Chapter 31
Chapter
Thirty-One
HER
I lift my uniform shirt to see the scar underneath.
I touch the raised skin, tracing it with my finger. It’s a reminder of that day—the day everything changed. I wince, recalling the white-hot sting of Damon’s knife piercing my skin. I’m fortunate it wasn’t deep. And I’m really fortunate I wasn’t conscious when he stitched me up.
For over a week, I was in a fog of painkillers while my body healed. During that time, Damon cleaned the apartment, including the blood stains. He also told me about his traumatic past and how he’d sewn his own flesh back together the night his brother was killed.
I consider myself lucky to be alive, for better or worse. He’s still by my side and has made it clear that he has no plans to leave me. Not now, not ever. I’m convinced that even if he dies, he’ll haunt me to the grave.
I adjust my ponytail in the mirror, tucking away a few loose strands. After washing and drying my hands, I leave the bathroom to find Zoey standing behind the counter, showing the new hire the ropes. I smile before joining them.
“Hey, how’s it going?” I ask, noting how Andy fidgets.
“Pretty good so far,” Zoey answers, tilting her head toward him. “Andy’s getting the hang of things. He’s a quick learner.”
Andy grins proudly, a bit of color rising to his cheeks. He’s young, barely out of high school. “I haven’t exactly done anything like this before. But Zoey has been an outstanding teacher. She makes things easy to understand.”
She offers him a gentle nod. “It’s not so hard when you have someone as motivated as you are. You’re doing great.”
Lately, Zoey has really stepped up. After the Fright Night Festival, Brian has had a revolving door of new employees. With Jen gone and Nick and I off mourning, Zoey has been training fresh faces and helping to pick up the slack around the store. I’m proud of her, though I can’t help but feel a pang of guilt.
Nothing has been the same since Jen’s been gone.
“Glad to hear it!” I say with more enthusiasm than I feel. “I’m gonna go check inventory and do some paperwork. Let me know if you guys need anything.”
I force a smile before going to the break room, my mind swimming with thoughts of my departed friend. I still don’t understand why Damon had to kill her. She wasn’t a bad person like many of the others. Totally against his MO. The guilt still eats at me. On some level, I still blame myself for it. But he is a killer, so why am I still in disbelief?
And Grace—goddamn it. He not only used her, but he also dated her. His recent admission to me about her keeps repeating in my mind. The icy tone in his voice as he confirmed my suspicions. She died because he considered her no longer valuable to him. All because he wanted to reach me, to have total access to my life.
Would I kill like that—throwing people away like trash as if they’re nothing?
I unpack a box and sort the contents, hoping it will be enough to distract me. However, the thoughts stubbornly persist. So I grab my bag from the nearby chair and fish out my Discman, realizing I haven’t used it much since summer. It feels like such a long time ago now.
I put on my headphones and let the sound of the music wash away my doubts. The mix of synth beats, heavy bass lines, and Trent Reznor’s moody vocals provides a much-needed escape. As I finish cataloging the contents of the box and move on to the next, someone taps me on the shoulder, startling me.
“Sorry for spooking you,” she says, motioning to the door as I take off my headphones. “But there’s someone that wants to talk to you.”
My brow quirks, paranoia creeping in. “Who?”
“Don’t know.” She shrugs, then leans down close to my ear. “But I’d be careful. He looks a little … dodgy.”
Reluctantly, I set aside the Discman and stand. I walk back into the main part of the store, where a familiar man stands in front of the counter while Andy busies himself with stocking the shelves. Cautiously, I approach Detective Bryant.
“You wanted to talk to me?” I ask tentatively.
“Yes.” With his eyes shielded by dark sunglasses, I struggle to read his expression. “I was just in the area and thought I’d drop by. Do you have a few minutes to spare?”
I’m unsure why he’s here—but I don’t think it’s for anything good. “I’m on the clock, but …” I need to choose my words carefully. “Why are you here?”
He takes a long pause before speaking. “I’m here to ask about the murder of Jennifer Breck,” he answers, removing his sunglasses. “I believe there’s more to the story than you’re letting on.”
I try not to give him any sign that I’m rattled by the question. “You’re a long way from your jurisdiction, detective,” I say.
“You never followed up with the Sturgis police,” he points out, fixing his gaze on me.
“That’s because I told them everything I know,” I lie, barely containing my voice.
His gaze stays fixed on me, and the intensity of it cuts through me. Every nerve in my body is on edge. Does he suspect something? I’m almost certain he does, but I doubt there’s anything he can do to prove his suspicions. He’s about to speak when the bell chimes and a customer enters .
“Do you need anything else?” I ask, putting on my best customer service voice.
He says nothing, just shakes his head, and bids me farewell before leaving. As soon as he leaves, I exhale, my heart thumping heavily against my ribcage. Even though I didn’t feed him any information, I still feel uneasy. There’s no telling what he’ll do next, or if he’ll come back again.
“What was that all about?” Zoey asks as she exits the break room.
I wave a hand at her dismissively and glue on a smile. “Nothing to worry about. Do you mind taking care of any customers while I finish up inventory?”
If she notices something is off, she thankfully doesn’t prod—which is almost uncharacteristic of the Zoey from just a few months ago. “No problem,” she replies, going behind the counter. “I always hated doing that boring shit, anyway.”
Returning to the break room, I slide into the chair, the papers still spread out in front of me. I slip my headphones back on, restart the album, and continue with my inventory duty. But despite my efforts to avoid thinking about Detective Bryant, the feeling of unease still prickles my spine.
I spent the rest of the day in a daze, too caught up in my anxiety to be fully present. Zoey was a champ, fielding them while teaching Andy work protocol. She never nosed into my business, but I could tell by looking at her face that she was concerned.
By the end of my shift, I’m still just as anxious as when the detective came in. I try to keep a low profile, doing only what’s necessary before rushing out to the parking lot and getting into my car. Just as I’m about to pull out onto the road, something catches my eye: a nondescript black sedan with tinted windows parked across the street. Though I can’t see inside, I can’t help but feel like someone’s watching me.
Shivering, I drive away, stealing glances in the rearview mirror the entire ride home. I’m paranoid that the vehicle is following me, that it’s the detective determined to find out anything he can to tie the murders to me and Damon. I try to push the thought away, but it refuses to budge.
Once I’m inside my apartment, I close all the curtains and dim all the lights. I’m not sure if it’ll make a difference, but it makes me feel better. Then I turn on some music and attempt to distract myself with mindless tasks. Eventually, exhaustion takes over and I curl up in bed, drifting off into a restless sleep.
Unfortunately, my paranoia may be justified after all.
The sedan keeps appearing everywhere I go, for almost two weeks straight. It must be Detective Bryant tracking me. Maybe this is his way of pressuring me to talk before he finds something out, something that could put Damon and me behind bars. The thought of this life I’ve built with him—as messed up as it is—being destroyed terrifies me.
I can’t keep this up forever, being stalked by this bureaucratic asswipe.
When I enter my apartment after stopping at Tetra Brew, I find Damon already lounging on my couch, sparing me a glance as he watches a gory horror movie.
“Let me just cut to the chase,” he begins. “What’s wrong? You’ve been acting strange lately.”
I take off my coat and kick off my shoes, being careful not to spill the drinks in the takeout carrier I hold. “Someone’s been following me,” I say as I cross the room, setting the carrier on the coffee table.
His brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
“No matter where I go, this black sedan keeps showing up.” I grab one of the iced coffees and take a sip. “I feel like I’m losing my mind.”
He scrapes a hand through his hair and sighs. “Has anyone tried to talk to you at work?”
I nod. “Yeah, around the time that sedan started following me. Detective Bryant. You know, the one who’s also attached to Grace and Briar’s cases.”
“It’s probably him then,” he says, pounding a fist on the table. “Just like those FBI dickheads at work …”
I nearly choke on my drink. “FBI? You never said anything about the fucking FBI !”
“Yeah, about that … They asked to interview people at work a while ago. The ones who were at that news conference. Part of me didn’t want to acknowledge it as a big deal, but?— ”
“Why didn’t you tell me?!” I ask, anger bubbling up in my chest. “Is that why the detective is following me? Does he think I know something?” I pause for a beat, my rage bursting at the seams. “Do they suspect me of being involved?”
A thick silence settles between us before he speaks again. “I don’t know for sure, but it’s definitely possible they see you as a suspect.” Abruptly, he stands. “Don’t worry about it. I can handle Detective Bryant.”
As he moves to fetch his jacket, I catch him by the hand. “Don’t do anything stupid, Damon.”
“I won’t let them lock us away,” he says, gazing straight into my eyes. “I promise.” He leans in and kisses me on the cheek.
I watch as he snatches his jacket and walks out the door, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I can only hope that he’s right—that the two of us can avoid jail time. I have no idea what Damon has planned. But I do know one thing.
Everything has become a hell of a lot more complicated now.