Chapter 2 Reyna #3
I have no intention of taking our relationship beyond the realm of friends, which I’ve made clear to him numerous times. In fact, I’ve said it, word for word.
Lawrence, I think we should just be friends.
Lawrence, I’m not looking for a relationship.
Lawrence, thank you for the gift that I am incapable of eating, but we’re still not happening.
Maybe I’m a bad person for not doing the right thing and cutting ties to save him the heartbreak, and maybe it’s my fault he’s getting mixed signals.
We hung out a bit after we realized that we were both sad and traumatized and could bond over our shared misery.
But that’s where our compatibility ends—other than the fact that we have a shared interest in, well, dead people.
“Thank you.” I awkwardly hide the packet in my satchel before refocusing on the pictures. “Why do you think this is my guy?”
Lawrence clears his throat and shrugs. “It gives off the vibe.”
The vibe. He doesn’t believe me at all. This man really is just happy to entertain me.
I flip through the crime-scene photos. It’s a gruesome sight, no doubt about it. But it doesn’t look staged. Eight stab wounds, bruises, and several broken bones. It’s a crime of passion more than anything.
Damn it. “It’s not him.”
“Are you sure?”
“It’s too messy. See here?” I point to the picture of the victim’s face, which is black and blue with a boatload of red.
“He would never do something like that unless he’s trying to make a statement that involves the face.
Maybe gouging out the eyes or pulling teeth would be more his style.
He’d make it symbolic somehow. This is a simple beating. ”
Lawrence frowns at me. “There’s nothing simple about it. This man was brutally murdered, Reyna.”
My lips part. Right. I forgot that I’d desensitized myself to death. I’m meant to be mortified by this. “Sorry, yes. It’s awful. But… usually, people are killed like this for a reason, right?”
“Uh, yeah. Sure,” he agrees, though his lips curl in disapproval.
I clear my throat. Time to change the topic. I pull up a photo on my phone. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something since you’ve lived here your whole life.” I think. “Does this building look familiar to you?”
I have a total of five photos of my father, all taken at different times during my life, except this one. He must be in his early twenties here—I’m guessing. It’s hard to tell because it’s of his profile. I wouldn’t have realized it was him if Mom hadn’t kept it.
I found it underneath Mom’s bed after she’d died. It’s the only lead I have.
Lawrence squints at the screen as I zoom in on the high ceiling.
All I’ve been able to figure out is that it’s a vaulted room of some sort.
The marble ceiling has a honeycomb-like pattern with different symbols painted in each hexagonal shape.
The picture’s quality isn’t clear enough for me to figure out what the designs are.
The door behind him also has a filigree design that I can’t make out.
My stomach sinks as Lawrence pales. Taking a big step back, he clears his throat and shakes his head. “Nope. Never seen it before.”
I frown, moving forward. “Lawrence—”
“But if I did know where that was, I’d stay the hell away from it.”
Unease ripples down my spine. He knows where it is. I’ve been searching for this place for months. I’ve asked so many people and spent even more time searching the internet. Nothing.
Both of my parents were taken from me before I had the chance to say goodbye. Learning about my dad is my chance to get a part of him back. If I get to know him, maybe I’ll be able to love him the same way Mom did, and understand all the times she cried over him.
He might have been my father, but he wasn’t present enough to be my dad.
He loved his work more than anything else, and I deserve to at least know what he did—not the shitty lie he told me about being a businessman.
As a kid, I imagined him working for the CIA, and that’s why he never stayed for more than a day or two per year.
Who knows, those childlike suspicions could be true.
That there’s something more to it. I feel it in my bones. Mom and Dad hid something from me. They begged me never to go to Cresswell, and threw me a Just trust us when I’d ask why.
When I lost the only family I had, I started searching for the one I was meant to have.
I move closer. “Lawrence, please, if you know something—anything—tell me. You can trust me. You know you can.”
“No, Reyna. I mean it,” he presses. “Chasing a serial killer is bad enough. You leave that to rest, and don’t ever ask me about it again. I’ll help you with your guy, but that’s it.”
I’ve never seen Lawrence this serious before. He’s been bending the law for me for months, and this is where he draws the line? A picture? What could possibly be so bad about a damn building?
I’m not about to lie through my teeth and make him promises I won’t keep. Still, I nod to keep the peace. This isn’t over.
My parents are gone, along with the secrets they kept from me. I’ll keep digging until I hit bone. I don’t always believe that the dead should stay buried.