Chapter 3 Sloane
Sloane
Eli isn’t answering his phone. I’ve been calling for three days, and Eli—lying, manipulative, disgusting Eli—isn’t answering his phone.
I’ve only been to his PI office once—a dark, depressing studio above a liquor store in Rainier Valley that stank of stale Chinese food.
But I’ve been losing my shit since I left that hotel room, and I can’t take it anymore.
I’ve skipped rounds at the hospital this morning and trekked all the way across the city to find out what the hell is going on.
You’re a stupid fool. He tricked you. You slept with a complete stranger, gave up a part of yourself you’re never going to get back. Ever. And now what?
And now what? I’ll only have an answer to that question once I speak to Eli.
The stairs up to his office are slick with hard-packed ice.
I navigate them with the greatest of care, holding my breath with each step.
His piece-of-shit car is parked in the lot below, so I know he’s here.
I just don’t know what I’m going to say to him.
I can hardly threaten to go to the cops if he doesn’t give me the information he promised me.
That wouldn’t work. I have zero proof that I have an arrangement with him, and besides, Eli’s a private investigator.
Would the police even take my word over his?
I go straight in, knowing that if I knock, I’ll only chicken out and run. I start talking as soon as I see the man sitting in his chair.
“What the hell, Eli? I’ve been call—” My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth at the same time my brain shorts out. This… this can’t be happening. “Oh… Oh, my God.”
The smell hits me first. Oh God, the smell.
I try to breathe in through my nose, but the air stings my sinuses.
I cover my face with my hands, trying to process the scene in front of me.
Eli was a large man before, but now his distended stomach has bloated to obscene proportions, pressed up against his desk.
As an intern, I’ve witnessed the same thing before, primarily in the morgue.
Bloating. All of that gas and bacteria wants out, and by the looks of things, it’ll have its way sooner rather than later.
Eli hasn’t been answering my phone calls for the past three days because he’s dead.
His office looks like someone went on a rampage in here.
Blood covers the walls and his desk. It’s crusted and dried in the stained carpet.
Eli’s mouth hangs open in a grim yawn, his eyes rolled back in his head.
His skin is a sickly gray color everywhere apart from his hands.
They rest on his desk, his fingers tinged purple-black by all of the blood coagulated in his palms.
My tears fall thick and fast, but I regain control of myself enough to enter the room properly and stand in front of the man who cheated me out of my virginity.
I’m not crying because I feel bad that Eli’s dead.
Call me cold, but I’m glad he’s been stabbed to death with his own letter opener (still sticking out of his chest).
I’m crying because he’s dead. Now, he’ll never be able to tell me where Alexis is.
I’ll never know if he was telling the truth. If she’s even alive.
But it can’t be over just like that. It can’t.
There has to be something here, some way of figuring out whatever he was going to tell me.
My mind locks up as I realize what I’m going to have to do.
I’ve seen far more horrific things than Eli’s dead body, but it isn’t his appearance that makes me feel like passing out.
It’s my anger. I’m so angry, so cheated, so furious that I’m scared of what I might do if I have to go near him.
He’s already dead. I couldn’t be arrested for stabbing him again, but still…
I don’t want the dead man’s blood on my hands.
I suck in a lungful of air and hold it, then take a small step forward.
I just need to get through this. For Alexis.
This is all for Alexis. Maybe Eli kept the information in a file somewhere.
That’s something a regular private investigator would do, surely?
Eli was more than a PI, though. He was a drug-dealing pimp, too.
Admin probably wasn’t very high on his list of priorities.
My head spins as I pick my way through the devastation of his office, climbing over an upturned chair to reach the small, three-drawer filing cabinet.
It’s unlocked. The top drawer is buckled and dented, as if someone took a crowbar to it.
Inside, there are files. My heart soars when I yank open the middle drawer and find one labeled with my sister’s name: Alexis Romera.
Missing Person. With trembling fingers I take it out of the cabinet and almost sink to my knees.
It’s empty. There’s nothing inside. Not a single sheet of paper.
“No, no, no, come on!”
The other files all have paperwork inside them.
Regular information about bail bonds and cheating spouses.
Only Lex’s is empty. What the fuck? There are no papers on Eli’s desk and none on the floor either.
No hidden drawers that could contain the information I’m looking for.
It’s gone. Someone’s taken it, and I have no idea who.
I suddenly can’t hold it in anymore. The past three days take their toll at last. I throw up the piece of dry toast I ate for breakfast so violently that it strips my throat raw.
I sob as I leave Eli’s office. I feel useless. Powerless. Weak.
“I’m sorry, Lex. I’m so fucking sorry.” She can’t hear me, but I say the words anyway.
Admitting them out loud makes me own them instead of hiding them away, letting them burn me from the inside out.
I’ve let her down. All hope of finding her is gone.
The very worst part of acknowledging that is the relief.
It courses through me like a single exhaled breath, rushing from my head to my feet.
There’s nothing more I can do. The responsibility is no longer mine.
I am the very worst of people. I don’t even bother to report Eli’s death.
I leave him there to rot.