6
Work goes as well as expected that afternoon.
Once Birdie and I sifted through what we could and got out of there, she dropped me off at the hospital and after cleaning up my face in the staff room, I went about my shift.
The only person to question how much makeup I wore was Greta, the charge nurse, but I just told her I didn’t sleep well and it was covering the bags under my eyes and not the massive bruise.
I know full well she didn’t believe me.
By the time I’m done I’m dead on my feet and have forgotten that Birdie dropped me off that afternoon.
I contemplate taking the bus until I see a black sedan parked in the ambulance bay where it shouldn’t be.
I don’t recognize the man in the front seat but something about it rubs me the wrong way.
I whip out my phone and text her quickly.
CRESS
Can you pick me up?
BIRDIE
I’m covered in paint, I’ll send Rafe.
Twenty minutes later, and after a coffee I didn’t need to drink at ten p.m., Rafe pulls up on his motorcycle. It’s a noisy death trap built from chrome and expensive parts. I know this because it’s all Koa and Riggs complained about when they built it for him before graduation.
“You could have brought an actual car,” I say tightly as he pulls his helmet off and the hospital lights catch in his big blue eyes as he flashes that sharp smile at me.
“Where’s the fun in that?” he asks, extending the helmet in his hand in my direction. He’s in a linen shirt and jeans that definitely aren’t appropriate for riding his motorcycle but scolding him feels weird at the moment.
“Where’s yours?” I ask when he doesn’t move to grab a spare. Rafe cocks his head to the side and gives me a look that screams don’t ask silly questions. So I shut my mouth and climb on the back.
He makes sure I’m hanging on tightly before he rips the bike from the curb. He’s going too fast for my liking as he weaves in and out of traffic. I have to close my eyes to enjoy it, the wind whipping around us and his body shifting slightly to allow for the motion and the corners.
It’s been a long while since I’ve been on a motorcycle and it’s exactly how I remember it. Freeing. The garage is dark when we arrive, only the dim lights of the kitchen pour from the house onto the driveway.
“Murphy made roast,” Rafe tells me as he cuts the engine, “I’ll be in soon.”
I stare up at the house, terrified to even go in as Rafe walks the bike inside and leaves me alone. The last time I was in that house it ended up with broken dishes and me not speaking to Riggs.
“You can do it,” his voice grumbles from behind me.
“I didn’t know you were out here, lurking around in the dark.” I roll my eyes.
“I’m not the one lurking,” he says and does a circle around me as he cleans his hands from grease. “You can stay out here, I don’t really care. But let Rafe know and I’ll have him run out food.”
“I’m not a coward.” I snap at him.
“Could have fooled me.” Is the last thing he says to me before climbing the back steps and wandering inside. I look around, my eyes landing on the open garage door and I contemplate going inside but something stubborn in me won’t let him win so I climb the stairs and step into the kitchen.
It’s exactly how I remember it. It hasn't been touched since the house was built, except for a few appliance upgrades. The cream walls and green cupboards mixed with the wooden countertops and a farmhouse sink.. The kitchen table still doesn’t have a single matching chair and the island was starting to crack across the edges and corners from over use.
Birdie was sitting shoveling cereal into her mouth beside Murphy who was on his computer eating slow bites of potatoes. Neither look up from what they’re doing but Riggs slides a plate across the island at me and sets a can of pop beside it.
I take it without saying a word and find a spot at the table. The cracked salt and pepper shakers in the shapes of cows are still in the middle of the table with the placemat that Murphy knitted for Riggs’s birthday in the fourth grade. It’s ugly and lopsided but it’s always been there.
The first bite is shocking. “This is incredible,” I say with my mouth still full as I look up at him. “You made this.”
“Slow cooker,” Murphy says, typing away. “Still not good enough to get her to stop eating fruit loops though,” he grumbles and Birdie gives him a dirty look before kicking his shin under the table. “Don’t,” he snaps.
“Or what?” Birdie clips back.
“I’ll beat your ass,” Murphy threatens, and Birdie drops her spoon.
“Yeah okay, noodle arms.” She flicks a soggy fruit loop on his computer and he finally looks up just long enough to shoot her a death glare.
“Run,” he growls, and Birdie loses it laughing before taking off out of her chair so fast it clangs to the floor and makes me jump.
Murphy follows her through the house with impressive speed, and you can hear the moment she’s caught because the sounds of them wrestling and Murphy screaming for mercy echo down from upstairs.
“Breathe,” Riggs says as he sits down, and I realize I’d stopped.
The commotion, the rough housing. My brain and body still haven’t settled from the other night and I’m only now realizing that.
I ignore him and start to eat again, working quietly to slow the way my heart races as he starts to shovel food into his mouth beside me.
“Can you just stop for a second?” I ask him angrily, and he pauses to stare at me. “I’m going to stab you with my fork if you don't.”
“Sure you will,” Riggs teases as Rafe wanders into the house.
“Hey so I think I figured something out,” he says, dropping onto a chair and throwing Koa’s journal on the table with a soft thud. “I don’t think he owed anyone.” This makes both of us stop and look at him. “Where’s Murph?”
“Here,” he comes down the back set of stairs with a red face and bruising bite mark on his forearm followed by a satisfied looking Birdie.
“If you were wondering, he got his ass kicked,” she says, sliding into her chair and going back to her cereal milk.
“Look up these four names,” Rafe pushes the book toward him.
Murphy looks around for his glasses and Birdie reaches over without looking and pulls them from the pocket of the plaid shirt he’s wearing over his t-shirt.
“You’re still a picky dipshit.” He snags them from her.
“You’re still a weak pussy,” she hums.
Murphy and Birdie bicker quietly as he cross checks the names. “Uh, first guy is dead.”
Rafe smiles.
“So is the second guy…” Murphy scowls. “All these people are dead.”
“What?” Riggs sets down his fork finally and Murphy shrugs.
“I mean I can keep checking the book, but all of these people are dead…” Murphy swallows tightly and keeps going back and forth between the book and the laptop.
“Like, all of them, you guys. This is insane. Drowning, murder, suicide, house fire, shooting… One guy was found run over, multiple times. His intestines were all over the road, look at this.” He turns the laptop to expose the crime scene photos and my stomach churns violently enough for me to lose my appetite.
“Murph.” Riggs shakes his head.
“Sorry, Cress,” Murphy grimaces as he turns the computer away.
“It’s okay,” I swallow tightly. “What does it mean?”
“It means whatever Koa was doing is a lot more twisted than just money,” Birdie comments. “But what?”
“I think he was the bookie…” Rafe says and we all look at him confused. “I think this book is the money these people owed. Not him, but whoever he was working for.”
“You wanna tell me Koa was beating the shit out of people for money? It’s Koa, he’d never hurt a fly.” I hiss, “these people are dead!”
They all go still and I realize that they were comfortable with it. That death isn’t something that fazes them, it's the secrets eating them up. Murphy tips his head to the side with a little apology in the form of a shrug.
“This makes no sense. If it’s not someone after Koa for money, why are they coming after me?” I ask when no one says anything.
“Don’t know,” Murphy answers, “but…” he hums, spinning the laptop to show me a stream of cameras from our neighbours houses.
Three men enter the house just after one in the morning.
The storm makes it hard to see their faces but about an hour later they all stumble out and load back into the same car I’d been seeing for weeks.
“That’s them,” I say, instinctively looking at Riggs. “How did you do that?” I turn back to Murphy as Riggs remains cold.
“Don’t ask him that,” Rafe groans as Murphy runs into a long winded sentence about code and how flimsy most security systems’ firewalls are.
“I can’t pull facial recognition without some serious power. It’ll take time, and I’ll have to take a trip downtown,” he groans. “But do you remember the license plate? You had to have seen it a dozen times.” Murphy says.
“BJK6390.” There’s no hesitation. I only needed to see it once. Photographic memory. Back when we were teenagers Koa and Riggs would have me remember license plates, I never knew why back then but everything about my life is starting to make a lot more sense now.
“That’s my girl,” Riggs huffs under his breath, and I stare at him until he feels awkward enough to rise from the table and take my plate to the kitchen. I reach into my purse and pull out a foil-wrapped piece of gum to chew on.
“It’s not registered to anyone on this list, but that’s expected. They showed up to rough you up, they wouldn’t want to be caught…” Murphy trails off and starts typing again. “Hah, idiots.”
Birdie leans over and looks at the laptop with a giggle. “Wow.”
“They paid for parking,” he says, “at East Valley.” He looks up at me and raises an eyebrow. It’s the hospital I work at.
“They would go to the closest hospital. It makes sense,” Rafe scoffs. “What did you do to him that made them swerve off their plans?”
“She fucking stabbed one of them,” Birdie laughs.
“You what?” Riggs drops the plates in the sink and they crash together loudly.
“Blood everywhere. She must have nicked an artery or something.” Birdie lifts her bowl to her lips, watching Riggs over my shoulder. I turn to see him completely tensed and gripping the countertop as he stares out the window.
“I got him in the shoulder,” I tell him quietly. “He only bled because he pulled it out.”
Riggs looks back at me, his jaw tight. I know if we were alone he’d have something to say about it but he swallows the concern, the regret. I watch his throat bob as he does.
“Also, I’m pretty sure they’re still following me,” I add and they all stare at me in disbelief.