The early morning air hit him like a slap when he stepped outside his building, the late spring chill not quite giving way to warmth yet. He did a few perfunctory stretches, another habit drilled into him by years of high school football, before starting at an easy jog. He’d warm up a bit before going all out. It has been over a month since he last went running, and his muscles were protesting heavily.
It was a reminder not to ignore his health. He wasn’t a twenty-year-old who could drink beer and eat pizza with his friends and then go for a ten-mile run without breaking a sweat. He was still young and fit, but he’d better take care of himself if he wanted to stay that way.
The city was different at this hour. It wasn’t quite asleep, never that, but not fully awake either. Delivery trucks rumbled down streets. Early commuters hurried with determined expressions, clutching coffee cups like lifelines.
By the time he'd hit mile two, his body had remembered what it was supposed to do. His breathing evened out, his stride strong and purposeful. He found himself settling into a rhythm that felt almost meditative. His mind, which had been so cluttered with recriminations and uncertainties, began to clear.
What am I going to do now?
The question had haunted him for days, but somehow, with each step against the pavement, it seemed less terrifying. He had options. He had money. Plenty of it, as a matter of fact.
He had experience and connections as well. The world wasn't ending just because Scott had gone off to find himself at a commune in the mountains or wherever the hell he'd disappeared to.
By mile three, sweat plastered his shirt to his back, and his thighs were beginning to burn, but his mind felt clearer than it had in weeks, the exercise working its magic on both body and soul.
When he finally returned home, George greeted him with a friendly smile and a wave. George had been working in this building even before Ben had moved in. He kept everything running with military precision.
"Good morning, Mr. Reilly. Nice to see you out and about."
"Morning, George," Ben replied, surprised at how good it felt to engage in this simple exchange after days of self-imposed isolation. "Any packages for me today?"
"Just some mail. I put it in your box earlier."
Ben nodded his thanks and made his way to the wall of mailboxes in the lobby. He twisted the small key in the lock, surprised to find the compartment stuffed full. How long had it been since he'd checked his mail? A week? More?
He gathered the stack. It was mostly bills and junk, but also a thick brown envelope that might contain documents from Martin about the company dissolution, and headed for the elevator. He was already making a to-do list in his head for the day.
First up? He’d clean out his refrigerator and pantry. Since he didn’t cook much for himself, he knew there were a few dodgy condiments past their expiration date.
Dropping the mail on the kitchen counter, Ben went straight for a glass of water. He downed it in one long series of gulps, then refilled it and drank half of the second glass more slowly, letting the cool liquid soothe his parched throat.
Settling onto a stool at the kitchen island, Ben started sorting through the mail. Bills, an invitation to some charity gala he'd probably skip, a credit card offer, the alumni magazine from his university, a company that wanted to clean his carpets for a bargain price, and the large brown envelope at the bottom of the pile.
His former business partner, Martin, was working to dissolve the company, and he’d sent Ben a text a few days ago about someone who was interested in buying the code base. Best of luck to them, as Scott had always made sure that no one could understand his complex algorithms. If Martin had thought there was even one person on the planet who could work their way through that labyrinth, they wouldn’t be closing the company at all because of Scott’s departure.
Curious, he tore it open along the top seam, expecting to find legal documents about the company or maybe paperwork he needed to sign to officially terminate his role or release him from liability.
Instead, what slid out onto his counter made his stomach clench.
Photographs. Glossy, professional-quality prints that could only have come from a police department or coroner's office. A man, maybe in his thirties or forties, in a kitchen with a knife stuck in his abdomen. Close-ups showed a large pool of blood along with several other stab wounds to the torso. Evidence markers were placed next to what appeared to be blood splatter on the wall.
Of course, this wasn’t the first time he’d seen crime scene photos, even grisly ones. He’d been a kid when his father had helped hunt down Wade Bryson, and a teenager when Bryson’s son had gone on his own killing spree. Later, when he’d been older, he’d waited until his parents had gone out for the evening, and then he’d searched around his father’s home office.
He’d found the Bryson files. He’d seen up close and personal what his father had helped put a stop to.
Murder. Depravity. Carnage.
Even from a young age, Ben had never questioned whether evil existed in the world. He’d known for sure, although his parents had done their best to shield him from it.
But there had been no doubt. When they were hiding out from Wade Bryson that summer, he’d known that something was wrong. It was no casual vacation with the other aunts, uncles, and cousins.
He wasn’t supposed to, but he’d seen the government agents’ badges. But if he hadn’t, he would have known anyway that something wasn’t right. The tension between his parents and the rest of the adults had been palpable even to a fairly innocent teenager.
And then Brianna had been taken as a hostage to lure Uncle Logan to his death... He wondered if she still had nightmares all this time later. It wouldn’t be a shock if she did.
Beneath the photos were several typed pages, witness statements, an autopsy report, and a timeline of events leading up to a murder.
Before he could question the wisdom of his actions, he found himself reading through the reports and statements, going back and forth, referencing the photos.
