud clatter. “You were blowing up my phone.”
“We were supposed to look at apartments yesterday. We have plans.”
“Why?” His head sags back and he gazes up at me through half-lidded eyes. “I like it here.”
“I hate it here.”
“Why, because Harris knows you live here?”
“We live here,” I correct, tossing the teabag into the trash. “And I think it would be a good idea for us to move. Get out of the city. Go somewhere clean and away from all of… this.” Far away from the river containing a body that will put me in prison for life.
“Fuck no.” Peter snorts. “All the best bars are around here. Within walking distance, I might add. I’m not giving that up because you’re feeling a little flighty.”
“Flighty?” Turning to face him, I ache to see the warm face of my brother from childhood, but it’s buried under years of drug and alcohol abuse, with wrinkles born from too many losses at gambling tables.
“Peter, do you understand what I did for you? I committed crimes for you, so forgive me for not wanting to stay here and wait for the fucking cops to kick down my door.”
“Why, you gonna talk?” Suddenly, he’s on his feet and walking toward me with his head held high, and a pulse of uncertainty worms through my gut.
“No, of course not!”
“Then what’s the issue?” He snorts again and leans past me, snatching up my cup of tea and taking a big, messy swig.
“No one knows shit. So no one’s gonna know, right?
” As he drinks, he claps his large hand to my face.
“You did an amazing thing for me, Sis. And I’ll forever be grateful. But it’s over. Move on. I have.”
Clearly.
“I just don’t feel safe here, that’s all.”
“I’m here, so you’ve got nothing to worry about.
But this?” He motions between us, and I’m hit with a mouthful of beer-breath.
“It’s over, Zira. Caput. Just move on. No one knows anything, no one cares.
You’re wasting this fresh start over worrying your head off.
” His fingers prod at my temple, and I bat his hand away while stepping out from under his shadow.
“It’s not that simple.”
“Sure it is.”
“I…” We’ve had this conversation a handful of times and it’s always the same. “Look, we really need to talk about this properly. Not when you’re still drunk. Take a shower, get some rest, and I’ll be back later.”
Peter looks me up and down and frowns. “Where are you going?”
“The store’s back open today, so I’m going to hand in my notice and then job hunt.”
“What?” Surprise moves across his face and he shakes his head. “You can’t.”
“Of course I can. Oh, and there’s some leftover takeaway in the fridge if you’re hungry.” I turn away and grab my coat from the back of the door but when I turn back, Peter’s right back in my space.
“Are you insane?”
“Excuse me?” My brows dart up. “I can’t work there anymore, Peter. I can’t go in there and lie to everyone, listen to their stories about how scared they were and look them in the eye. I did that to them. There’s no way in hell I can go back there and work!”
“And how suspicious will it look that not only were you absent the day of the robbery, but you quit as soon as you can? I dunno, Zira. To me, that’s a blaring warning sign for a guilty conscience.”
“I— No, it’s not.”
“It totally is. If you were one of the people working back then, then fine, it would make sense because you had a gun shoved in your face, but you? You weren’t there, and as far as everyone is currently concerned, you’re the lucky one. All eyes will be on you if you quit.”
“Peter, I can’t—”
“You have to.” Abandoning my tea, Peter grasps both my shoulders with his hands.
“And we need the money. I can’t work after what Harris put me through, and you’ve seen the job market.
The only job you could get on such short notice is at a fucking strip club, and ha…
” He laughs and looks me up and down. “I would kill you if you did that.”
Despite the smile on his face, there’s an edge in his drunken eyes that unsettles my already churning stomach.
“So, go to work and act normal. Then come home and be normal. In a few days, it will all be routine, okay?” He pats my cheek, picks up the cup, and vanishes out of the kitchen, leaving me with a pounding heart and racing mind.
Act normal.
How am I supposed to do that when I can still feel the gun in my hand, still hear the horrible crack of bullets and the thud of that man’s body hitting the ground?
Handing in my notice is still my goal as I take the bus to work, but by the time I get there, Peter’s warning in my mind repeats like a fog horn as I approach the door and have Jenni inside buzz me in.
I’m about to tell her that I lost my ID badge, but she immediately launches into a frantic recount of what happened to her and the others last week.
My morning passes in a complete blur. I’m constantly torn between horror stories that verge on exaggeration from Jenni and Midge as they detail the worst day of their lives and constant reassurance that I’m so lucky to have been off that day and how grateful I must be that fate kept me away.
Smiling at my coworkers sickens me.
Nodding along to their stories and acting sympathetic sickens me more.
Mid-morning, I have to rush away from my desk and spend ten minutes throwing up nothing but acid in the bathroom because the sheer weight of guilt is eating me up from the inside.
I stare at every customer fearing they might be a cop, jump at every noise as if each one is an accusation of my involvement, and sweat through two blouses by the time the afternoon rolls around.
“Zira, Oh, my God.” Jenni leans over the counter and places her warm hand over mine. “Are you okay? You look super unwell.”
I nod and tuck a sweaty strand of hair behind my ear. “It’s just a bit hot in here, that’s all. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” The open concern on her face is like a blade to the heart.
“I’m sure. You know me, never drinking enough water, and the heat gets like this.” My awkward laugh sounds too high-pitched to my own ears, and warmth suddenly flushes up my neck and over my cheeks. It must be visible given how Jenni’s eyes widen as she stares at me.
“I’ll get you some water,” she says, patting my hand.
She darts away from my counter, and I drop my head to stare down at the array of bracelets and expensive rings glistening back at me from under the glass.
Each one reflects my guilt back at me, as if I can see a thousand miniature Ziras all shaking their heads in disappointment.
Tension pulls up my spine and a dull throb echoes in my skull.
I can’t do this.
I really can’t.
“So sorry, sir!” comes Jenni’s distant voice. In my blurred peripheral, I glimpse her bumping into someone before my eyes close, and I exist for a few long seconds in the turbulent darkness of my own mind.
Peter says this will get better with time.
I’m not sure I believe him.
As I stand there with both hands braced on the display case and my head down, something moves in front of me and the darkness behind my eyes deepens as something blocks out the light. Anticipating Jenni, I slowly lift my head and open my eyes with a thank you poised on my tongue.
But it’s not Jenni.
Every part of me locks in place and my mouth falls open as I gaze up at a tall, broad-shouldered man with black, tightly waved hair and piercing gray eyes.
His beard is shorter than it was the last time I saw him, hugging his face more like a warm shadow than anything else.
Small piercings in each ear glitter in the light as he watches me while his hands clasp together at his middle, his arms free from the heavy, dark coat that rests around his shoulders.
The tension in my head turns into a roar and the ground grows unstable.
“B–Bradley?”