Not my trunk.
Not my business.
Maybe it’s where he plans to keep my body when he cuts me up into six manageable pieces: legs, arms, torso, head.
“You’re losing it,” I say, rolling my eyes as I slide the curtain closed. “Don’t cross that line.” Vocalizing my voice of reason seems to help. I’ve made it back downstairs. It’s time for my walk so I’m not late to Yimin’s.
I mist a few of my plants by the window and think about the trunk.
I shove my feet into my trainers and think about the trunk.
I grab a bottled water and think about the trunk.
“Fuck it.”
My name is Scarlet Stone and I would stick my hand in a biscuit barrel of poisonous snakes on the off chance that there might be one biscuit left.
Before reason has a chance to slay my deadly curiosity, I’m already ten seconds away from having the padlock removed. Daniel used to call me a thief. I preferred philanthropist. Perspective is a funny thing.
“Theo, if you don’t want me to get into here, then you really should invest in something more secure than a discount shop padlock.” I can talk to myself all I want, make excuses for my really bad behavior—even if justifying breaking the rules is ingrained in my DNA—but it still doesn’t make this right. If I’m completely honest, short a lock triggering a bomb, there is nothing he could use to keep me out of this trunk.
The good news? As I ease open the lid, I don’t find a cut-up body. However, as I sift through the content, I wonder if the former would be less disturbing.
“Oh my god, Theo…” I whisper.
Guns.
Knives.
Photos.
Newspaper articles.
“What. Are. You. Doing?”
University Of Kentucky’s Professor Kathryn Reed Found Dead in Her Home
I skim over the words.Murder. Survived by a son, Theodore Reed.
Another article.
Brian Reed Dies of Self-inflicted Gunshot Wound
His parents died.Suicide. Survived by a son, Theodore Reed.
Emotion hardens like a golf ball lodged in my throat. My hands feather over each sentence. I can’t believe the words jumping off the page.
Braxton Ames arrested in the murder of Kathryn Reed.
Another article.
Anonymous donor pays for University of Kentucky Professor, Kathryn Reed’s Funeral and donates two million dollars to memorial fund…
I need to walk away. In another life, one where I didn’t have a closely-estimated date with death, one where I still had internetaccess, one where I felt invested in the outcome of whateverthisis… in that life, Theodore Reed’s secrets would consume me.
Ineedto walk away.
“There’s always your next life,” I mutter to myself as I close and lock the lid of the trunk as well as my painful curiosity.
