Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
EREZ
My phone ringing pulls me from sleep. My bedroom is still dark. As I roll and face my phone, the clock on my bedside table tells me who’s calling without even looking at the ID. Part of me wants to ignore the call because I know why he’s calling.
Sighing, I fumble for the phone and answer, my eyes closing once again. “No,” I mutter.
Fade laughs. “Come on, Erez. Go to the gym with me. Please?”
“It’s not even five,” I complain.
“But it will be when I get there in ten minutes. Then we’ll be out of the gym before most people are even awake.”
“You’re not arguing in your favor, you know.”
“Please, Erez?”
With a frustrated sigh, I grumble, “Fine.”
“Thanks. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
The call ends, and I close my eyes again. Why are we friends? Friends don’t wake you up before dawn to go to the gym of all places. I wonder if he’s hinting that I’m getting fat.
Without opening my eyes, I drag my hand over my stomach. Am I? Fuck. Do I even care if I am?
I think I doze for another minute or two before I roll myself out of bed. All I manage to get on is underwear, shorts, and a shirt. I struggle with socks and sneakers after that. With my helmet in hand, I’m just stepping outside my apartment building when Fade pulls up.
Feeling grumpy, I pull my helmet on and secure it as I cross the parking lot toward him. I don’t take his duffle from his side as I climb onto the back of his bike and settle into him. He’ll be lucky if I don’t fall asleep and tumble off on the way.
Anticipating this, his hand grips both of mine where they rest on his stomach. Probably to keep me upright. I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing. My brain knows he won’t let me fall off, so it’s content to sink back into sleep.
A little too dangerous to ride on a motorcycle like that.
It’s not a long ride, though, so if I do fall asleep at all, it’s only for a few minutes.
Then I’m climbing off and we’re heading inside.
Fade checks us in—he has both of our membership tags.
I lost mine more than once, and since I only ever go when he forces me, it makes the most sense that he keeps them.
Silently, I trudge after him as I struggle to make my fingers work and unbuckle my helmet. I’m just pulling it off when we step into the locker room. Fade takes my helmet from me and stacks it in the locker with his.
Then he’s frowning at me. His thumb rubs under my eye, and the soft touch has my eyes fluttering closed.
“You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”
“Someone woke me up at stupid o’clock,” I mutter.
He huffs. “Are you not sleeping?” he pushes.
Everything feels heavy before I answer, like a weight settles on my shoulders. I think about Alice. Her paintings. The messages not there.
Maybe the hurt I feel because she left without leaving me anything at all keeps me looking. I can’t bring myself to admit that maybe that’s why I can’t find anything. Alice didn’t leave me a message at all.
“I sleep a solid nine hours most nights and still wake up exhausted,” I admit.
“Have you talked to a doctor?” he asks.
I nod. It’s not a lie. I talked to the Van Doren family doc when I was on the estate last year to have lunch with my brothers and dad. Both work at Van Doren—Lanzo as a tech guy and Zephyr as a private investigator. Dad works in the execution of contracts.
Emphasis on execution.
But yeah, I spoke to Doctor Mark, and he says it’s likely stress that’s making me feel so exhausted. Guilt. It all ties into Alice. I can’t let it go.
I tell Fade none of this, though. Outside of sharing the fact that I have a deceased sister, I’ve never talked about Alice to Fade. I don’t talk about her with anyone anymore. Not since I quit therapy.
“Stress,” I answer.
Fade’s frown deepens. “I’m sorry. I should have let you sleep.”
“I’m fine. Let’s go so I can make fun of you being a gym-bro.”
He rolls his eyes but takes a step back as I intended. From his bag, he pulls out a tumbler with a protein shake in it and hands it to me. I’m grateful for the boost. Also, Fade makes really good shakes. You barely taste the protein at all.
I watch him as I sip on my drink. Besides it being cold and I haven’t quite woken up enough to not feel cold, it’s really good. Just what I needed.
Fade pulls his shirt off and tosses it into the locker. Then he shoves his pants down, pulling them off over his sneakers, and they join the contents in the locker too.
He’s wearing a black skirt, and I raise a brow when he faces me. Fade grins as he pulls the front up to flash me. It’s actually a one-piece with tight shorts slightly shorter than the length of the short skirt. It’s not super short, but his fingers pass the hem when his arms are at his sides.
“That’s gym apparel, huh?” I ask.
“Yes, actually. It came with a sports bra, and I bought it at the athletic store down on Main.”
I think this is why he wanted me to go to the gym with him. From time to time, Fade enjoys what’s largely considered feminine clothing, but he’s not comfortable wearing it to the gym on his own.
He’s a big guy, so he can be intimidating when he’s all puffed up and looking stern. But wearing skirts and painting his nails—which I’m now seeing have a new manicure—makes him feel vulnerable, and he prefers if he’s not alone then. I tap his hand as I take another swallow of my shake.
“This is a nice color.”
Fade grins and holds his hand to the fabric of his shorts. “They coordinate.”
“Did you get your nails done specifically to match your gym clothes?” I ask.
He snorts. “Yes.”
I laugh and shake my head. “Ridiculous.”
“Actually, I have these really sexy underwear in this exact shade,” Fade says as he holds his hand up, waggling his fingers at me. “They come with this even sexier corset top.”
“Ah. Who are you coordinating for?”
“You,” he teases.
“Right.”
Fade huffs. He tosses his now mostly empty duffle into the locker and closes it, using the combination lock he brought to secure it all. With his own tumbler in hand, we head into the gym.
I’m honestly at the gym for moral support more than anything, especially this early in the morning. I’m not awake before eight on a normal day. Owning my own business means I can set my hours, and since I prefer to sleep more than anything, I’ve made sure my schedule accommodates that.
Fade spends a couple hours working out, and for the most part, I watch. I spot him when he needs it. I manage to hold a somewhat coherent conversation when he wants to talk. But primarily, I’m there for company.
After, Fade and I head for breakfast at the café around the corner, and while he eats rabbit food, I enjoy a greasy breakfast sandwich. We order breakfast shakes, too, and while they’re not as good as what Fade makes, they’re good.
I’m dropped back off at my apartment before my alarm usually goes off for the day. It convinces me that Fade doesn’t actually like me at all. He wants to punish me for some reason.
I don’t work today, which is unfortunate since I’m feeling a little gloomy.
I know I shouldn’t, but I head to my parents’ house just after nine.
I’m not surprised to find no one home. Dadaz and Dadis are out on a contract.
Dadwa and Mom are probably… out. Honestly, I’ve never known what my parents do outside of Van Doren contracts.
Mom has always stayed home with us kids.
Now that I think about it, one of my dads is usually there too. Probably by design.
Besides working, I’m not sure what my parents do now that we’re all grown and out of the house. All I know is that they’re not home right now.
Which means the house is silent. I climb the stairs to the second floor and stand at Alice’s closed door.
My childhood home has four bedrooms. It was perfect for our family, giving each of us kids our own rooms. When I brought Alice home, our rooms were rearranged.
Our parents overtook one of the downstairs spaces and converted it into a bedroom.
As the oldest, I moved into their room, and Alice took my bedroom.
When I was ten or so and we all began playing with art of some kind, we needed space.
The idea had been to convert the attic into a studio, but it was never conducive to creativity.
Instead, we converted it into a bedroom, and while I meant to take the room, Lanzo wanted it, so I stayed. Lanzo’s room turned into our studio.
We’ve been out of the house for four years now.
Zephyr, as the youngest, officially left when he was nineteen and began working at Van Doren PI.
Lanzo moved out two years prior, the same year I did.
Lan moved to the Van Doren Estate to be close to work—not that our house is far.
We’re located twenty minutes away. I moved into an apartment close by, in a neighboring converted factory complex to where Zephyr lives.
Alice never had the chance to move out.
I press my hand flat to the door and imagine I can feel her heartbeat. I’m thankful I didn’t see her lifeless in the tub. Seeing her in a coffin was bad enough. No matter how much I try, I can’t make that image of her go away. It’s the most vivid.
Just as vivid as the day I found her in the alley being beaten by a grown fucking man.
I really wish that the years between those two moments were as strong. We laughed in those years. We made memories. We lived a happy childhood. We spent countless hours together.
I hate that the two worst times in Alice’s life were the moments that glow most vibrantly in my memory. It’s unfair.
Pushing the door open, I step into Alice’s familiar bedroom.
The far end of the room has three big windows that let in a whole lot of light.
The right side is a dormer, so the wall is cut in half to make it useful.
There’s a desk, several short bookshelves, a chair pushed up against the short wall, and slanted ceiling.
Opposite is her bed, still half made as she’d left it.
Sometimes, I imagine that she climbed out of bed and pulled up the sheets with the intent to… take her life. I wonder what she was thinking in those last moments. What had been so big, so heavy that she succumbed to it? Why didn’t she tell me what she was struggling with?
There’s a closet on the wall opposite the windows. It’s large, filled with her clothes, shoes, and some random things. What’s not there is anything that has words on it. No message. No last anything.
On the nightstand beside her bed sits her phone. We replaced it there once we’d been inside it, looking for anything at all that might be telling. That might explain why she took her life.
Sometimes, I want to believe that it’s an accident. It would be easier. But the facts are glaring. She hated baths. In all the eleven years she was here, she never once took a bath. Alice only liked showers.
Perhaps more suspicious than her loathing of baths, she was fully dressed when my dad found her. Fully dressed, lifeless in a bathtub full of water.
That’s not an accident. It’s intentional. Maybe the message I’m looking for is in the incident itself.
I once dreamed that the man I shoved into traffic had come back to life and drowned her. Then I thought maybe that was a hint that it wasn’t him but someone else. Someone had come in and drowned her for what she knew. For surviving. For never returning to… her home?
Usually, I sit on the floor among all of Alice’s paintings and stare. Not at anything in particular but just… anywhere. Everywhere. Waiting to see something that I’ve missed for ten years. Waiting for me to see something differently than I’ve always seen it.
“Did you really just leave?” I whisper.
I get the urge to ask Zephyr to bring his boyfriend over again. For maybe the twentieth time. Matty can see ghosts. They talk to him. I’m not sure if I’m hoping that Alice will finally appear to him, or if I’ll take comfort in knowing she’s not here.
Usually, I’m comforted by the fact that she’s not a ghost. I choose to believe that her soul is at peace. Wherever it is, she’s not suffering.
But there are times I wish she were here because I can’t accept this ending as is. It feels unfinished. There are too many questions.
My therapist used to tell me I needed closure, and without a letter from Alice, I’m never going to find it.
Maybe they’re right. I need to know why.
Maybe I don’t need an answer as to why she killed herself.
Maybe the answer I need is why she didn’t tell me what she was struggling with.
Maybe it’s the pain of knowing she didn’t trust me with this.
I can lose hours of my life in Alice’s room, but today, I’m feeling restless. There’s nothing new in here. I turn toward the door and pause when something catches my eye. My heart jumps because I’ve literally been waiting for a decade for something to catch my eye. Anything at fucking all.
What I’m not expecting is the crack in the wall behind the desk. Has that always been there? I mean to continue out the door anyway, but the crack isn’t the shift in drywall. It’s purposeful. Like… the wall opens.
A memory flashes in my mind of my brothers and me playing behind the wall in the dormers. We used to build forts in there.
Chills race all along my body as I head for the door in the wall. Carefully, I move all the paintings, then I haul the desk across the floor. The door in the short dormer wall pops open a little more. It sways as if there’s a breeze pushing against it.
For a minute, I wait, terrified of what I’m going to find.