When my eyelids are so heavy, I’m confident the moment my head hits the pillow I’ll pass out, I turn the television off and head up the stairs, leaving several lights on along the way. It’s been a long time since I stayed in a new place alone.
Before Hayzel died, I was a completely different person. I wasn’t afraid of every little thing, and morbid thoughts didn’t consume me the way they do now. I miss the person I used to be, but she feels like a stranger, a foolish, naïve stranger.
I promised myself once I was here, I would try to find some semblance of the old me again. I vowed I wouldn’t stay holed up in the house and surround myself with all forms of death and murder. I kept that promise to myself tonight. When I turned on the TV earlier and signed into my streaming accounts, my default was to go right to a true crime doc, but I forced myself to watch a movie instead. The stupid comedy didn’t hold myinterest enough to keep me from playing a game on my phone at the same time, but it’s a start, just like the ride share was.
As I reach the top of the stairs, I’m again awed by the open floor plan and view. I would never be comfortable in Texas with the curtains open the way they are here. Hell, there aren’t even curtains to draw, but being so high up gives me a sense of privacy. As much as I love the loft, there’s one thing I didn’t consider. There is no door to close, no thin layer of protection against someone coming in, which is really just a false sense of security anyway.
Nibbling my lip, I look toward the staircase I just climbed, then over at the unfettered view of the water I can’t see very well beyond the dimly lit shore, and I decide to be brave. I came here to prove something, even if it’s only to myself. The truth is if someone came in, intent on hurting me, a silly door wouldn’t stop them anyway. It didn’t help Hayzel.
After gathering the single set of pajamas I packed in my overnight bag, I head to the bathroom to change and get ready for bed. I have a feeling I’m not going to be nearly as sleepy after brushing my teeth, but I can still taste the garlic bread I ate way too much of, and there’s no way I’m waking up with it still on my breath.
My hand lingers on the light switch in the bathroom after I open the door to the room. It seems darker in the loft after having been in the bright bathroom, getting ready for bed.No one will know if you chicken out and go down to the other room.The unbidden thought serves as a reminder that I need to change the way I’ve been thinking and reacting if I truly want to find the old me.
My hand skims down the wall, avoiding the switch to leave the light on in the bathroom, but I do pull the door mostly closed so it isn’t as bright. Maybe it’s not a huge step, but it’s big enough for me right now.
The hard wood floor is chilly under my feet. I make a note to order a pair of slippers, which will be a new experience. I loved feeling the cool floor under my feet at home, but it feels different here, like the chill lingers all day in a way it never did in Texas.
The bed is already turned down from when I checked the linens earlier, so it’s easy enough to scoot my legs under the slick sheets and heavy covers. The weight of the blanket feels good, grounding in a strange way.
My eyes go to the ceiling after I nestle into the pillows. Sadly, I was right about no longer being sleepy. The house is so quiet, I can hear myself breathing, the whooshing of my heart beating in my ears, and maybe, worst of all, the slow, steady drip of the faucet in the bathroom. Funny, I didn’t notice it before.
Flipping over, I grab the remote for the TV. Usually I don’t sleep with it on, but nothing about today has been normal. I moved—at least for a few months—halfway across the country. It feels weird admitting that, but it’s the truth. I have no plans of returning home in the near future. I left everything behind because I needed a change of scenery. I might as well acknowledge that and try to embrace it.
It takes me a few seconds to sign into my streaming accounts on this television, but before long, I’m staring at abecause you watchedsuggestion section filled with crime shows and documentaries. Without giving it too much thought, I select the doc series about the music mogul who everyone pretends they didn’t know was a monster. It’s at least a little removed from the murder shows I usually watch… maybe. There is talk about one of his past lovers being killed, but I don’t think that is the focus of this series.
It's not long before my eyes grow heavy again, and I drift off to a restless sleep.
Boone
“What do you have today?” Mickey asks after leaning her shoulder against the doorframe of my office. I don’t even need to look up from my computer to know she’s sending a shrewd gaze over my desk. I’d bet her dark eyes are narrowed on my energy drink. She thinks coffee is the only energy drink that should be consumed. I chalk it up to being one of the many differences between our generations. I pick up the tall can and take a swig of the nearly empty drink just to get under her skin.
Her tut has me suppressing a grin. She’s been around for a long time, and I learned early to soak up her experience and knowledge, but there’s something about pissing off the tough as nails boss lady that gives me great joy. I think it helps that she often returns the favor.
“Preparing for the interview,” I admit dryly, finally meeting her stare. She is the one who volunteered me for the role. I haven’t forgiven her yet, and she knows it.
“How’s that going for you?” Her words are curled around a smile. It’s her turn to taunt me.
“I don’t think I’m prepared?—”
She snorts out a breath before I have a chance to continue.
“You should probably send someone else from the team,” I finish lamely.
“Bullshit, you are a fucking boy scout. There is no way you could convince me or anyone else you weren’t prepared.” Mickey rolls her dark eyes and steps into my office, not bothering to close the door behind her. I take note of the fact that she’s still limping a little. At sixty-five, she looks pretty good, but life andthe job have taken its toll on her. She needs a knee replacement, and she would kick my ass if I admitted I knew that bit of information, but it’s her fault I know. She trained me well. Besides, there isn’t much you can keep from a profiler. I also notice she’s lost a little weight, hoping to stave off the surgery for just a little longer. She hates the thought of being out of commission as much, if not more, than I do. Her efforts may be in vain though, because she lets the smallest grimace show on her thin lips when she lowers herself into the chair in front of my desk.
I pretend not to notice as I look to the side and toss my beverage into the trash. The only other sign of her ageing is her short cap of dark hair that has a lot more silver in it now than it did ten years ago when I first met her. She may have a few more wrinkles, but I can’t really say, since she looks like the same ole Mickey to me.
“It could happen,” I argue. “Why not have one of the media people do it?” This isn’t the first time I’ve tried this approach either.
“You’re prettier to look at.” She grins like the Cheshire cat. If I wasn’t confident in my appearance, I might think she was mocking me. Hell, maybe she still is.
“I’m not trained to be evasive and give runaround answers.”
“Which is why I’m sending you and not some public relation liaison, but let’s not pretend you don’t know your way around a hornet’s nest, Boone Landry. You know this case better than anyone.”
“They are podcasters,” I intone.
“Who have aided in two arrests of pretty big cases, I might add.” She holds up her slightly bent fingers to demonstrate the number. “They also have the attention of their audience, a very large audience that might know someone who fits your profile. It can’t hurt, and you might learn something.” She pushes herselfup from the chair while giving me a censuring look. It makes me feel like shit.
