My voice pulls his attention away from Mrs. Howard. Then, mumbling,excuse me, he splits from the group and strolls toward me by the vending machine.
“Hey, Daddy, what are you doing here?” I ask, wrapping my arms around his waist when he pulls me in for a hug. Then, giving my shoulder a light tap, he jerks his head back toward his partner.
“You know I can’t talk about it, sweetie, but don’t worry.” Breaking out of my hug, he extends his hand, offering it to Chris. “Detective Noah Dane, Scarlett’s dad, who’re you?”
“Dad!” I hiss. Sometimes, when he’s in cop mode, he forgets he isn’t always in the presence of a perp. Chris doesn’t need his interrogation voice.
Chris does his best to act tough and unintimidated by my father's hulking form, but he fails. You can see the cowering in his quivering hand as he returns the gesture.
“Chr-Chris, sir, Christian Merdova.”
“Nice to meet you, Christian. Sweetheart, I’ll see you at home. Have a good day.”
He joins his partner and Mrs. Howards at the base of the stairs and ascends. Chris and I are close behind them, listening to their heavy footfalls until we’re forced to depart.
Our class is on the second floor, and they’re heading toward the third. My gut twists painfully around my insides when I hear them mumblehisname. Why are they here for him?
Christian pulls me toward the class before I have a chance to follow, which is a good thing because I don’t think I could walk on my own.
Remaining in my seat turns out to be a challenge, as is following along with Mrs. Ross’s lesson. But, this time, I can’t blame the ocean for my distraction.
From my vantage point, I have a clear view of the staff parking lot and the three bodies walking across it. Wide-eyed, I gape as my father and his partner escort Theodore to his car.
I can practically hear my dad now, his deep voice rumbling,“Meet us at the station,”before gently closing Theodore’s door. He’ll watch him drive away, keeping his expression dead. It's what he does to potential culprits.And my boyfriends. Although, he would probably do much worse if he found out Mr. Ellis was so much more to me.
More than just a boyfriend.
More than a love.
Theodore Ellis is the blood in my veins and the breath in my lungs. Without him, I’m nothing but flesh and bone, a hollow carcass waiting for the end.
Theodore Ellis ismine, and I won’t let anything happen to him. Nobody is taking what belongs to me.
Since I’m a senior and a legal adult, the school won’t tell my parents I checked myself out for the day. All it took was the simple threat of vomit, and I was out. Now, I ride my bike all the way to the other side of town, taking the back roads to dodge potential sightings from my mother. It extends my trip by ten minutes, but who cares.
I make it to the loft in no time. Panting with sweat dripping down my face, I dart into the building.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Winchell. Where’s Larry?” I ask, looking for the tabby she lets run around the lobby. As always, she doesn’t hear me the first time. Like some women in their late seventies, her hearing isn’t the best, but when she spots me waving, she makes sure to greet me sincerely.
“Honey, take a cart! Don’t lug that big ol’ bike up the stairs!”
“Thank you so much, Ms. Winchell!” I don’t need a cart since I’m only down the hall, but Ms. Winchell won’t take no for an answer. She’s kind like that. Even in her older age, she looks out for people, wants to make life easy for them. Her eyes light up when she sees me drop my bike on the platform, her chirping voice squealing, “See! isn’t that better, dear?!”
“Thank you, Ms. Winchell!” I say, rolling it down the hall.
It’s always a struggle to get this cart through the door, but I refuse to leave it in the hall. Ms. Winchell likes to stroll the aisles, and if she sees this, she’ll make it her job to put it back in the front.
Finally getting us through the door frame, I swiftly lock myself inside, barricading the door with the metal cart before looking around my empty loft. Nothing seems to be out of order. Everything just as I left it.
Shutting the new blinds I had Theodore attach to my windows, I cloak the room in darkness. Unless you know the room, it’s impossible to see through the pitch black. Fortunately for me, I know this loft like the back of my hand.
Using my back, I push the cabinet away from my little hidey-hole, exposing the rickety door. Sliding down the two feet, I don’t turn on any light until I have the opening obscured. There’s enough of a gap to slip my fingers through and shove it off, but if, by any chance, someone was to try to look inside, they wouldn’t see a thing.
Shining the light in the abandoned room, I make sure the entrance is still boarded up before pointing the light down, a few feet away from where I stand. Twisting my neck, I crack away the tension. Then, blowing out a relieved sigh, I bend low, gazing at the work we’ve done.
“At least you don’t smell. I feel like you’d hate that,” I murmur, finger grazing the plastic tarp we wrapped Beth’s dead body in.
“I think I’ll be done by this weekend,” I say, holding the phone between my shoulder and ear when Marie finishes ranting about her ceramic piece. She calls me a bitch before asking what I’m doing for spring break.
