Chapter 11
Eleven
Zee
My heartbeat quickens the closer I get.
Part of me hopes Atlas found a mouse, or a raccoon and that I imagined the entire thing.
But when I get to the closet, my hope vanishes.
Atlas crouches over, his glasses broken on the floor.
He heaves, clutching his stomach.
Then he … pukes, right on the closet floor.
That smell is stronger now, mixing with Atlas's valid reaction to seeing a dead man in a closet. My eyes find my father’s vacant gaze, my stomach coiling.
"What the fuck?” Atlas coughs through his words.
My eyes snap back to him. “Please don’t call the cops."
"Cops means jail time. For you."
He wipes his mouth, turning back to my dead dad.
“I didn’t do it," I say, hoping he believes me.
Atlas turns to me, those golden-brown eyes piercing without his lenses. “Why didn’t you call the cops, Zee?”
“I-I can’t.”
He blinks.
“I have a record.”
It’s not a total lie. But it doesn’t stop his next question.
“So? Your dead father’s body is in the closet of the house you inherited.”
I squeeze my eyes shut as my heart pounds faster. “You think I did it.”
“No, I don’t.” My eyes pop open, a weight lifting off my chest. “I’m just confused.”
The words bubble to the surface, my nails pushing into my palms. “If I call the cops, they’ll blame me.
With my record, I’m an easy culprit. I’m not like the other women here.
I know the story my record tells. You said it yourself, my father's body is in the closet of the house I inherited. They’ll lock me up, and anyone I care about will be in danger. ”
He stares, like he’s reading something written in my skull. Like he can see the omission I’m holding against my chest.
“Are you high right now?” he asks.
That's what he's worried about?
“I just found my dead estranged father with a knife to his stomach in his closet.” Atlas finally moves, shoving some boxes aside with his foot. “Yeah, I’m a little high.”
My eyes drift to the floor, his broken glasses next to his pile of chunky vomit. My mouth twists as I crouch to pick up his frames. It's the least I can do now that he's in this mess with me.
"Sorry about that." His fingers are cold when he takes them from mine before he folds the broken pieces to fit in his pocket."This was unexpected."
“No kidding.”
He turns towards the body again, examining it. Then he looks over his shoulder. “What do you mean by the people you really care about? Your mother? Siblings?”
“Dead. None.” If I want Atlas to trust me, I need to be honest. “My ex. I needed money, so he got me into dealing.”
“Drugs?”
“No, strawberries.”
Atlas smiles at my sarcasm. Aside from puking, he seems to be taking everything in stride, including his broken glasses. Maybe handling dead things makes death less shocking.
“I wouldn’t put someone I love in danger like that.” He points to his face, under his eyes.
Wait.
Oh fuck.
My hand lifts to my face.
I thought it was mostly healed by now.
“Noticed it during the interview,” he says, peering closer at my father.
“Is that why you gave me the job?”
“Not the only reason.” He pokes at the knife buried in my father's body. “He was murdered."
No shit. “I was told it was suicide.”
Atlas looks back. “That’s what we were told.”
“Why would they lie?" My mind scrambles for answers. “Is this shit normal here?”
Atlas lets out a deep exhale. “The storms in Eastmount are not always thunderous.”
I arch a brow. “Shakespeare?”
Atlas straightens up, stepping away from my dad. “Zee, this isn’t your mystery to solve.”
“It sure as fuck is now.” Was my mother protecting me? Was he? “What if I'm next?"
“Why are you here, Zee?”
His direct question stills my body as I stare into those round, sharp eyes.
“I need the money.” Blame it on the weed or my anxiety, but the intense way Atlas stares at me pulls more words from my mouth. “I was going to leave.” I choose not to tell him about the masked intruder who ate me out upside down last night. “But I don’t even know where I was going.”
Silence overtakes us, but it’s not weird. It lets me process before I speak.
The truth slams into my chest. “I was going back to Drey.”
He points to the bruise still under my eye, his brow arching.
I nod.
He looks back in the closet like my dead dad is easier to look at than me.
“Don’t judge me. I’m not you, a straight white man with a thousand options. Drey’s helped me through some shit you can’t even begin to imagine. He was there when I had nothing. Do you know what that feels like? To have nothing?”
“Whoa. Breathe.” Atlas spreads his hands out like he’s taming a dragon. “It’s not your fault, Zee. I know that. I take it he was your family. Someone you trusted. Someone who, at one time, was your teammate, your everything. Someone you could rely on.”
Something swells in my throat as Atlas speaks with so much conviction.
“I want you to hear me when I tell you, you did nothing wrong. You’re just … trying to survive. Do you understand that?”
I nod, his eyes softening the longer I stare. Atlas shows empathy. And usually that comes from experience.
“So?” I ask. “Who did it to you?”
“Get to the Insectarium. I’ll get rid of him.”
“Wait, what?”
His hand comes to my back, warmth pushing through my skin as he leads me away from the closet.
“We need someone there. Put some pants on and go.” He points me towards the stairs before he turns me around, his hands on each of my shoulders.
“Don’t go to Drey’s. You can’t stay with me because I’m faculty, and that’s weird.
But I’ll do what I can with your schedule if you need to hide out at the Insectarium. You’ll figure out the rest.”
As he pushes me towards the stairs, I wish I were as confident as he sounds.
I’m in a daze all through my shift, spending most of the time staring at the exhibits.
What I’d give to be half mindless right now. Like a beetle just trying to get a snack. Or a caterpillar whose only dream is to transform into a butterfly.
I try to process what’s happened over the last few days.
My stalker got me off.
Twice.
Then I found my father’s body in my closet.
I wince, my mind flashing back to how I found him, that crest seared into his skin.
Where have I seen it before?
Heat slaps my neck. That familiar feeling.
My head whips to my right. Then my left.
Spinning around, I scan the room.
Nothing.
Just a wall of green leaves.
This place doesn’t get much traffic, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
But I need a distraction. I'll check the meters, then I’ll go back to the office and write.
Or get a head start on my school work. Or I'll swipe through Eastmount's lame dating options.
Anything to take my mind off the image of my father.
Before I turn away, my eyes narrow on a tall shadow at the far end of the room. Behind a large tree. Butterflies flutter out from behind it, as if someone disturbed them.
Heat spreads across the back of my neck as I take a step, approaching it.
What do you do if it’s him?
Do you ask him if he killed your father?
Is he here to finally get the job done?
Is it them?
“Hey!”
A woman’s voice calls from behind me.
“It’s you!”
Turning around, the girl I met at the bar waves. The one who stepped between me and Fuckface.
“You got the job!” She walks towards me in a pleated blue mini, her long pastel-pink hair in a slicked-back pony.
“Uh, yeah.” Glancing back, I try to look for the shadow that was once there. But it’s gone.
A chill wafts over my neck.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’re Professor Blackwood’s daughter?" My body stiffens, my father's body flashing in my mind. “Azalea?”
My throat is scratchy and dry when I swallow. “Zee.”
“I’m Liv.” She stands in front of me, holding out a hand. Her pink nails sparkle under the sun, pushing through the glass ceiling. She pushes her hand further and further toward me until I take it. Soft, like she's just had a manicure.
“How did you know about my dad?”
“Campus talks and you made a big splash with Ezra,” she laughs, her hand lingering in mine.
“Nothing exciting really happens in Eastmount except housewives mistaking any man who isn’t white as an intruder.
” She rolls her eyes, but my body rushes with waves, my ears lingering on her last word.
“What’s it like working here?” She looks around the space.
“I come here when I need a little alone time, you know?”
Pulling my hand away, I turn towards the bioluminescent room. “It’s quiet.”
She strolls with me. “Lonely?”
“Easy.”
“Well, I’ll keep you company.”
I glance at her when I’m in front of the meter. Her eyes beam. “Because I’m Professor Blackwood’s daughter?”
“No, silly, it’s just really refreshing to have someone different around.”
“Different. Is that what people are saying?”
“Look at you.” Liv takes a step back, gesturing to my outfit.
My tattered old sweater and baggy joggers.
It's hard not to smirk at the vivid juxtaposition. “I appreciate the honesty, but besides my clothes, we're all human."
“You’re not like the other girls.”
“Great, now I’m a cliche?”
“An anomaly. Are you enrolled?”
I nod. I got the official acceptance in my email last night. This morning, I thought I was leaving it all behind.
I wince when Liv squeals, hitting the octave of a dolphin. “You have to take Professor Velochok’s class with me. The Genres of Film. Connie dropped out because she got a modelling contract, so a spot opened up. Kon is like, so fine, and he totally passes everyone. We can sneak in some chit-chats.”
I note the temperature on the meter before moving towards the offices.
“Film?” I get one elective this semester. I was hoping to take most of my courses online to lay low. But if Kon’s teaching the class, it’s an easy win. And I could use more ease. I shrug. “Count me in.”
Does this mean you’re staying?
Liv squeals again before she taps something into her phone. “I can’t wait to see you there!” She spins on her shiny Mary-Janes, waving as she heads to the door.
“Hey, Liv?” I call.