Page 42 of The Eleventh Hour
“Dad couldn’t get hold of her. He didn’t send anyone. They are coming tomorrow.”
I look back in confusion. “But who?”
River stalks in and looks around. “Is anything missing?”
The question spurs me into action, and I race around my apartment.
“It’s all here.” Including my go-bag and a letter placed on the freshly changed sheets of my bed.
“Weird.” River scowls.
“It must’ve been the old lady I sometimes pay. I’ll have to make sure I pay her,” I suggest, trying to feign calm.
River just shakes his head in disgust. “You, my dear, darling oldest sister, are a terrible liar.”
I want to scream, ‘no, I’m not, you have no idea how many lies I spin. I just can’t stomach anymore’. But instead, I shrug and look around at the sparkling space. It smells like dahlias. I’m going to need to go a bit crazy with my incense sticks to get rid of the scent. Worse still, all my window coverings are gone. The entire apartment is awash in light.
Gideon is gone.
“Right, I’m going. You can pay me back and help me escape from the Demon Queen at the next ‘let’s get River happily settled’ do.”
I slap my hand into his. “Deal.”
He presses a kiss to my forehead, turns, and leaves me alone.
I wait until I see his car drive away, and then I pace into my bedroom and open the letter.
Happy Anniversary
My stomach seizes, making me want to bring back all the food I ate, and I scurry to my calender I keep inside the closet and look at the dates.
What is today? What day have I forgotten?
It takes hours of staring into space, trying to remember. But it finally comes to me. Today is the day we met. The day he saved me from that bully at school. The day I first started noticing him. He always liked to tease me that I was awful at remembering dates. He always celebrated every single one.
The anniversary no one but Louis could know.
But that’s impossible.
Isn’t it?
Jax
The remains of a dream where I’m walking in a park, holding the hand of an old man that I love, slips away as the knocks get louder. I groan and check my phone. No messages or missed calls.
The knocking suddenly makes sense in my brain, and I scramble up and walk to the front door.
I pull it open and freeze. The blood drains from my face, and I start to weave as the world falls apart, rebuilds, and falls apart again.
“Detective Descario, Detective Wayland, it’s been a while.” Brittle, that’s what I am, brittle. I’m spun glass stretching too far.
Detective Maria Descario is one of the smartest and most ruthless women I’ve ever met, and she’s had a hard-on for me since she met me. There is nothing this woman wants more in her life than to nail me for the murders of those twenty-one people. She’s shorter than me, with thick, glossy black hair cut neatly, and deep brown eyes that see far too much. She fires questions like bullets, uncaring of the damage they leave.
I’m slightly terrified of her.
Detective Wayland is quiet, leaving it to Descario to do most of the speaking. He’s a tall, bald man with shrewd blue eyes. He’s that person who lets you talk until you screw yourself into a hole. Everything about him screams power and strength. I imagine you’d feel safe if he was working on a case for you.
To me, he’s an unwelcome blast from the past, and there was never anything comforting about the cold look Detective Wayland would send me.