Chapter 50 The Cuffs Close In
The Cuffs Close In
My thumb freezes over the glossy screen of my phone. I finally got myself a smartphone, and after setting up the crisp new device, I’m repaid by a news story popping up. It’s a week old, but delivered as if the wretched electronic knew it was specifically meant for me.
It's a report of the murder of Martin Hurley. My vision swims as audio on the video clip drones in and out like a bomb just went off nearby. I only catch snippets.
"Believed ties to organized crime... "
"Brutally murdered... "
"The last person seen with him... "
A short security cam video of Hurley and me comes up, being led by the small of my back where we disappear into his office. My face is clearly visible.
The phone clatters from my fingers and hits the floor. The screen cracks on impact.
I can’t even bring myself to care because an invisible belt tightens around me. I can’t expand my ribs enough to breathe.
Fuck, fuck, FUCK.
I pace back and forth, my fingers tugging at the roots of my hair. Shadow wipes my DNA off of all the crime scenes and usually, there is no body to be found. But they have the body and the footage of me going into his office with him.
Every second feels like an eternity as I drown in a sea of paranoia and fear.
The slow crawl of time only intensifies my jittery nerves, until I feel like I’m on the brink of madness.
I jump out of my skin at every small sound, convinced it’s the police at my doorstep.
I chain-smoke through the night, unable to sleep or eat after seeing that damning news story.
The looming threat of getting caught hangs over me like a heavy axe, ready to drop at any moment.
It’s dawn when someone pounds on my front door. When I see the uniforms, I almost go limp with relief. At least it means an end to this constant state of terror-fueled waiting.
As they read me my rights, I am consumed by pure panic again. My heart hammers against my ribcage as I struggle to catch my breath.
Cold cuffs bite into my wrists as I’m led outside to the police cruiser, where a cold drizzly day receives me.
I catch sight of Toothpick Guy. He leans against a black nondescript car, observing me with an unreadable expression.
For a moment I’m almost grateful I’m under the thumb of the police instead of him. But organized crime?
If Hurley was connected to the mafia, there is no real place I can hide.
The interrogation room may be a stark, unforgiving place, but it’s become a second home of sorts to me.
They say they have evidence I did it. I can’t let myself believe it. Shadow cleans up after he kills, but I was seen with Hurley, nonetheless. The last person to see him, and then I ran.
I do the only thing I can to protect myself. Say nothing.
They drop a packet on the table with a loud echoing slap, asking if I sent it to them. The evidence I sent in from Hurley’s safe. I was hoping they’d find that little girl, save her, or save other girls who were under his power.
The backs of my eyes sting with unshed tears. I meant to help, but I may have just dug my own grave.
Detectives loom over me, their questions sharp and relentless. They have evidence, they say. Witnesses placed me at the club that night.
The first flicker of hope comes when my attorney brings news of bail. I'm released, the fresh air hitting me like a slap as I step outside.
Shadow. I need Shadow.
Even as I wish for him to come, I know he can’t kill everyone for me. This is too big. These problems are too human.
The belt around my chest tightens another notch when I get home.
The entire place has been turned over. My mattress is ripped open by some kind of blade, my couch is flipped. I doubt the cops would be this messy.
A bright hot spark of fear ignites.
Oh God, no.
I run to the corner of my bedroom. My fingers find the edges of the loose floorboard, pulling it up. They wouldn’t think to look here. They couldn’t have found it.
Yet when I look under the plank, there’s an empty hole instead of the neatly stacked bills I’ve been hoarding from Shadow’s victims.
I had enough in my account to cover bail, but it drained me dry. The cash reserves in this secret hiding spot were all I had left.
Burying my palms into my eyes, I shake my head. The helplessness shudders through me. I don’t have Shadow, money, or an alibi to shelter me now.
I should have run. Why didn’t I take the money and run when I had the chance?
A surge of hope that Shadow will need a heart sparks in me.
I could take him to some expensive part of town, find someone rich but not important to kill, then I’d have money to—
My thoughts grind to a halt with nauseating force.
What the fuck am I thinking? I can’t do that. No, I won’t do that.
I only lure people to Shadow who deserve it, and only because I have to protect him. The second I do that, I become like the scumbags I help Shadow hunt. I may be monstrous, but I’m not evil.
I sidle up to a window in my living room and push aside one of the cheap beige curtains. Toothpick Man is there in his car. He nods to a guy across the street, who sits on a bench, and then that guy glances up at my place before looking at his phone.
I’m being watched.
My chest hitches in jagged breaths I can’t control. The material of the drapes scratches my trembling fingers as I clutch at them, trying to stay upright.
If the cops don’t get me, these guys will.
Food loses its appeal, my stomach too knotted to accept more than a few bites.
I jump at every sound, every creak of the apartment. Voices from neighboring apartments send my heart racing.
The isolation is suffocating, but the alternative—venturing out, exposing myself —could be deadly. So I remain, trapped in my personal purgatory, waiting for the cops or Toothpick to make their move.
Days bleed together, marked only by the shifting light through the curtains.
Shadow's absence is a constant ache, but deep down, I know this is my battle. My choices, my consequences.
When the darkness moves in my bedroom, shifting in that familiar way, I am up on my feet and shaking in anticipation. I pluck at my fingers and bounce on my feet.
"Shadow," I breathe as he comes to full height in front of me. "The cops, they know. They may have evidence, and the guys outside, they’re watching. I don’t know what they are waiting for, but I have this terrible feeling—"
A shadowy tendril wraps around my mouth, silencing me. It’s then I notice more hunks of flesh have been taken from him. Smoke furiously churns off him, filling the room.
His eyes are red with violence.
"I didn’t mean to lead them here," he rasps with desperation.
The air shifts around us and the temperature drops. The darkness of the room begins to undulate and twist in a strange way. A cold dread seizes me. The mood of the room is so intense and foreign that it makes my stomach churn. This isn’t Shadow’s doing. It feels... different. Oppressive.
"What’s happening?" My voice trembles, fear slicing through my anger. My throat tightens, each swallow an effort as if I'm trying to force down the thick dread that has filled the apartment.
It’s as though the very essence of my haven has been polluted, contaminated by a presence that is inverse to the warmth and security I associate with Shadow. His darkness is cold, yes, but it’s a familiar cold.
Shadow turns toward my bed, his misty eyes now wide, genuine fear emanating from his entire being. "Evie, get behind me."
But it's too late. From the pulsating darkness beneath my bed, where the gateway between worlds is, something horrifying begins to emerge.
A primal terror grips my heart with icy fingers and squeezes.
The shadows contort, and from them, an array of monstrous forms spill forth into my room.