Chapter 7
Seven
When I wake up the next day, it’s to Alex crunching on cereal in bed.
“Morning.” Her voice is way too chipper.
She’s already dressed—jeans and one of my hoodies—and has her tarot deck spread on the bed between us.
I groan and pull the pillow over my face.
Crunch-crunch-crunch.
“What’d you pull?” I ask eventually, giving up on more sleep.
She flips it over. The Tower. Lightning striking a burning building. People falling.
“Hmm.” She frowns at it.
“That’s not good,” I say.
“It’s just upheaval. Change. Things falling apart so they can be rebuilt.” She sets it aside on the nightstand, but I notice she leaves it face-up. “It’s fine. Sometimes the Tower is necessary.”
And just like that, Dom and his mystery client are on my mind all over again.
“Uh oh.” Alex peers at my face. “What’s wrong?”
I blink up at her. How do I even start?
“Dylan.” She sets the bowl aside. Turns to face me fully. Her whole body angling toward mine. “Talk to me.”
I roll out of bed and head toward the bathroom. “Pee first.”
She rolls her eyes, but I need a minute to think about this.
I shut the door and sit on the toilet, doing my business while my mind races. What do I tell her? Do I even want to get her involved? If I do, then it’s all in.
Or do I pretend it never happened and let some innocent girl...
I wash my hands and grab my phone as soon as I open the bathroom door. Alex watches patiently while eating her Cap’n Crunch with Crunch Berries. Because there’s no better kind of Crunch.
I scroll the headlines. Searching.
Nothing.
No mainstream news outlets have reported on a missing or murdered woman.
Of course not. It’s been less than twelve hours. If she was alone, no one even knows she’s missing yet.
I sink onto the bed and frown.
“What are you looking for?” Alex asks between spoonfuls.
“Murder downtown.”
“Reddit, TikTok, or Nextdoor.” She scoops more cereal. “Sometimes Facebook. The South Philly Watchdog.”
I pull up Nextdoor while she watches. Nothing.
Facebook—nothing.
Reddit—nothing.
“Impossible. I heard him admit it.”
But of course there’s nothing. Even if someone reports her missing, there’s no body. No crime scene.
It’s like she never existed.
And that’s exactly what Dom does. What he’s paid to do.
Alex finishes her cereal and sets the bowl aside. “Talk,” she says gently.
Fuck, she is so patient.
I drop my phone, then think better of it and turn it off. Alex raises a brow but waits.
“I...” I rub my eyes. Did I hallucinate last night? “I don’t know if I’m losing my mind.”
“Where did the mind loss start?”
“Great question.” I take a breath. “I was working in the stacks.”
“Creepiest room at Draven & Associates.” She shivers.
“I finished. But the elevator was out.”
“Worst time for that. I bet it was late.”
“Two a.m.” I can vividly recall the choice to take the stairs. See? It did happen. I’m not hallucinating. “I had to take the stairs. The lights went out.”
“You have the biggest balls.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course,” she says. “Literally no one in that building could take those creepy stairs at two in the morning with the lights out.”
“It is my superpower.” Among many. “I heard something.”
“What did you hear?” She inches closer, pulling me onto the bed beside her. Her arm wraps around my waist, holding me against her side.
“You can’t unhear what I have to say. Okay?” I swallow as she tilts her head. A seriousness comes over her, and she nods. “I was looking for Dom. The elevator was out and I opened the stairwell door to his floor, but there was yelling.”
Just spill it, Dylan.
Alex grabs my hands with her free hand, holding on with silent support. She starts running her fingers through my hair with her other hand, grounding me.
“Dom was meeting with a client.” I’m talking too fast now. The words tumbling out. “He said—Alex, he said he murdered someone.”
Her hand stops moving through my hair. Just for a second. Then she keeps going, slower now. Deliberate.
“He murdered someone. A woman. At a club downtown.” My voice cracks. “He described it. Everything. Every—” I choke. “How he followed her into an alley. How he couldn’t find the woman he wanted so he just grabbed the first one who looked like her. How he—”
I can’t. I can’t say what he did to her.
“Okay.” Alex’s voice is steady, but I can feel her hand trembling in my hair. “Okay. And Dom?”
“Dom wasn’t shocked. Wasn’t surprised. He just—” I’m crying now. “He said he’d take care of it. Like it was a service. Like this is what he does. Alex, I can’t find any news about it. No missing person reports. Nothing. It’s like it never happened.”
“Who was the client?” Alex asks, her voice steady even though her hands aren’t.
I swallow. “That’s the problem. Neither of them said his name. But his voice. I’d know him anywhere,” I continue. “You were at a club downtown last night.”
“No.” She pulls back slightly. Hand frozen in my hair.
“You fit his description. Perfectly.” My voice breaks. “The woman he killed—Dahlia, maybe that was her name or the club—she looked like you. He settled for her because he couldn’t find who he really wanted.”
Alex’s hand drops from my hair. Goes to her throat.
Her fingers press against her neck. Like she’s testing if it’s still whole. Like she’s imagining what strangulation feels like.
“He was hunting you.” I’m crying harder now. “And you went into an alley with someone. What if it had been him? What if you’d asked the wrong man for a cigarette?”
“Stop.” Her voice is shaking. “Dylan, stop.”
But I can’t. “You fit his victim profile exactly. Any woman who looked like you was in danger. And I wasn’t there. I couldn’t—”
“I’m here.” She grabs my face with both hands. Her hands are cold. “Dylan, look at me. I’m here. I’m alive.”
But she’s shaking. We’re both shaking.
“For now.” The words slip out. “Alex, he’s killed before. Multiple times. He said I did it again. Dom has been covering for him. This is what Dom does. Body disposal for hire. Women are dying and Dom is charging more.”
I’m spiraling. I can feel it. My breath coming too fast.
She presses her palm flat against my chest. Right over my heart. Her other hand finds my wrist, fingers on my pulse.
“Breathe with me.” Her voice is steady but her hands aren’t. I can feel them shaking against my skin.
She breathes in. I try to follow.
Four counts in. Her chest rises. Mine follows.
Hold four. Her eyes locked on mine.
Four counts out. Her breath warm against my face because we’re that close.
Hold four. My heart rate slows. Her hand still pressed there. Feeling it.
We do it again. And again. Until I’m breathing normally. Until my heart stops trying to break through my ribs.
“There,” she whispers. “There you are.”
This is why I love her. Why I’ve loved her since we were twelve years old wishing on dandelions. She believes me without question. Without hesitation. Even when I doubt myself, she doesn’t doubt me.
“He said it with such conviction,” I finally manage. “I know in my gut he killed someone. I know in my soul Dom cleaned it up. So why do I feel like I’m hallucinating this?”
“Sometimes our mind protects us from scary things,” she whispers, still keeping one hand pressed to my chest. “I believe you. But I need you to be absolutely sure.”
“Positive,” I reply instantly. “He was crying. He said exactly how he murdered her. And Dom—he said he’d take care of it.”
Alex reaches for her tarot deck on the nightstand. The Tower card is still sitting face-up beside it.
“Let me just—” She shuffles while thinking. Not trying to pull a card. Just... processing.
And then a card flies out.
Not slips out. Not falls.
Flies.
It arcs through the air, flips twice, and lands on the floor between us.
Upright.
Perfectly upright.
Wedged in the crack between two floorboards, standing on its own.
Like someone—something—placed it there deliberately.
We both stare at it.
The Ten of Swords. A body lying face-down. Ten swords stabbed through the back. Blood pooling beneath.
Betrayal. Rock bottom. Brutal, violent ending.
“Holy shit,” Alex whispers.
I can’t speak. Can’t move. The card is standing there, held upright by the floorboards.
“Dylan.” Alex’s voice shakes. “Cards don’t just—they don’t do that. Not unless—”
“Unless what?”
“Unless something wants to be heard.” She picks it up carefully, like it might burn her. Her hand is trembling.
We sit there in silence. Neither of us can look away from the cards.
“So what does it mean?” I whisper.
“Violent death. Betrayal. Complete destruction.” She sets it down next to The Tower. “Someone murdered.”
Alex looks at the two cards. The Tower. The Ten of Swords. Upheaval and violent death.
Then she looks at me. Really looks at me. And I see her make a decision.
She wipes her eyes. Sits up straighter. That thing she does when she’s scared but refusing to show it.
“Okay.” She takes a breath. “Okay. We can’t fall apart. Not yet.”
“Alex—”
“No, listen.” Her voice steadies. Goes into planning mode. That accountant voice. “Falling apart doesn’t help that girl. It doesn’t keep you safe. It doesn’t stop the nameless murderer.”
She’s right. But her eyes are still scared.
“So what do we do?” I ask.
She grabs my hand. Squeezes hard. Like she’s holding on for both of us.
“You should tell the authorities,” she finally says.
I sit up, wiping my face. “I can’t go to the police.”
“Why not?”
“The NDA.” I’m crying again. Realizing I just told her everything.
“The same one I signed.”
That’s right. We both signed the same NDA.
“Everything I heard is protected. Attorney-client privilege. And even if I broke it—if I risked my entire career—there’s no body. No crime scene. Dom erased everything.”
“But you heard—”
“My word against a client and Dom Draven?” I shake my head. “Alex, there’s no evidence this ever happened. It’s like she never existed.”
“So we’re just—” Alex’s voice breaks. “We can’t do anything?”
“There is some girl out there, rotting,” I choke on my words. “A family looking for her. And they won’t find her. I can’t find her.”
“Did you check to see if anyone is missing that meets the description?” she asks.
“Nothing.” I shake my head. “It’s like a bad dream.”
“I haven’t had a cigarette in years.” Alex blows a raspberry. “But I’m really feeling the need for a menthol right now.”
The absurdity of it—menthol specifically—breaks through.
I laugh despite myself, and just like that I can take a deep breath. “I don’t know what to do.”
“I don’t know what to do either.” She reaches over, drinks her cereal milk, and sets it back down. “But I have an idea.”
“That was fast.”
“I’m an accountant. We’re efficient.” She taps my nose. “We investigate. Find out who she was. Build a case file.”
“How?” I ask. “We can’t just show up asking questions. If Dom finds out—”
“We’ll be careful.” Alex is already thinking. “Monitor missing persons reports every day. Check social media groups—Facebook, Reddit, the neighborhood pages. Try to find out if Dahlia was her name or just the club’s name. We document everything. Every detail you remember.”
My paralegal brain catches up. “Research. I can do research. If he’s killed before—and he has—there might be patterns. Other unsolved murders.”
“Yes.” Alex nods. “And when there’s another victim—because there will be—we’ll have proof of his pattern.”
“Evidence the police should have built.” I’m thinking like a lawyer now. “Multiple victims, same MO, same perpetrator.”
“One problem.” She frowns.
I already know what she’s going to say so I say it for her. “His name.”
“His name,” she parrots. “You said he talked about a fur coat. That’s a distinct detail.”
“I can scroll until I find him. I’d know his voice.”
“Good.” She twists her bottom lip. “We need to act normal.”
“For how long?”
“A week, maybe two. As long as we need. Months. Let things settle. See if anyone reports her missing. Keep our heads down.” Alex squeezes my hand. “And we document everything. Quietly. Carefully. Brick by brick.”
A whole week of pretending at work. Of seeing Dom and acting normal.
“I’m sorry,” I say suddenly. “I shouldn’t have told you. Now you know. Now you’re—”
“Stop.” Alex cuts me off. “You think I’d want you to carry this alone? You think I’d want you to protect me from the truth?”
“But if Dom finds out you know—”
“Then we both better make sure he doesn’t find out.” She cups my face. “Dandelions grow through cracks in the pavement, remember? They wouldn’t give up. Then neither should we.”
I nod, wiping my eyes. “I can’t just sit here.”
“Get dressed,” Alex says, standing up. “We aren’t going to just sit here.”
“What?”
“We’re going to that alley by Dahlia’s. The stoop where he lit a cigarette, where she asked him for one.” She’s already pulling up Google Maps. “We find it during daylight. Look for anything Dom’s cleanup crew might have missed.”
“You think we’ll find something?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” She shrugs. “But we have to try. And checking the alley now is safer than going straight to the club asking questions.”
“Right now?” I double-check.
She glances at the clock, then back to me. “Yes. Right now. We take separate Ubers. Leave our phones here—just in case Dom can track them.”
She’s already thinking like an investigator.
“Alright. Get dressed.”
I don’t move from my spot, my mind won’t shut the hell up. Processing. Planning. Worrying about every way this could go wrong.
Alex marches back in the room and grabs my ankles then yanks.
“Alex—what the fuck—”
I slide off the bed, land on my ass on the floor with a thump.
“Ow.”
“You were spiraling.” She looks down at me, hands on her hips. “Now you’re on the floor. Can’t spiral on the floor.”
“That’s not how that works.”
“It’s working right now.”
I blink up at her. She’s right. I’ve stopped spiraling.
Five minutes ago I was sobbing into her lap about witnessing a murder confession. Now I’m on my bedroom floor and Alex is standing over me like a yoga instructor who’s done with my shit.
“This is why I need you,” I say.
“I know.” She grins. Offers her hand. “Now get up and get ready.”
Less than twenty-four hours ago, I was organizing discovery documents in the stacks.
Now I’m investigating a serial killer.
And my best friend is risking everything to help me.
I don’t know if that makes us brave or stupid.
Probably both.
I get up and start getting dressed.