“Here.” I pull out my corporate card. “Give that to Amy and have her expense everything.”
He immediately brightens. “Thanks!” He leaves with alacrity.
I sigh. Why isn’t Aspen as easy to read as Larry? She’s shrouded in a thick fog I can’t seem to cut through. Every time I think I have her figured out, something new pops up to throw me off.
Eight o’clock comes and goes, and I decide to pack it in for the evening. The floor is deserted, completely silent, and as I make my way to the elevator, I notice the framed photos of Emmett and Monique on Amy’s desk.
I turn around, go back to Aspen’s desk and stand there, staring at it. It’s completely clear. Not a pen, not a stapler… Nobody would know from a casual glance that the desk was being used at all.
Earlier, the lack of personal touches made sense. She knew I was dying to fire her, and she didn’t know if she’d have a job. But now she’s been here long enough to bring some things to liven up her desk, like she did when she was in that godawful dorm.
But there’s nothing. Not even a photo of her grandparents.
If I were naïve, I’d say she’s just a deeply private person. But I doubt she’s suddenly developed an overwhelming urge to maintain her privacy. She’s hiding something. I need to know what that is, so I can end this unnatural obsession with her.
* * *
I walk the long hallway of the Orange Care Center. The memory unit is dimly lit. I’m looking for Kenny, but all I see are random old people who stare and whisper.
The words are unintelligible, but my gut says they’re talking about me, and nothing out of their mouths is complimentary.
Who cares?I don’t give a damn about what people think of me, unless it’s somebody who I decide matters. And these people don’t.
Every time I take a step, there’s a crunching sound. Something hard and sparkling covers the floor. I glance around; it covers the entire memory unit. I kneel and look at the glittering stuff more closely. Jagged pieces of something. Broken glass, maybe.
Except it doesn’t look like glass. More like diamonds.
Kenny’s on the other side of the hall. He glares and points his finger. “You!”
“Hello,” I say.
“Grant Lasker,” he says. “You killed my girl.”
What?
“You killed her.Killed her.”
He’s confused. Again. “Aspen is fine.”
“She’s not fine! You killed her! You killed her!” He grows louder with each word, until every syllable is thundering in my head. Everyone’s staring at me, their eyes judgmental. Instead of coming to soothe Kenny, the staff stares at me as well.
“Sir, you’re just confusing things,” I explain. “I didn’t kill anybody.”
“You have her blood on your hands!”
“I don’t—” Something feels weird about my hands. I look down and see sticky red liquid flowing down my hands, from wrists to fingertips. Chills shiver down my spine, and I shake my hands. Liquid is flung, but the droplets land only on me.
A loud ringing comes from the doorway. I turn back, but as I do, Kenny lunges across the hall, moving as fast as a teenager, his fingers curled like talons. Then he’s on me, the fingers digging into my neck, and—
The ringing blares again, and I open my eyes, breathing hard. It’s dark and…
Shit. I check the time—it’s barely six. I sit up and rest my throbbing head in my hands for a moment.It’s just a dream,I tell myself, trying to calm my racing heart. What was up with that vivid nightmare, though? Maybe it’s the whiskey I had, although I’ve never had weird dreams after a nightcap. Maybe my interaction with Kenny bothered me more than I thought.
The ringing comes again. What the… It’s the doorbell.Who could be visiting this early?My brothers all know better.
I pull up the security app on my phone and squint at the screen. A woman with huge sunglasses is standing at the door, her mouth set in flat disapproval.
Mom…?
