Chapter 3
Evelyn
Istared at the FDNY card Parker left on the table until I heard my name being called.
“Evelyn Howard.”
An officer stood where Parker once was, notepad in hand, waiting for my response.
“Yes, and you are?”
“Officer Grant. I’m here to take your statement. Can you tell me what happened?”
There wasn’t much to tell, and little faith that the police would help me. They hadn’t done much for me when Celeste was murdered.
“I woke up to a firefighter telling me that my house was on fire. Now he’s just told me that it was intentional.”
The officer wrote something in his notepad. “We’ll be collaborating with the fire department on this investigation. I’m sure that information will be in the report. Do you have any idea who might be trying to harm you?”
“Charles Gibbons. I’m pretty sure he sent this message to me. I’d like to petition to be put into protective custody.” I rushed out, handing my phone to Officer Grant.
He tutted, then gave it back and made another note.
“Okay. I’m going to go back to the precinct and make some calls about this Mr. Charles Gibbons. I’ll see if I can get a judge to sign off on your request.”
Officer Grant tore off a piece of paper that had my name, file number, and the date of the incident on it before he gave me a brief nod and turned towards the door.
His exit was loud. The silence that replaced him was deafening.
Opening my phone, I read the message again.
[Unknown]: You have 48 hours to leave New York.
My bare feet moved back and forth across the cold, hard floor, pacing as I tried to make sense of my predicament.
I had no house and no money. A few months ago, I’d had to sell Cellie’s car to pay for the mortgage on the house, and now it was all gone. Where was I supposed to go?
There was no time to stop and fill out forms or file claims. The worst part of it all was that I didn’t have a single person to call because I’d pushed everyone away.
My phone lit up as a call came through from my neighbor, Vanessa.
She lived a couple of houses down from us and had probably seen everything from her lawn.
I had a couple of classes with her boyfriend, Romero, and he basically lived with her, so they’d come for dinner sometimes when we studied for an exam.
I sat on the bed and contemplated answering or not.
I didn’t have it in me to explain what happened again, but I answered anyway.
“Hey Vanessa, this is kind of a bad time.”
“Holy shit, Evelyn, are you okay?” she shrieked, causing me to pull the phone from my ears to keep my hearing intact.
“I’m not hurt, just homeless,” I said, biting back a groan. “The hospital wants to keep me here another night, but I can’t stay here. I need to see if there's anything left for me at the house.”
I’d stashed away a small piece of hope that there was something salvageable for me, a tiny piece of my past, of happier days to hold onto.
“Do you want us to come get you? Romero and I can come scoop you.”
“I don’t want you to go out of your way for me. I’ll figure it out,” I replied with as much faux bravado as I could muster.
“You’ll stay with us tonight, and then you can figure it out.” Vanessa smacked her gum on the other end of the line.
One night.
I would stay with Vanessa and Romero for one night, then I’d leave New York behind.
“Okay, I’ll stay. I’m at Johnson Medical—I’ll start working on getting discharged. Thank you so much, Vanessa.”
“That’s what neighbors are supposed to do. See you in an hour.”
After she hung up, I picked up the hospital phone to request to be discharged.
A nurse was kind and brought me a pair of canvas shoes to leave in.
Dr. Singh returned a few moments later and reminded me that I was leaving against medical instructions.
I nodded along, mentally cataloging symptoms he said I should look out for, and signed the papers for my release.
Vanessa and Romero were parked outside by the time I made it through the hospital’s revolving doors. I can’t help but scan the parking lot for any signs of Charles as I jogged to the waiting car.
Once I was seated in the backseat we drove off, the hospital fading in the rearview mirror. It took twenty minutes for us to be on our block and in front of their house.
Walking into their house felt like walking into the past. I saw Celeste and Vanessa adding more tequila than the recipe called for on Margarita night, the four of us gathered around the kitchen island, studying for our exams during finals week.
“When we heard the sirens and saw the truck at your place, we tried calling you,” Romero said, setting his keys and phone on the kitchen island. “But then we saw them taking you in the ambulance.”
“I wanted to try calling you last night, but Romero convinced me not to, girl,” Vanessa continued as she pulled out a few glasses from the cabinet.
“Thank you, guys, for checking in with me. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do.” My choices were limited, and if they hadn’t offered me a place to stay tonight, I’d probably be sleeping on a park bench.
“It’s all good.” Romero smiled as he pulled out a chair at the island and gestured for me to sit.
Vanessa shuffled around the kitchen, opening the cabinets and refrigerator before declaring we were ordering pizza from Nick’s on Gun Hill Rd.
I watched them busying themselves, waiting for the right moment to ask their questions. I knew they were coming.
“So, what happened?” Vanessa asked, taking the seat beside me.
“Someone set our house on fire.”
Her eyes darted to Romero’s. “Do you think—”
“Vanessa,” Romero grumbled.
Two years ago, when I accused Charles of murdering my sister and trying to do the same to me, no one believed me. He had an alibi when they questioned him back then. Several of his colleagues and family members vouched for him.
Anyone who knew our history knew we were as thick as thieves. Some people assumed I had been too grief-stricken to think clearly. I guess I could add Romero and Vanessa to that list.
Instead of sitting in the unpleasant moment, I excused myself to the bathroom. Staring in the mirror, I took a deep breath, shaking out my arms on the exhale.
I would stay here for the night, and tomorrow I would call the police.
My hopes weren’t high, but I didn’t want to repeat my mistakes. I had to advocate for myself.
Spying a hair tie on the sink counter, I snagged it, running my fingers through my hair until it was piled in a bun. I took one last look at myself, then left the bathroom, attempting to be present even though my mind was a million miles away.
The rest of the evening went smoothly. We talked about Romero’s job at the local bank and Vanessa’s decision to go to grad school. They kept the conversation light until the pizza arrived, then we all ate in silence while watching Captain America.
I must’ve dozed off during the movie because my eyes shot open at the sound of a loud bang. Their living room was blanketed in darkness except for the light on the cable box.
I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling my heart raging beneath it. The loud noise comes again, sending me to my feet. I raced toward their front door, just as Vanessa appeared in front of it.
She took one look through the window of the door and swung it open with a gasp.
Romero was hunched over the railing of the steps with blood trailing down the side of his face from his head. He stepped forward, swaying into the doorway, almost losing his balance. Vanessa and I rushed to his side to hold him up and led him to the living room, placing him across the sofa.
“What the hell happened to you?”
“Baby, I’m okay. Sit down, please,” Romero grunted.
Vanessa took a seat on the couch and placed his head in her lap. “Romero answer the question,” she spat as she examined the wound on his head.
“He came out of nowhere. I was walking from the train station, and he hit me with something hard.”
“Did you see what he looked like?” Vanessa pressed on.
My phone vibrated in my pocket, distracting me from his answer.
[Unknown]: I love catching up with old friends.
[Unknown]: Maybe next time I’ll surprise Vanessa.
[Unknown]: Did you have a nice chat with Officer Grant?
The buzzing in my ears goes from a soft hum to a roar as his message becomes clear.
I fucked up. I should’ve kept my mouth shut.
The little hope I had for myself was extinguished. I was truly on my own.
Vanessa had gotten up from the couch and returned with a damp towel. She started clearing the blood from his face. Romero tilted his head slightly in my direction as she cleaned his neck.
His gaze was unwavering. Romero knew this wasn’t a coincidence, and the hollow pit in my stomach grew.
I didn’t have any words of comfort or hope for them. I couldn’t promise that something like this wouldn’t happen again.
The truth was that Charles would probably keep hurting people to get what he wanted.
Me.
He could easily walk in here and take me, but he wouldn’t. That wouldn’t be enough.
I couldn’t look at Vanessa and Romero anymore without feeling sick. Pressure built behind my eyes as I excused myself and made a beeline to the bathroom. I sat on the lid of the toilet and contemplated my choices.
Staying here was no longer an option, and talking to the police proved more harmful than helpful.
My nails dug into the palm of my hands as I struggled to keep the panic attack at bay, doing anything to stay present instead of spiraling to a place without hope.
I could stay at a shelter for the night. Perhaps they would have a few things I could take with me.
Maybe I could borrow money from Romero and Vanessa for the train fare?
That felt like too much of an “ask” after bringing hardship to their lives after they took me in.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and hung my head between my legs.
This isn’t the moment to be prideful, Ev.
When I opened my eyes, I spotted the FDNY card the firefighter handed me beneath my foot.
He said he had resources. Perhaps he could help me. Calling him could be the first step to figuring this out. The second step involved me leaving this bathroom and putting my stupid pride aside.
Vanessa and Romero tried to stay in touch after Celeste died, but I’d avoided them at every turn. Now I was about to ask them for more help than I deserved.
The moment I opened the bathroom door, I bumped into Romero. His green eyes looked tired, and I could still see the faint stain of blood on his olive skin.
He didn’t speak at first. He just looked down at me.
“He said, ‘Be careful, or your house may be next,’” Romero murmured.
“I’m so, so—”
Romero opened the palm of my hand and placed a hundred-dollar bill in it.
“Don’t apologize. Just leave.” He shook his head. “I can’t have anything happening to Vanessa or this house. Take care of yourself, Ev.”
I watched him walk away, speechless, and stuffed the money in my pocket.
Pulling out my phone, I dialed the number on the card.