“This is Greg Gomez-Peterson,” Nico continues. “Thirty-six. Married to Rafael Gomez-Peterson for three years. Both men were last seen leaving a friend’s birthday party at the Gilded Lily bar at eleven-thirty PM on Thursday, January fifteenth. They never arrived home.”
Hearing someone else say the date January fifteenth is enough to make me need to pay attention to my breathing. Popular day for serial murder, I guess.
Greg’s eyes have that empty stare that says whoever he was is gone. I saw that emptiness in Dad’s eyes, through the plastic bag. I didn’t see Mom or Rosie’s eyes that day. Mom was on her bed when she died—I was tied up on the floor, couldn’t see her face—and Rosie?—
I shove the memory back in the box. Slam the lid.
I saw their eyes when I found the photos, but there’s something about seeing it in person that makes you feel the emptiness in your bones.
“Greg was found dead with his throat cut.” Nico clicks to another photo, and DJ’s hand flies to her mouth. Greg’s lips have turned grayish purple, and his gums are riddled with gaping, bloody holes. “He was also missing seven teeth.”
Griffin turns his head away from the screen. “Dude, Ihatedental shit.”
I run my tongue over my own teeth. There’s something uniquely nauseating about dental trauma. Maybe because we all know exactly how much that would hurt.
The blood blurs into patches of red. I dig my nails into my palm, using the bite of pain to anchor myself here, in this living room, not back in that house, not tied up on the floor.
When I look up, Nico’s eyes are on me.
He probably thinks I can’t handle this. That I’m going to fall apart the first time I see something scary, which is what he expects from me, isn’t it? It’ll be just another reason I don’t belong here.
I have to belong here. I have to be able to handle this, because if I can’t, and Donny sends me back out to my car, I’ll be just as defenseless as before.
So I make myself look at the screen. At Greg. Nico nods, and I get a tiny twinge of satisfaction. I even take another Peach Ring.
“Greg wasn’t alone in the dumpster,” Nico says, turning back to the TV. “Rafael was found under him.”
The image changes. Another body lies curled in a fetal position, surrounded by trash bags. Also male. Also in his mid-thirties, with black hair and light brown skin gone dull and ashen. His mouth is bloody, too, and at first I think he’s wearing a red shirt, but then I notice tiny patches of white near the collar that somehow escaped the blood.
“Rafael was missing eight teeth,” Nico says. “He was alive when they found him, but he died en route to the hospital from exposure. He was left unconscious in the dumpster overnight.”
The clinical way Nico presents this information should make it easier to digest, but it doesn’t. Rafael died cold and alone in a pile of garbage, and I can’t stop picturing what his last moments must have been like. Did he know his husband was already dead above him? Did he try to call for help?
I raise my hand.
Griffin makes this snorting sound, and I feel my face getting warm. Raising my hand might have been the wrong call, but who cares? I’m committed.
Nico’s eyes go to mine. I force myself to sit tall.
“Yes, Eden?”
“How did you get these photos?” I ask, motioning at the screen.
“Zoey retrieved the crime scene photos and notes for us, as well as the paramedic reports.”
I glance over at Zoey, who doesn’t look up from her laptop. Hacking into police databases probably doesn’t even register as interesting to her anymore. Why would it? Committing felonies is her job.
Nico advances to the next slide. “This case showed a strong match for one killer in our database.”
Griffin leans forward. “Who?”
“Alan Morrow.”
DJ freezes mid-chew. Benji pulls his knees to his chest, and Griffin presses a fist to his mouth. Even the air feels heavier, like someone just said Voldemort’s name out loud.
“The Game Master?” Benji asks, his voice pitching up. “I thought he was still alive.”
“He was until a month ago,” Donny says. “He died of heart failure.”
