“Lizzy,” Charlotte barks up at me from the below, the cat feeder behind her. “You’re crazy! I can’t believe you just run over here toward the mysterious man in our apartment!” she pants, her chest heaving from the exertion as she climbs the last couple stairs.
“Your guy friend is in there,” I remind her.
“So is some psycho,” she grinds out, tilting her head around the railing to look into our apartment.
“Is your light switch in the same place as mine?” Cat Guy asks.
“Back wall next to the door,” I tell him with a nod.
“Wait downstairs. If anything happens, go outside and wait for the police,” he enforces with punctuated hand movements.
“Shouldn’t we just all wait for the police together downstairs?” Charlotte begs in a whiny tone, tugging on my shirt. Ignoring her, Cat Guy goes toward the door. Slowly looking inside, he reaches around to flick on the light we didn’t turn off. Our apartment illuminates, the window coming into view. There’s no one there, but something small and white is stuck to the pane of glass. Cat Guy ventures farther inside, his stance defensive and slow. He picks up a wine bottle Charlotte must have left on the table and holds it like a weapon. If only he kept hold of the damn knife. He disappears from sight, and we wait, holding our breaths. Charlotte still hasn’t come all the way up the stairs.
“I’m scared,” she sobs, reaching out to tug on my sleeve. I reach a hand out for her, but she shakes her head no. She doesn’t want to be any closer to the threat. A crash sounds, glass shatters, and my heart leaps. Charlotte takes off running down the stairs, screaming for me to come with her.
Fuck.
I turn and follow her down, gathering in a huddle at the bottom next to Mrs. Briggs front door.
“Cat Guy?” I call out. Movement sounds from above, a shuffling of feet and grunting, I peek up the stairwell core to see his body hit the railing and topple over it.
No.
It’s a dead drop down the centre. His body lands in front of us with a heavy thud, the bones crunching on impact before I can fully compute it’s happened.
“No, no, no!” Charlotte chokes out, ripping away from me and rushing toward the exit door, pushing through it and falling out into the street.
Cat Guy’s broken body lays at my feet. Blood splatter coats my flesh like someone played blow paints in front of me. A fluttering of news articles begin raining down the stairwell like horror confetti. Every inch of my body is trembling as I tilt my head upwards to see a flash of black material followed by more news clippings. My keepsakes.
Arms grab me from behind. I open my mouth to scream, but my voice gets trapped in my throat. “Come on!” a man’s voice booms into my ear, heaving me away from the scene. I’m hauled outside our building. A crowd has gathered. Charlotte sits on the curb sobbing. “He’s still in there.” I point inside urgently. “He’s still in there.” I’m getting louder, erratic.
“It’s okay. Police are on their way.”
Thud.
Blood. Blood. Blood.
Charlotte’s date? Where is he? Sickness rushes up my gullet. I turn and race to the gutter, throwing up acid. Tears burn my eyes. He’s back. Willis has come back for me.
Nine
My jaw aches from my clenched teeth. The buzzing and police lights bring out a sickness within me. I’m wrapped in an itchy blanket sitting in the back of an ambulance being treated for shock. Cat Guy’s body is eventually wheeled out in a black bag, and with it, memories of my mother’s murder.
Jack. Jack. Jack.
“Ms. West,” Detective Barnett nods his head toward me in greeting. I think he knew this was inevitable. They have a six sense about this kinda thing, right?
“I’d like to introduce you to a colleague of mine who has agreed to assist us with this investigation,” he tells me, turning and gesturing with his hand to the man coming toward me. “This is Detective Hernandez.”
My head whips up to the man in question. His hair is a little thinner now, but apart from that, he looks the same as he did over a decade ago. The first couple years after my mother’s death, he would visit my aunt’s. He started showing up less and less, and eventually, I forgot about him or he did me. “Ms. West.” He holds his hand out to me.
“I remember you,” I tell him, refusing the hand he offers.
“I wasn’t sure if you would.” He looks bashful between Barnett and me. “I’d like to ask you some questions if that’s okay,” he says, dropping his hand.
“Okay.”
“Do you think you’d be okay coming to the station?”
Shrugging off the blanket, I stand. “Sure.” Stepping down from the ambulance, I move toward the car he gestures to, slipping inside the backseat. I feel guilty of something. It’s wriggling around inside me like a virus. The side of my neck heats, and I just know before I turn my head Green Eyes is in the gathering crowd. I feel him. Our eyes meet, and the pulse in my wrists flicker, the old scars coming to life. Who are you? I want to scream it, shake him, slap him. It’s madness. Am I crazy?
“Where is Charlotte?” I croak out when Detective Hernandez gets into
