Chapter 22
Elijah
I didn’t want to be here. It wasn’t just because we were at the house where my ex-lover was murdered.
That was enough, but the whole thing felt off.
Being drunk wasn’t helping either, because I couldn’t stop and focus, couldn’t think properly.
It wasn’t that I had bad memories of this place, so I didn’t think I’d have horrifying flashbacks here like I did at Brandon’s.
Brock wasn’t the nicest person I’d ever been with, but he certainly wasn’t the meanest either.
He’d wanted to be in charge, and he wasn’t gentle, but that had all been fine with me, and he’d never abused my trust like Brandon had.
Being here tonight with Mason, though, I didn’t like it.
The bad kept happening and it was getting worse.
Mason knocked on the door, his arm on mine, and I wasn’t sure if it was to comfort me or steady me since I’d stumbled up the steps.
Chris opened the door and we stepped into the lit hallway.
It was familiar but there was something wrong.
Everything in the universe seemed to be screaming a warning at me, but it was so loud I couldn’t understand.
I made a noise that was embarrassingly close to a whimper, and Mason’s hand moved from my arm to my waist. He pulled me close to his body.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, but it wasn’t.
Whatever was going on, it wasn’t okay. Whatever was in this house, it wasn’t Brock.
I didn’t like the vibes I was getting in general: fear, distress, pain.
It was almost the same as at Brandon’s except without the fury.
I didn’t know where in the house it had happened or how they’d gotten into a place with the security of a bank vault, especially when I knew Brock wouldn’t have opened the door to a suspicious knock, but it didn’t seem like much could stop them.
Chris looked around behind us before he closed the door and locked it. He looked at Mason and scrunched up his face. “Why do you have a shotgun?”
“Because I’m not getting ambushed, Chris. Not again. I’m not letting anyone hurt him.” He’d let go of me but moved slightly in front of me as he looked defiantly at Chris, whose badge was glimmering on his belt from the lights of the hallway chandelier.
Chris just nodded. “Fair enough.” He motioned us through the entryway and stopped near the spot where the spiral staircase ended on the marble floor and doors opened in every direction.
The hallway was lit but the rooms were dark.
I wanted to leave. I wanted my house and my cat.
I wanted to curl up under the covers with Mason. We needed to go.
“Listen,” Chris said, the urgency in his voice unmistakable.
“You guys may need to leave. I don’t know what’s going on in this damn town, but I don’t think I can keep getting Elijah out of this.
Someone’s determined to frame him. You know I believe you guys, but it’s getting harder for the rest of the force to do the same. ”
“What the hell’s going on?” Mason demanded. “Did something else happen?” His voice was deep and angry, but it shook a little when he spoke.
Chris looked from Mason to me. “You know a guy named Randy? Randy Maynard? From the app?”
My heart dropped, even though I hadn’t known Randy’s last name.
Mason had already been through the list with me, so he wasn’t out of the loop this time.
“For fuck’s sake,” he cried. “They’ve obviously just hacked his account.
You know better than this, Chris. This is starting to look way more amateurish than we thought.
They had his bracelet and a hacker. What the hell? ”
Chris looked at Mason, but then back to me as though waiting for me to explain myself.
“I only hooked up with him three or four times,” I mumbled, my words slurring.
“It’s been like a year since I’ve even seen him.
I didn’t even know his last name.” I really didn’t want Chris to say what he was getting ready to say, because I was really tired of causing the death of innocent people.
Chris sighed. “Yeah. That was the last message we found too.”
Mason narrowed his eyes. “When did this happen? You guys sure aren’t having any problems getting into these accounts. You already have a warrant? Why the hell don’t you figure out who else is on there, before they come for Elijah?”
Chris shook his head. “Mason, if it were that simple, I would already have done it. At this point, it seems more likely that they were following Elijah, not hacking his account.” He looked back at me.
“Randy was killed this afternoon. Stabbed, just like the others. It happened sometime shortly after you left work, but before you were seen in the diner.”
Mason’s jawline was tight and he moved between me and Chris, blocking me completely. “First, how do you even know we were at the diner? Second, I was with him the entire time. Literally every second. I wouldn’t even let him have his own shower. Do I need to go into detail again?”
Chris huffed. “That won’t be necessary, and it’s also not helpful.
I know you were at the diner because we’ve already been tracing Elijah’s steps tonight.
You already know there are a few hours unaccounted for.
They found a shirt in Randy’s house. A shirt that we’ve already found a photo of Elijah in recently, long after the last time he and Randy messaged.
There was a picture of the clinic staff in the newspaper when they saved a bobcat. The shirt is pretty distinct.”
“What?” I whispered, moving so I could look at Chris.
I’d been wearing that old tie-dye shirt I’d gotten at Indiana Beach when I was in high school.
They’d called me into work on my day off because they needed my “cat-whispering powers,” and I’d barely managed to roll out of bed, let alone change out of what I’d worn to sleep in.
I only ever wore that shirt to lounge in at home, and not even very often.
There was a hole at the collar and it was faded, and I looked like absolute shit in that picture.
I didn’t wear it enough to even realize it was missing, but it must have been recent.
“I hang my clothes on the clothesline sometimes when it’s nice out,” I said weakly, but even my drunk self knew that excuse wouldn’t hold up.
“They found fingerprints that they’re testing, and a hair that looks an awful lot like yours,” Chris went on, looking me in the eye.
“I don’t know how they got everything, but they’re trying really hard to frame you.
You guys need to go. Somewhere that’s not Brooks Glen.
Let me figure this out. I just need you to stay safe while I think. ”
“No,” Mason said firmly. “If we run, he looks even more guilty.”
Chris moved forward and grabbed Mason’s collar, his eyes wild.
“Dude, they’ve already made sure he looks guilty!
You have to listen to me. I’m not going to be able to keep him out of jail this time.
If the print and hair come back as Elijah’s .
. . you have to hide somewhere, just for a little while.
If he goes in, I won’t be able to get him out.
Keep me informed, but don’t tell anyone else where you’re going. ”
Mason pushed Chris off, annoyed but not fully angry.
He came back with another argument, but I wasn’t paying attention anymore.
I was staring at the dark hallway upstairs.
I knew my way around the house. I also knew something was up there.
I was so compelled to go up the steps it felt like I was being called without hearing my name.
I took a step away from them, then another, and another, until I was at the foot of the stairs.
They were still wrapped up in their argument.
“…you know how bad it would be if we left, Chris? Where the hell am I going to take him that they won’t find us? We need to stand up to this. I was with him the whole time. I’m a cop, and that still means something.”
“They’ll just assume you’re involved too. They aren’t going to take your word for it this time, especially after you made sure they knew your connection. The only thing you can do is . . .”
I took a step up, then another. I was halfway up the winding staircase and they were still arguing when I heard it. It sounded like a whisper on a nonexistent breeze. It was like the disembodied voice in my dreams. “Elijah.”
I kept moving upward, and started down the hallway at the top of the stairs. As I left the landing, I heard Mason call out, “Hey! Elijah! Where are you going?”
I didn’t stop, compelled by something beyond my control.
I knew where Brock’s bedroom was, and though I wasn’t consciously heading there, I came to a stop in front of it.
The door was closed. There was police tape on the floor.
Why were we here? Why had it been the place Chris wanted to talk to us?
Was he hoping I’d see something? Was he testing my abilities, the ones I kept telling him I didn’t know how to control?
I opened the door despite the police tape, reached inside, and turned on the light.
Blood. There were bloodstains everywhere.
They’d darkened with time, dried into a rust color, but there was no mistaking them.
They were on the bed, a trail on the floor.
He’d tried to get to the bathroom, to hide maybe, to lock himself in and call the police, mend his wounds enough to survive until help arrived.
My heart dropped at the scene. He’d tried to survive, to live, but they hadn’t let him.
And it was all because of me. Me. I didn’t know how or why, but it was my fault.