Jack.
Jack.
Jack.
There’s a humming in my ears. Stephan’s lips continue to move, explaining his topic, but I can’t hear anything but my own breathing. When the room comes back into focus, everyone is packing their stuff away to leave. “Liz? Are you coming?”
“Yeah,” I whisper, stuffing my crap into my backpack and darting from the room.
We’re only a couple feet into the corridor when someone calls out, “Ms. West.” A man I recognize from the day Abigail’s body was discovered. He was the officer in the sedan. “Cover the body.”
“Yes?”
Stephan pats my shoulder to signal his departure. I want to chase after him to rescue me from whatever it is this detective wants. The older man looks tired. Heavy bags sit under his eyes, creases pulling at the corners. He reaches his hand out for me to shake. It’s cold and clammy. The urge to scrub my palm down my coat is overwhelming. “I’m Detective Barnett. I’m speaking with Abigail Cane’s friends.”
“We weren’t friends,” I blurt out, halting his sentence.
Concern tugs down his brow. “Well,…I was told you sat next to her in class.”
“By who?” I scowl.
“I’m sorry?”
“Who told you I sat next to her? It wasn’t a choice: we’re just two people in the same class.” Why am I so defensive about this?
“All the same, with you sitting next to her, maybe you overheard any conversations she may have had. Any indication she was anxious, scared in the days before her death?”
“She was just Abigail.” I shrug. “I’m sorry, Detective. I have no helpful information.”
“You never know what might be useful. It can be something small that doesn’t seem important. When was the last time you saw Ms. Cane?”
“There’s lipstick on this mug. I want a new one.”
“Saturday. She came into the coffee shop I work at.” He jots that down in a notepad. The pen looks like something you’d get from a box of Scrabble or Ikea.
“Was she alone?” I try to bring that day back. Her face is like a neon light in my brain.
“There’s lipstick on this mug. I want a new one. You should really make an effort to ensure you only serve from clean mugs. It’s a health hazard.” Pouting ruby red lips. A petite frame. A curtain of auburn hair.
“I’m not sure. I think she was with people.”
“People or a person?”
“I don’t know. It was busy. I don’t really pay attention. The faces blur into one.” Liar. He watches me as I fidget, biting on my nails. “Is there anything else, Detective?”
Pulling out his wallet, his badge flashes as he pulls a card and hands it to me. “If you remember anything else.”
“Do you know who killed her?” I ask, the phantom scars burning my hand.
He offers a tight smile. “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
A pale, lifeless body. Blood, blood, blood.
“Don’t take too long, Detective. No one deserves what happened to her.”
I hate the dead hours between my day finishing and bed. I need to exhaust myself if I have any chance of a dreamless sleep. I check the fridge for food, my stomach growling in hunger. There’s nothing but leftovers.
Pacing the floor, I stare into the window of the apartment across from us. The lights are out. The window is still open. It’s just a reflection staring back at me. The nothingness is torture. It leaves room for too much thinking.
“You going out tonight?” I call down the hall, getting an answering grunt from Charlotte’s room. Thanks. That clears things up. I feel like I’ve been drinking energy drinks and bubbles are traveling through my bloodstream. “I’m going for a run,” I call out, grabbing my running shoes.
“You sure that’s wise?” Charlotte pokes her head around her bedroom door.
“I’ll be fine,” I tell her, pushing up my sleeves.
“What if there’s a killer out there?”
“There are lots of killers everywhere,” I snap, pinning her with a stony glare. Slipping on my headphones, I leave without another word.
My aunt would hate that I run in the evenings. “It’s not safe. Nowhere will ever be safe.” I hear her in my mind as clear as if she were walking alongside me. I know my head is trying to warn me, but if I don’t tire my mind, it will hold me hostage all night. The neighbor’s door above slams closed as I descend the stairs. I wonder if he struggles with quieting his mind too. We should introduce ourselves. I’m dying to see who he is, but terrified he won’t live up to the version of him I’ve created. I like having the illusion, the fantasy. Without it, I wouldn’t pursue him. I’d never allow myself the moments in my room. The thought flees as fast as it came, and before I know it, I’m stomping the curb.
The misting of rain glistens under the streetlights. Cars passing make the world seem safe. It’s still moving, people milling around, living their lives. I push on, tiring my legs, forcing myself forward even when my calves burn and demand a reprieve. The rain hurts my skin as it tears across my face, but I don’t stop. I run. And run.
My lungs burn, screaming for a break. I slow my pace until I’m at walking speed. Condensation creates clouds around me. Fog creeps across the field to the park, coating the grass. Streetlights flicker above me, making the hairs rise on my arms, the trees rustling with the power of the wind whispering to each other. Nighttime has fully claimed the sky darkening my surroundings.
I stretch my limbs and turn back. The streets have emptied. There’s no one around, only my heartbeat pounding in my ears to keep me company. Fear begins to bloom like a flower seeking the sun within me. Every sound and shadow has my mind firing off. Tugging out my earphones to hear any impending danger, I internally berate myself
