“Because it is crazy,” she states.
“Crazier than everything else going on around here?” I snort.
“Am I interrupting?” Jack stands at the entrance of the bathroom, his clothes creased, hair flying off in all directions, and still the best-looking one in the room.
“Yes, actually,” Charlotte growls, hand on her hip. “What the fuck have you filled her head with?” He looks at me, silently begging for help.
“Charlotte, that’s enough,” I retort.
“No, Lizzy, I think it’s a reasonable question. Who. The. Fuck. Are. You?” Stephan demands, a cold, deadly warning in his tone. My stomach flips as he punches out each word.
Stepping into the room, Jack’s size dwarfs all of us, a dark cloak shrouding the calm, beautiful man who now looks more like a hunter seeking out prey. It doesn’t terrify me like it should. It excites me, fragments of his soul soaking into mine, burrowing within.
“Who the fuck are you?” He turns the question on Stephan, jaw flexing, height drowning Stephan’s, forcing him into his shadow.
“Okay, can we stop the cock measuring for a second and go into another room? The smell is going to make me vomit.” Charlotte gags, pinching her nose with her forefinger and thumb.
The awful smell is pungent, making it impossible to breathe without tasting it on your tongue.
“What is that smell?” Stephan asks, squinting his eyes, but keeping them fixed on Jack.
“Death,” Jack announces.
“What?” Charlotte whispers.
“Something’s dead in your drainage pipe. That smell is rotting flesh,” he says so casually, like it’s not hideous. Moving around the room, he checks the toilet, then the sink. We move into the hallway to give him the space his size demands. He frowns down at the bath where the overhead shower drains. “It’s here. There must be a blockage. Do you have a screwdriver or something I can use to get this panel off?”
“That’s why it smells worse when the shower is on.” Charlotte shudders.
“How would something get in there?” I ask, thinking about what he could use. “I have a knife?”
“Oh, yeah, give the weirdo a knife,” Charlotte whisper-yells.
Swiveling his gaze to her, he comes toward us menacingly. Charlotte darts behind me. “If I wanted to kill you, you would have been dead the first day I saw you stumbling home at four a.m. No one would have seen you just vanish from the street into the trunk of my car,” he warns. Moving his hand up to her face, clicking his fingers, he says, “Snap! Just like that, you’re bug food.”
“Jack…” I gasp, a cold hand snaking up my spine.
Frowning, he shakes his head. “I’ll go up and get something from my apartment.”
I watch the muscles flex in his back as his t-shirt pulls tight across his shoulders. As soon as he’s out of sight, Charlotte slaps me again. “Not a weirdo?” she screeches.
“Got to admit, that was a bit psycho.” Stephan frowns, looking at where Jack left. “Who did you say he was again?”
“He’s someone from my past.”
“Is he? Can you be sure of that?” Charlotte scoffs, going into her room and slamming her door shut. I am sure. Fate brought him home to me.
“Liz.” Stephan takes my hand in his, stroking the pad of his thumb absentmindedly over my scars. “I’m worried about you.”
“I’m okay, I promise.” A heavy silence hangs between us, then Jack re-appears, his eyes dropping to my hand in Stephan’s before rising to Stephan’s face. His fist grips the handle of a screwdriver so tight, his skin turns white.
“Who is he to you again?” he asks me, ignoring Stephan’s presence altogether.
“We’re friends,” I state, pulling my hand free and dropping my gaze.
“You want to help me get this bath panel off, friend?” he grinds out, raising a brow. Stephan smirks, not intimidated one bit.
“Sure thing, someone from her past.”
“Guys, can we stop this already?” I groan.
Moving into the bathroom, Jack drops to a knee and begins unscrewing the bolt that keeps the panel on. With every turn, the smell becomes more toxic. “Should it smell that bad?” Stephan asks, tugging on the panel to loosen it. He pops it right off with ease. Staring at what they’ve uncovered, Stephan backs himself against the wall.
“What is that?” I ask, nausea threatening. A duffle bag has been stuffed inside, wedged against the pipes.
“It’s not something in the drains. The pipes are warming the bag,” Jack informs, matter-of-factly.
“What’s in the fucking bag?” Stephan grabs the neck of his shirt, lifting it to cover his nose and mouth.
Jack reaches for the duffle, but stops when I scream, “Don’t!” I tremble, my brain buzzing. “We need to call Hernandez,” I choke out. “Don’t touch it. Fingerprints.” I usher them out of the room, closing the door behind them and staring at it. Something bad is in the bag, I know it, and it’s been there this whole time. I race past them into the kitchen and vomit into the trashcan, stomach acid burning up my throat. A warm hand rubs my back as another hand collects my hair. “It’s okay,” Jack murmurs. “You should go get Charlotte, so she doesn’t go in there by accident,” Jack tells Stephan.
“I need some air.” My mouth is dry, raw. “And water,” I add, moving to the window while Jack looks for a bottle of water. Pushing the pane of glass open, I gulp at the fresh air, the cold breeze chilling the tears falling to my cheeks. Looking up, my vision blurs, seeing into the empty apartment.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
No. I stumble backward, turning and racing to the bathroom, pushing the door open.
“Lizzy?” numerous voices call out as I drag the bag from beneath the bathtub and unzip it. A blood curdling scream blacks out my vision. I’m not sure if it’s me screaming or Charlotte.
“It’s her,” I blurt, faintly aware of my own voice. “It’s our neighbor.” She was here all along.
Twenty-Two
Flashing blue lights don’t have the same effect they did before. They’re becoming my normal. Death, fear…it’s all
