10. Ezekiel
10
Ezekiel
T hat did not go as planned.
The lock on the bathroom door clicks behind me. I would expect no less. I hear the shower switch on as I walk out of the bedroom, one of the spare rooms in Carlton Bishop’s massive house, and lock the door behind me. She doesn’t run after me calling out or banging on the door, demanding release, but I don’t expect that. Not after that exchange. She’s in there licking her wounds. It’s what I wanted. To make her heel. And I achieved my goal. I need to keep her under control. What I didn’t expect was to lose control. Which I did.
I stop in the hallway and force a deep breath in.
She was right. I do like looking at her. I can’t quite put my finger on why. She’s attractive, yes, but so are many other women. Women I have easy access to. Women I can do what I please with and walk away from. The Cat House alone is full of them. So, what the fuck is my problem? Why did I let her get to me?
I need to keep my head on straight. Blue has evidence that can destroy me and my brother in the process. What just happened needed to happen. She needs to understand that she cannot cross a man like me. I’m doing the only thing I can do.
Guilt gnaws at me as I force myself to continue down the hall. Her sister is mentally damaged. I don’t like the idea of using her. It doesn’t feel right.
When I get downstairs, Dex walks in the front door carrying a suitcase.
“Ezekiel,” he says in greeting. “Morning.”
“Morning,” I say. It’s not that I dislike Dex. I don’t feel either way about him. He is my brother’s trusted right-hand man. If I’m honest, I may be a little jealous of that as idiotic as it sounds.
“All good here?” he asks, handing me the keys to the Range Rover. It’s my car and I’ve kept it at the house while I’ve been in Amsterdam.
“All good.” I hand him the key to Blue’s bedroom. “That’s from Isabelle?” I gesture to the suitcase.
He nods. “Everything you asked for.” I asked Jericho to send some of Isabelle’s clothes for Blue. They’re about the same size.
“And then some,” I say, having expected a few things. “Put them in her room, will you? She’s having a shower.”
Dex nods. “Jericho’s sending Cynthia over too.” Cynthia worked as part of the household staff while Jericho was away. “She’ll be here soon.”
“Good.” I walk into the kitchen where I find Blue’s purse on the counter. I’d already emptied out its contents but found nothing interesting. I pick up the ring of keys.
“Thanks. I’m heading to the apartment. I’ll be back in a couple hours.” I walk out the door and into the SUV. I’ve missed it. I’ve missed a lot of things these last few years.
Once Jericho and Isabelle’s relationship shifted and the Bishop threat was removed, it was time for me to leave the St. James house, my childhood home, that I’d been living in all those years Jericho was hiding Angelique. Strangely, although leaving numbed some of the pain of the past, being away also has forced me to focus on it from a different angle.
The thing with Zo?, what happened with her, to her, what she did when she could no longer cope, all that pain is still there, has been all along. Somehow, I was able to mask it throughout those years. Maybe it was my mother’s illness, maybe it was my brother and his secrecy around his daughter’s existence. Maybe it was keeping up appearances, who the fuck knows? There was enough to occupy my mind that I could bury my own shit.
That all changed when Isabelle moved into the house and maybe it had to do with my brother finding happiness. Maybe it was that that pushed me out because all of a sudden, all those things I’d buried deep were right there, confronting me at every fucking turn of every fucking corner. Zo?’s face. Memories of her the last years of her life. Not during the happy times, though. I seem to only remember the bad. The sad. Guilt, maybe, remembering her wasting away before my eyes and me just fucking missing it.
And there are the memories of our father, of course. The things he did to us. Mostly to her, I know now.
My mind shifts to what I learned from Robbie about Blue’s father. The damage he did to her and her sister. What is it with fathers? Aren’t they supposed to protect their daughters? There are enough monsters in the world without having to be attacked in your own home by a man who should protect you, aren’t there?
That sensation of my throat closing up, all that old emotion, the damage I’d been able to keep buried for so many years, it’s back. Like it was toward the end of my time there. I close my eyes, force in a deep breath, tell myself to focus.
Amsterdam has helped, at least a little. I don’t see Zo?’s face at every turn. She was never there. My failure to protect my twin sister doesn’t fucking stare me in the face every fucking minute of the day there. But it’s not like I lived a life there either. I exist. What right do I have to live a life? How selfish for me to even consider it when she doesn’t get to be alive at all?
My cell phone rings as I drive off the property. I push a button to answer, and Jericho’s voice fills the car.
“Where are you?”
“I’m heading to Blue’s apartment to see what I can find. Thanks for the clothes, by the way.”
“I’ll pass that on to Isabelle.”
“You told her?”
“What was I going to do, go into her closet and take her clothes and hope she wouldn’t notice? Speaking of, you left things here too. Guessing you’ll need them. I’ll bring them by later. Since you’ll be spending more time here than you expected why don’t you come over? See the kids. You’re still Angelique’s favorite uncle.”
I chuckle. “Easy when you’re the only uncle. What was the manager’s name at Hotel Petterhof by the way?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Spencer. Mitch Spencer. He’s no longer employed at the property, but I’ve got someone looking into his whereabouts.”
“Keep me posted.”
“Pick me up. I’ll go with you.”
“No.”
“I want to help, Zeke.”
“No. You’re not part of this. I’m not getting you involved any more than you already are. You work on finding Spencer. I’ll call you once I leave the apartment.”
“I don’t like this.”
“Join the club. I gotta go.”
“All right, brother,” Jericho says after a long silence. “I’m here for you whatever you need.”
I nod, knowing he can’t see me, and disconnect the call. I head toward Blue’s apartment. I spent a few hours looking through her phone last night but didn’t find much. She has no contacts apart from her sister and a contact marked Rudy Nurse who apparently works at the facility. No socials, as I already knew. Her web searches and history were meticulously cleared. And the only email in her inbox was the one notifying her of my one-dollar deposit into her account.
Her texts with her sister changed abruptly about two years ago. She only sends her knock-knock jokes. There are messages from Rudy, too, who gives her updates on how Wren is doing. How must it feel to not know your sister anymore even though she’s right there? Is it a similar loss as death? In a way, it must be.
But I can’t care about that. I need to focus on the task at hand. Like I told Blue, she’s here because she fucked up. She has only herself to blame and I can’t care about the motivator behind her attempt to blackmail me.
The apartment building is about forty-five minutes away in a pretty shitty neighborhood. When I arrive, I park my SUV in the lot and look around. It probably costs more than all the cars parked here combined. I climb out, lock it, and look up at the five-story building that looks like it hasn’t had any work done to it in a decade at least.
In the corner of the lot, I see a worn-out Honda Passat, its black paint peeling, one of the tires looking like it needs air. The car stands out because it’s the only one with Pennsylvania plates. I cross the lot to take a closer look, peering into the window when I find the doors locked. I’m pretty sure it’s hers. I snap a photo of the license plate and send it to Robbie asking him to find out who it’s registered to.
I head toward the stairs that will lead inside. One of the two glass doors at the entrance has a crack in it that’s been taped up and the lock is broken. I push the door open and enter. The vestibule is messy with two broken umbrellas just lying on the floor and a bag of trash someone couldn’t be bothered to take to the dumpster I saw in the corner of the lot. It stinks.
Breathing through my mouth, first thing I do is find Blue’s mailbox. Using her key, I unlock it and take out the stash of mail, mostly circulars, a blank postcard of what looks to be a children’s book titled Run Rabbit Run, and an electricity bill. Taking those, I head up to her apartment hearing televisions, a baby, a man and woman fighting along the way. The air in the hallways is stale, old food and B.O. Blue’s apartment has a worn-out welcome mat at the door. I wonder if it’s hers or if it was left here by the previous tenant. I unlock three locks and enter. Once inside, I close the door behind me and flip the light switch because even though it’s daytime, all the blinds are down, and the apartment is dark. I take in the room.
First thing I notice is how neat everything is. The carpet is worn ragged, the furniture which consists of a sofa, a dining table with two chairs is mismatched and the TV is an ancient box. I wonder if it works. But contrary to the smells and look of the apartment building itself, this one smells of cleaning supplies.
Someone must use the sofa as a bed because a pillow and a folded blanket rest on one corner.
On the dining table is a notebook and a closed laptop. It’s an old Apple. I open it and it comes to life, the cursor blinking in the space to enter a passcode. Above the empty space is the word Lucky. There’s a picture of a young girl holding a kitten, trying to give it a lick of her ice pop. I peer close and I think it’s Blue.
I won’t bother trying various passwords and plan on taking it back with me.
The kitchen is tiny. It’s meticulous apart from the pot in the sink with the single fork inside it. There’s a box of cereal on the counter and a cereal bowl and spoon are in the drying rack.
I open the fridge and find it contains a container of milk and little packets of ketchup and mayonnaise. In the drawer are several apples.
From the kitchen I walk into the one bedroom. Inside is a neatly made twin bed and beside it the nightstand with a lamp on top. Nothing matches and it all looks old. In the closet, clothes hang neatly. I look through them, see the different sizes and style. Are some of these Wren’s clothes? Has Blue kept them here?
On the nightstand is a framed photo. I pick it up, look at it. It’s two girls and I recognize Blue, but she’s got to be ten in here. The older girl must be Wren. They’re standing on either side of a woman Blue resembles. Apart from the clothes, it’s the only thing in the place that’s personal. I get the feeling this is the one thing Blue would care about.
The bathroom is neat, with a small shoebox of makeup on a rack. Foundations and concealers as well as mascara and eyeliner.
There’s a closet in the living room and I check in there, too, but only find a denim jacket on a hanger and a vacuum cleaner, a folded blanket on a high shelf, so I go back into the bedroom to look under the bed. There, shoved to the very back, is a backpack. Finally, something. I reach to drag it out and set it on the bed. I unzip it and inside, I find some clothes neatly folded, two baseball caps, a box of hair dye, blue. Surprise. At the bottom of the bag is a large envelope. I take it out, and inside find a wad of money.
All right. Now we’re getting somewhere.
I count it. There is two-thousand dollars in cash here. I put it back and take out the smaller envelope. Inside that, I find a school ID. Wren Johnson. She must be sixteen or seventeen here. Used to go to Upper Darby Senior High just outside of Philadelphia. Blue’s is there too. She’s a freshman so I guess about fifteen in the photo. I put both into the envelope and feel the bottom of the bag to see if I missed anything but find nothing.
Carrying the backpack, I walk back out into the living room and set it on the couch. I return to the kitchen to look through the cabinets for more, for something personal about Blue. Something regarding the evidence she has supposedly bought about me. Anything. The cabinets don’t contain much apart from cleaning supplies under the sink, pasta and canned soup, salt and pepper are the extent of the spices. There’s a bottle of olive oil. Several mismatched mugs, glasses and dishes fill up one cabinet. It’s all kind of sad honestly.
This can’t be it.
My phone buzzes alerting me to a message. I dig it out of my pocket and see it’s a text from Robbie.
Robbie: Photos from the hospital.
I click to download the first. It’s Wren, I think. Her face is badly bruised, her eyes black, one swollen shut, her hair, which is light blond, is darker here. Dried blood. She looks bad. Really bad.
I click into the next one. This one’s Blue. She’d have been sixteen. Zo?’s age. Her hair is long and dark, not yet blue, and she’s wearing it loose. On her face is a bandage and it’s bloody. There’s a second photo of her and this one is without that bandage.
“Christ.”
I see the stitches. They look as though they were done with a very shaky hand. Her own. I get it.
There are a few more photos and after glancing at them, I put the phone back into my pocket. I want to know what happened. Why did Tommy beat them up so badly? Is this why they ran?
First, I need to wrap up here.
I go back to the living room and lift the folded blanket and pillow, check under the cushions of the couch. I don’t even find a nickel or a crumb of food. The hall closet door is still ajar, and I return to it, lift the blanket off the top shelf and shake it out. I feel up on the shelf which is high for me so it would be too high for Blue to reach. I’m about to close the door when I look at the vacuum cleaner again, at the bag hanging from the back. It’s an old upright and there’s something heavy and awkwardly shaped in the bag. That or it’s so old it’s just lost its shape altogether. I pull it out of the closet and crouch down feel the bag with both hands and have a suspicion what it is that’s got the bag looking so misshapen. I unzip the bag, turning my face from the dust to reach inside. My fingers close over a Ziploc bag. I pull it out, sneezing when dust gets in my nostrils. I look at what I’ve uncovered.
There, sealed in the Ziploc, is a revolver.