She drew several more pictures of her time with Trish, who appeared in every picture usually lying on the couch, high, or passed out I guessed. They were all dark and slightly disturbing.
Lunch turned into late afternoon and naptime, giving me some time alone with my thoughts while I cleaned the art supplies and got dinner started. My mind was stuck on the dark cloud man and what he meant to Zoya. How did she know him and was he the root cause of her silence? I had more questions than answers, but some of the pieces had started clicking into place.
***
The landline rang so loudly that it startled a gasp out of me, and I nearly cut the tip of my finger instead of the broccoli on the cutting board in front of me. “Shit,” I whispered to myself with a smile, staring at the phone as if it had offended me. It was a shrill sound I’d forgotten about until that moment, and I froze instinctively. The phone didn’t stop and no amount of staring was going to make it stop.
After about a minute, I dried my hand and picked up the phone. A mechanical voice began automatically. “You have a collect call from Florence McClure Women’s Correctional Center. Press one to accept.”
My stomach dropped and I slammed the receiver down so hard it shook in the cradle. “What. The. Fuck.”
There was no reason for anyone to call here from jail, especially when Sledge had already said… “Oh shit.” I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Sledge’s number, letting it ring until voicemail kicked in, which didn’t tell me any fucking thing. I texted instead.
Me: Are you in jail?
The moment I sent the text I realized my mistake. The robot voice said it was from a women’s correctional facility which very likely meant it was Trish.
But, why?
Sledge never answered my text and by the time he came home, just before seven, I was a nervous wreck. His appearance should’ve made me feel some kind of relief, but it wasn’t enough to make all the other doubts disappear.
“Hey,” he grunted, startling another gasp from me.
“Hey,” I said without looking up. If he noticed how on edge I was, he didn’t comment. Instead he was a dutiful and interested father all through dinner, giving all of his attention to Zoya who silently soaked it up. It was a sweet scene that made me feel marginally better, but I couldn’t shake the thoughts that jumbled in my mind. I’d wanted to ask him about the phone call, but Zoya was always around and I didn’t want to say anything that might upset her.
As soon as dinner was over, I was on my feet, cleaning the kitchen while father and daughter disappeared to spend time together. It was just what I needed, time to calm my overworked brain, so that I could think straight before I approached Sledge.
A hot shower helped, though not much. I felt refreshed and comfortable in a pair of shorts and a plain tank top as I curled up on the bed with my laptop to go over the last chapter of my dissertation. I got lost in the technical aspects of what I was doing because it let me forget everything else.
Just for a little while.
But a sharp knock sounded on the door, and I knew the time had come. I sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly before I answered with a soft, “Come in.”
The door opened slowly, and there he was, all six-plus feet of him. He filled the doorway like his job was to take up as much space as possible without even trying. He’d changed too, his hair was damp and a gray t-shirt covered his muscles while black sweats hung low on his hips. “Hey,” he began slowly. “You got a minute?”
I set the book aside, trying to calm my racing heart. “Sure.” I nodded, suddenly hyper-aware of just how small my room felt with him in it. It was his scent that hit first, leather, soap, and a hint of something smoky. It wrapped around me and I swear the temperature in the room climbed at least ten degrees.
He came in, shutting the door behind him and leaning against it. “Zoya’s asleep,” he said. “I wanted to check in. You seemed off at dinner.”
I swallowed hard, nodding slowly. “You could say that,” I sighed. “There was a call this afternoon. It came on your landline, and I wasn’t sure what to do, so I picked it up. The call was from the jail. I sent you a text but maybe you didn’t get it?”
That got his attention. His posture immediately stiffened. “What jail?”
I swallowed hard. “A collect call from Florence McClure Women’s Correctional Center. I didn’t accept it, just hung up but I figured you’d want to know.”
He nodded. “Thanks for telling me, but…” he met my gaze, his brows dipped as he studied me. “That’s not all, is it?”
I shook my head, sucking in a deep breath. “That call just kind of freaked me out,” I admitted. “But for the past few days Zoya’s drawings have been very… consistent.” I reached for my phone and pulled up the photos I snapped earlier. “See that dark cloud and how it grows bigger with each drawing?”
Sledge nodded, his expression growing darker with every swipe.
“I asked if the cloud was bad weather or a bad feeling, she said it wasn’t, so it’s safe to assume it’s a bad person.” I shook my head. “I think she saw something that she wasn’t supposed to and I think whoever did it was one of her mom’s boyfriends.” My heart raced in my chest. “He’s always there and so is Trish but she’s always different. Sometimes she’s on the couch, looking away or off in the distance. Always there but never involved.” There was one more thing. “And look how dark the figure is compared to the rest of the drawing, as if she was pressing down as hard as she could. That’s a stress response.”
“Eliana,” he said, my name left his lips on a sharp, impatient tone.
“I’m sorry,” I began in a softer tone. “I just… I wasn’t sure if telling you all of this was the right thing since I don’t have any real evidence just a gut feeling, but you need to know after that call.”
His brows dipped. “I don’t disagree, but why?”
