And in his own apartment. The walls were splattered, the carpet drenched. Even if he managed to get rid of the body—
“Get back!” he shouted as Tubbs licked curiously at the slow spread of blood.
Whatwashe going to do with the body?
He rummaged through the closet, heart hammering. The only thing even remotely big enough was an oversize duffel bag.
Getting Aaron inside proved a macabre sort of puzzle. He had to remove the extremities with a meat cleaver to get everything to fit. Emmett cursed when the blade went straight through the kitchen linoleum.There goes the security deposit.
He’d just managed to force the zipper closed when his phone rang. It was Lizette. He silenced the call, but there was no hiding this from her. The last thing he needed was her walking in and making a scene.
“Hey,” he answered. “Don’t be mad—”
The words tumbled out of her, leaving no space for breath. “You need to leave, pack your stuff right now, I’m not kidding. If you can’t stay with Ab or Chris, my parents—”
“Lizette, slow down. What are you talking about?”
“I just finished with that detective guy. He asked me if I recognized them, the clothes.”
“Clothes, what clothes?”
“The blue Friday shirt I made you and the tan shorts. They were all bloody, wrapped up in a trash bag.”
The clothes he was wearing the night he killed Justin Matthews. Someone must’ve found them.
“But how did they know you—?”
“The tags.They all fucking say GORDITA on them.”
“Fuck!” He should’ve burned them like he had the other evidence. “What’d you tell them?”
“I said I didn’t know who they belonged to, that I sold hundreds of them on my website. Then they started asking about you. They mentioned your Taurus—they had a photo of it from your Instagram.”
“Fuck!”
“You can’t stay there. As soon as I get home I’ll help you—”
“No,” Emmett said. “Don’t come here. Stay at Mando’s.”
“Why? What’s wrong?” When he didn’t answer: “Emmett, tell me you didn’t—not in the apartment.”
“I couldn’t help it! I can’t always control—”
“Oh shit. Oh shit!”
“I’m taking care of it, just go to Mando’s.”
He ended the call, then stomped around with his hands balled into fists, a vein throbbing in his forehead. He snatched a pillow off the couch and screamed so hard he felt lightheaded.
His phone rang again. It wasn’t Lizette, not even his mom. Flustered, he answered.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Emmett.”
“Dr. Saito. How are you?” he said, impersonating someone who hadn’t just finished dismembering his boyfriend.
“Probably better than you, all things considered.”
