14. Kyle
CHAPTER 14
KYLE
I was kind of stupid for Everett.
Who was I kidding? I was really stupid for him.
It had been a long time since I’d dated anyone, and I didn’t do hookups, so it had also been a long time since I’d touched someone. Since someone had touched me.
Since someone had kissed me.
I’d thought Everett was just going in for a single goodnight kiss, and maybe he had been, but the next thing I’d known, we’d been making out on my couch. Had he not pried himself away so he could sleep before work, I was almost sure we would’ve ended up sleeping together. And since when was I the kind of guy who had sex with someone the same night we kissed for the first time?
Since I met Everett, apparently.
But it hadn’t happened last night, and now I was losing my stupid mind waiting until we saw each other again. Which was a good feeling—one I hadn’t had in way too long—except for one tiny detail.
I needed to focus on my job.
I’d been roused at quarter-to-fuck-you this morning with an urgent job. According to the woman on the phone, a man had died in an industrial accident, and now that the investigation was completed, they needed the scene cleaned ASAP. The plant had been running at half capacity ever since the accident while the investigation went on, and the company was hemorrhaging money thanks to the lost production. Now that the scene had been released, they needed this workstation cleaned so it could get back up and running.
I wondered what the poor victim’s family would think if they knew how frustrated the company was that they’d lost money while OSHA figured out if they were to blame for the death.
My mind vacillated between that, my fluttery thoughts about my new boyfriend, and deciding on the best way to remove blood and viscera gunking up some of the machine’s gears. At least those first and last things kept me from whistling or humming like the giddy lovesick dumbass I was. I sometimes did that in houses when there was no one else around to hear me singing off-key to Taylor Swift or Eminem, but places like this weren’t private enough. This section of the plant was shut down and deserted until this equipment was back up and running, but an employee could still happen by. They were traumatized enough without wondering why the cleanup dude was singing happily to himself while he scrubbed up the remaining pieces of Jimbo the machine operator.
Focus on the job, I reminded myself, and on the unforgiving capitalist hellscape that views this man’s death as a financial inconvenience. Think about Everett later.
Everett. God, he’s so cute…
I bit back a smile and concentrated on chipping away at the mess. I was kind of glad no one had spelled out exactly what had happened to this poor guy. Given the gigantic industrial equipment and the sheer volume of gore spread out over a large area, I could guess, but I didn’t want the details.
All I wanted was to finish the job as thoroughly (for the company) and respectfully (for the deceased) as possible, then get out of here and go meet up with my new boyfriend.
After I’d completed a section, I paused for a drink and to check my phone. Safely away from the scene, I took off my gloves and respirator, downed some water, and pulled up my sleeve to check the small wound I’d covered with a Band-Aid earlier. I’d been distracted—gee, I wonder why—while I’d fed my fish this morning, gotten careless, and, well… Steve.
Just a minor bite, though, and it didn’t look like it was getting infected or anything.
You’ll have to try harder than that, you finned fucker.
Then I took out my phone, and on the screen, there was a text from Everett. I smiled as soon as I saw his name.
But then I saw the words, and I frowned.
Hit me up as soon as you’re done. Can we meet at Waffles?
He wanted to meet there? Not at my place?
My stomach somersaulted. Oh, crap. Did he want to break up already? Well, damn. This thing lasted less than twenty-four hours from start to finish. A new record for me, which was saying something.
But this wasn’t the time or place to hash it out, so I wrote back, Sure. I’ve still got a few hours here. Don’t know exactly when I’ll be done.
He answered back as I was taking one last drink from my water bottle.
That’s fine. Whenever you’re done. We should meet up ASAP.
My heart sank. He did want to break this off, didn’t he?
No problem, I wrote back, despite desperately wanting to do this here and now. See you soon.
I sighed as I put away my phone and water bottle. My good mood had fled, and I suddenly didn’t want to do anything. Not go to Waffles?. Not see Everett. Not finish this macabre task.
But I had a job to do, and I was going to be respectful of the dead, so I sucked it up, put on my gear, and got back to work.
There was a fair amount of the unfortunate operator beneath the machine. I couldn’t move the machine itself, but it sat up just high enough off the concrete floor that I could shimmy underneath it.
I double-checked that the machine was duly locked out and the power supply had been disconnected. There were two lockout tagout devices that would need to be removed before it could be reactivated. Short of supernatural intervention, this machine was staying dormant until I was done.
“Let’s have a Final Destination marathon,” my ex had said.
“It’ll be fun,” he’d said.
“I should’ve fed you to Steve,” I muttered as I dug a headlamp out of my bag. With that firmly in place, I…
Checked the lockout procedures anyway, because those movies really had fucked with me. For good measure, I toed the cord a couple of feet away from the outlet. Couldn’t be too careful.
Then, with a bag of cleaning supplies, I army-crawled under the machine to get to work.
I wasn’t claustrophobic, but I hated this part of any job. It was murder on my neck and back, and when I got underneath things, I was usually the first person who’d cleaned anything in recent memory. The dust and cobwebs—blech. At least there weren’t any dead mice under here.
I was pretty sure that spider in the corner was a black widow, though. Luckily, there weren’t any chunks or bloodstains near her, so I’d leave her be as long as she stayed in her web.
“You stay in your corner,” I told her as I slithered past to get to a messy spot, “and I’ll stay in mine.”
She did, though I doubted she liked me pointing my headlamp at her every twelve seconds.
“Sorry, lady. Nothing personal.”
She stayed put.
Back and neck aching, I continued my task. I was probably going to have to get someone from the plant to open up the machine; equipment like that was way too expensive for me to fuck around with, and I suspected there was more mess on the inside.
I grimaced at the thought of what must’ve happened to the man who’d died. I just hoped that, whatever it was, it had happened fast. That was the thing with industrial accidents—sometimes they happened so fast, the person didn’t know what hit them. Other times, not so much.
I was lost in those thoughts, digging away at dried blood and viscera while I felt sorry for the man who’d died, when everything around me started to rumble and vibrate.
I froze as panic shot through me.
For a split second, my mind was full of possible scenarios. Earthquake? Large vehicle outside? A train?
But then I locked on to the reality, and my blood turned cold.
The machine was on .
The instant that realization hit me, I started backing out the way I’d come, scrambling toward safety because fuck this shit.
What the fuck? What the actual fuck? The machine couldn’t just spontaneously come on by itself, was locked out to hell and back so no one could activate it—accidentally or otherwise—but fuck me, it was on, and I needed to get as far away from this equipment as I could. Especially before the parts that had killed the operator started moving. I was surrounded by and covered in the evidence of how much damage that thing could do to the human body, and fight-or-flight had me panicking so hard I almost got stuck.
Somehow, I collected myself enough to carefully—but hella quickly—back out of the space I’d crawled into, all the while aware of all the parts that could start moving at any moment. I didn’t even care about the black widow anymore; she was the least of my problems right now.
I was almost clear of everything—only my upper back, shoulders, and head still inside—when something came down hard in the middle of my back, pinning me in place.
I grunted with pain and surprise, and again, my mind exploded with possibilities. Had something fallen on me? Was the machine starting to move?
And again, after about a split second, I caught up—that wasn’t the machine. It was a foot.
“What the fuck?” I shouted over the rumbling. “What are you doing?” I twisted and flailed as much as I could, and I caught sight of the other foot.
My blood ran even colder than it had when the machine had started up.
A black Air Force 1.
Oh. Shiiiit.
“Kyle Bowman?” a male voice shouted over the noise.
“Let me out!” I shouted back. “What the fuck are?—”
“No, no. I think you can stay right there.” The foot pressed down even harder, making it tough to breathe. “You Kyle Bowman?”
I grunted as I squirmed under the weight. What could I do? He had me pinned under a machine that could make mincemeat of me if he flipped a switch or two. “Yes! I am! What do you want?”
The shoe got impossibly heavier, the voice closer and colder. “You need to let sleeping dogs lie, Bowman. Keep your nose out of places it doesn’t belong.”
I stared at the tight space in front me, my headlamp helpfully picking out the smears and chunks I hadn’t yet cleaned, as if to remind me what this guy could do to me. “Okay? Okay! I—Tell me what you want me to do!”
“Leave the Leighton case alone,” he shouted, the whirring and rumbling around us adding a menacing quality to his voice. “Am I clear?”
What the fuck was I going to do? Argue with him?
“Yeah! Yeah, you’re clear!” I sounded about as hysterical as I was. “Just let me go! Jesus Christ!”
“You going to take me seriously?”
“Yes!”
“Are you sure? Because if you don’t…”
Above me, the actual machinery started to turn, the noise deafening as the wind from the turning equipment whipped at my hair and clothes. I didn’t know how close any of it was to actually hitting me, just that it was too fucking close.
All at once, it stopped, and once again, the machine was back to its rumbling idle.
Through my ringing ears came the question, “Am I clear, Kyle?”
“Yes!” I flattened myself as much as I could, struggling to breathe as he pressed down harder on my back. “I won’t touch anything! I promise!”
“Good.”
The machine quieted. The whole place was still and silent again except for my labored breathing.
The foot left my back, then slammed hard into my side, turning my vision red and white. I curled in on myself as much as this position allowed, trying to find my breath through the pain.
When my vision and mind cleared, I shakily backed the rest of the way out from the machine. I sat up and looked around.
The man with the Air Force 1s was gone.
I wasn’t looking forward to getting dumped, but I needed to see Everett anyway. Even if he was breaking up with me, he was the only person I trusted enough to talk about what happened at the plant.
I was queasy with fear as I got out of my car in front of Waffles? It was dark out, because it had taken me a hell of a lot longer to finish the job than I’d expected. Between the white-hot pain in my side and the utter terror that had left me shaking and ready to throw up, I hadn’t been nearly as efficient as I usually was. The pain especially—it was hard to breathe, never mind move around or clean.
About five hours after I’d said I’d be done, I finally was. The plant manager hadn’t been thrilled about that, and she hadn’t cared when I’d explained that the job was more difficult than expected. I was probably getting a bad rating from her, but whatever. At least I didn’t have to crawl around in, on, or under that goddamned machine again. I’d take her two-star Yelp review with a smile.
Before getting in my truck, I’d stripped off my Tyvek suit, but I didn’t throw it away this time. I carefully laid it out in the truck and took a photo with my disposable camera, documenting the near perfect Air Force 1 print across the back with a ruler next to it. Then I’d bagged it up in a paper bag and stashed it in the truck.
With that photographed and preserved, I’d gone home for a shower, which sucked because my whole body hurt. The job had been a physical one, and everything from my neck to my hips was like one giant spasm because of the kick that asshole had landed in my side. Trying to work through that had left my body… not happy.
Showered, dressed, and loaded down with more than the recommended dose of Aleve, I’d driven to Waffles?, and here I was.
Everett was already here; I’d seen his car when I’d pulled into the parking lot. Kind of hard to miss when he’d managed to park across three spaces and partway onto the curb.
I gave a sad little laugh as I walked by his ridiculous parking job. He was chaos on wheels, but it was somehow endearing. Everything he did was endearing.
Are you really going to break up with me? Already?
This was the worst day ever. Fuck.
I shuffled into the restaurant and gave the scene a sweep before finding Everett. He was in a booth beside the corner one occupied by the Goth kids.
When he met my gaze and gestured to get my attention, my heart sank even deeper. He usually had his cute little himbo smile when he saw me. Tonight… not so much.
But when I was almost to the table, he rose and reached for me, moving in for a kiss.
Okay, so maybe he wasn’t?—
“Ow!” I flinched away from the hand he’d put on my side, almost losing my balance in the process.
“What?” Panic filled his voice, and he grabbed my arm to steady me. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
“I’m good,” I wheezed. “I’m… I’m good.”
He kept hold of my arm. “You don’t look good? Dude, you’re like… white .”
I swallowed the acid rising in my throat and croaked, “I’m fine. Just need to sit.”
Everett guided me to the other side of the booth. Once I was situated, he took his own seat. Before my vision had even cleared, he pushed a piece of paper across the table.
I peered at it.
Someone threatened me about the case.
My head snapped up. “What?”
He stared back at me, fear written all over him. “Detective Reardon,” he whispered so softly I had to lean in to hear. “He came by today. My sister interrupted before he said much, but he was basically telling me to leave it alone.” Everett drummed his fingers rapidly on the table and dropped his voice a little more. “And he was wearing black Air Force 1s.”
I swallowed, the acid refusing to move this time. “No shit?”
“No shit.” His eyes were huge, and for all his concern about me being too white, he looked almost as pale as the Goth kids.
A piece clicked into place. “That’s why you wanted to meet here,” I whispered. “Not at one of our places.”
He nodded. “I mean, maybe it’s stupid to talk about it in public but…” He chafed his arms. “I don’t know. I was…” He bit his lip and stared at the table. The word “scared” didn’t need to be spoken, and now I felt like an ass for thinking he wanted to meet me here to dump me. All day long, he’d probably been freaking out over the detective threatening him, and I’d been… I mean, it wasn’t like I could’ve known, but still.
I carefully leaned closer, folding my arms over the menu I hadn’t touched. “Someone threatened me too.”
Everett’s eyes went huge. “They did?”
“Yeah. And he was also wearing black Air Force 1s.” I took a deep breath—well, not that deep, because ow —and told him what happened at the plant. By the time I was done, I was sweating, and I think he was too. “I don’t know what to do,” I whispered.
He wasn’t nearly at a loss for action. “I think we should start by taking you to the hospital.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Dude, what if he did some serious damage? What if he broke some ribs?”
“I highly doubt he broke any ribs,” I insisted. “I wouldn’t have been able to move if he had.”
“But you could’ve bruised them. Or damaged something .” His expression was full of sweet earnestness and genuine fear. “What could it hurt? Just to make sure you’re really okay?” He paused. “And to document it. In case, you know, something else happens.”
My spine prickled. That was something I hadn’t thought about. And maybe getting a photo of my back would be a good idea; I doubted there was enough definition to identify a specific shoe impression, but the size and shape could still be damning.
“I documented the footprint on my back,” I murmured. “And I kept the Tyvek suit.”
“Good,” Everett said, but he sounded dismissive. “I’m more worried about you right now. And making sure there’s a record of this in case you can press charges.” He stared at me with pleading eyes. “Can we please go to the emergency room?”
Why did I even think I could say no to those big, blue eyes?
“Okay,” I whispered. “Let’s go.”