Chapter 12
TWELVE
Zoe felt the ground shake first. The vibrations reverberated up her body.
The tracks clanked against each other and the wheels chomped on them, the sound of metal screeching filling the damp air underground to a crescendo.
The loud, disjointed creaks and metallic growls thumped inside her head, matching the drum of the rage that beat inside her like another organ.
Only one thing could control the rage—pain. It had evaded her since Viktor from Red Trigger had left her bruised in a motel room. Now she was scrambling, trying to hunt for that release like a crackhead desperately raking through a dumpster for more drugs.
On the platform, a man stood next to her chuckling on his phone, “Women are like used cars, ride them for a while, and when they start acting up, trade them in for a newer model.”
Her head snapped up to look at him. A pudgy, middle-aged man with a face no one would remember.
He checked his watch. “The wife is gonna whine again. She’s got two jobs—looking pretty and shutting up. And she’s failing at both.”
Zoe imagined what it would feel like to drive her fists in his face. She would break his nose first and relish the sound of the bone cracking. Then she would punch him again, this time harder to dislocate his jaw and forever distort his smile.
The man continued his telephone conversation, gleefully making fun of his wife.
His voice grated and she zeroed in on his throat, imagining all kinds of creative ways she could injure his voice box.
He would scream and shout and beg. Blood would run down his face, covering Zoe’s hands.
But she wouldn’t stop. Because he would deserve it.
Because people saying and doing wrong things shouldn’t get away with it.
Unlike whoever killed her mother and left her in a bathtub.
His blood would be sticky first and then become flaky. He would learn a lesson the hard way—the only way to learn anything.
What was she thinking? When did it get so dark?
She rubbed her eyes, as if trying to wipe away the image she had conjured.
She didn’t recognize this person—she liked sugar and babies and carnivals.
But then where did this sinister thread of darkness come from?
Sometimes she wondered if it was her fault.
If she had suppressed everything that had happened too soon, so it slowly and silently grew inside her, now screaming to be let out.
What if this temptation to inflict pain on those who deserved it became too strong to resist? What if it gnawed at her for the rest of her life? Her thoughts drifted to Aiden. He had offered to help her a long time ago, but she had been too afraid to accept.
With shaking fingers, she shot another message to Benny.
Z: Come on, Benny. If I wanted, your operation would have shut down already.
She knew she shouldn’t. But if she didn’t release this anger inside her where it was allowed, she was worried it would spill over somewhere else.
“Hey!” Lisa joined her. “We might have caught a break. You okay?”
Zoe felt her cheeks heat. “Yeah… yes. It’s just chilly down here in the subway. What were you saying?”
She hitched her thumb over her shoulder to the electronics store. “This is the store where Annabelle’s credit card was used. The owner showed me the CCTV footage.”
“You checked the timestamp? Who is it?”
She pointed past her. “That guy over there.” Zoe turned around to find a short man curled up on the floor at the end of the platform against the brick wall.
The coat he wore was too thin and his hair was matted and streaked with dirt.
“The owner recognized him, luckily. The guy hangs around the station almost every day. Sleeps most nights here too.”
Zoe’s eyebrows raised. “What the hell is he doing with Annabelle’s purse?”
They approached him slowly, and Lisa nudged him on the leg. “Listen up.” The man stirred in his sleep and Lisa nudged him again. “Wake up. Come on now.”
His heavy-lidded eyes cracked open and a sneer curled up his lips. “What the hell do you want?”
The scent of urine hit Zoe. Her eyes searched the ripped sleeping bag in which he lay, stuffed with food wrappers, coins, and empty bottles. And then under a stained sweatshirt, she spotted a maroon wallet. “There it is.” She swooped down to pick it up but he smacked her hand away.
“It’s mine!” he growled.
“Oh yeah? You like Kate Spade?” Zoe said. “So do I. Where did you buy it?” He made a face but didn’t protest when Zoe picked it up with her handkerchief and went through it. She flicked it open. Annabelle’s license and credit cards. “Where did you find it?”
“Outside the station at the east entrance.”
“And it was just lying on the floor?” Lisa arched an eyebrow. “That’s convenient.”
“That’s what happened!” Defiance shone on his face. “This lady was walking by and it fell out of her pocket. Finders keepers.”
Zoe gave him a quick glance. His eyes were sunken and his face blotchy.
His frame was wispy thin; arms riddled with scabs and movements jittery.
Could he have killed Annabelle and sent Zoe that letter?
He was too shaky and disorganized, but there was a rabidness in his eyes that could easily transcend into violence.
While Lisa took down the homeless man’s information, Zoe rang Aiden.
“Storm.” He answered.
“Where are you?”
“At the station. I pulled your old case files. Just going through them. What’s up?”
“I got a homeless man over here, obviously a drug addict, caught with Annabelle’s wallet. He claims he picked it up after it fell out of her pocket. I don’t know… could it be him?”
He sighed. “The profile doesn’t fit. Chronic substance use, particularly in homeless populations with severe addiction histories, leads to neurocognitive impairment—executive dysfunction and memory deficits.
They are significantly more likely to commit reactive violence rather than premeditated, symbolic offenses.
Crafting a coherent, coded message while maintaining trophic behavior?
That’s not a chaotic mind at work. That’s structure.
We are looking at a high-functioning individual not someone desperate. ”
“That’s what I thought—” She stopped when she noticed a receipt, peeking out of the pockets in the wallet. “I’ll call you back.” The receipt was for a latte. “Lisa? What time did Annabelle leave the office?”
“Around five o’clock, according to her coworkers. Why?”
Zoe grazed her finger over the timestamp. “This was issued at thirty-three minutes past five that day.”
“Interesting. There’s no reason for her to be in this area. It’s not on her way home.” Lisa frowned. “Why would she have gone there?”
“Maybe she was meeting someone.” Zoe’s mind raced. “It could be the last person to see her alive.”
“Or the person who took her.”
Zoe’s phone vibrated with a message. When she saw it, delight surged through her.
B: Tonight 8 p.m.
A rushing whoosh of air fanned her face and suddenly, the train zipped past her with a final hiss, and Zoe could have sworn she heard a whisper— Emily .
“I would like a hot chocolate.” Zoe beamed at the teenager with acne behind the counter. “Large. Extra-large,” she added, noting the sulking, gray sky through the window. “Do you want anything, Lisa?”
Lisa shook her head.
Outside, the wind swept the litter up into the air.
A billboard flickered in the distance advertising the annual carnival— Pineview Falls Carnival.
The words survive if you can flashed in neon red, making Zoe shiver.
The bleakness of Pineview Falls was so strong that she wouldn’t be surprised to learn that zombies came out at night.
“That would be three ninety-nine,” he said.
Zoe pulled out a five-dollar bill along with a picture of Annabelle. “Have you seen this woman?”
“Uhm…”
She showed her badge. “FBI. She came here two days ago and got a coffee around 5:30 p.m.”
It was a stretch. Zoe didn’t expect anyone in the service industry to remember customer faces. By the end of a long working day they all looked the same. She was already formulating a plan to charm the manager to let them view the security footage rather than having to get a court order.
“Oh, yeah, I’ve seen her a couple times here.” He scratched his head. “That’s Anna, right?”
“Yes, Annabelle.” Lisa’s voice climbed an octave. “She was here two days ago?”
“Yeah. She often dropped by to hang out with Jackie.”
“Who is Jackie?” Zoe scoured her memory for the name but it was unfamiliar.
“She works here. They’re always talking intensely in that corner.”
“And where is Jackie?” Zoe asked. “We need to talk to her.”
The boy shrugged. “No idea. She hasn’t shown up to work for two days. It’s unlike her. Overheard the manager complain because she hasn’t been answering her phone.”
Zoe’s stomach clenched. A slippery feeling bloomed in her chest. She looked at Lisa, who had turned pale. The possibility hung heavy between them, as dreary as the weather outside.
Could Jackie be in danger?