Lost Boy - Ker Dukey Page 0,31

through my mind. This coldness you throw out will push people away. I am cold.

“Thanks again for everything,” I tell him, kissing his cheek and taking Charlotte's hand. Her eyes dart to where we’re connected, tears brimming “Ready?” I ask her.

“Ready.

Pulling the door open, the smell of bleach is so strong, my eyes burn. There’s no trace of what happened—only the pieces of memory flickering like a movie in my mind’s eye. Mrs. Brigg’s door creaks open, then slams shut before we can say anything. I guess we’re not going to be having any bonding experience over this. Taking the stairs one at a time, our breathing grows heavy with anticipation. Charlotte's feet drag when we reach our floor, her hand grabbing the railing, knuckles turning white. “You don’t need to be the brave one,” I assure her. “I’ll go in first.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “We’ll do it together.”

Smiling, I raise our joined hands. “Together.”

Pushing inside a cold bite to the air causes a shiver and goosebumps to pepper my flesh. Scanning the room for what, I’m not sure, what did I expect? It’s like nothing happened here. Charlottes hand slips from mine as she searches the place. There’s an overturned lamp, and the couch has been pushed out of place, but apart from that, everything looks the same.

“Lizzy…” Charlotte's frantic tone turns my stomach. I move toward her voice down the hall to our rooms, “The bottle,” she croaks.

The wine bottle Lee picked up when coming inside is smashed in the doorway of my room. “I’ll get the dustpan and brush.” I ignore the implication that the savage who killed him had been waiting in my room. Sweeping up the mess, I pour it into a box and leave it on the table, then turn back to Charlotte, who’s following me around the apartment like a child. “I’m going to shower and then crash for an hour,” I tell her, peeling off my clothes.

“Can you leave the door open?” She picks at her nails, her eyes on the floor.

“If this is too soon, we can spend another night at the hotel,” I tell her, dreading the thought.

“No.” She waves her hand. “I just…can you leave the door open?”

“Sure.”

Dark waves come crashing over me as I stand beneath the spray of the shower, my consciousness trying to slip away, splintering from reality as images plague my mind. I need to sleep, to shut it all out. A foul smell wafts up from the drain, making me gag. There must be a blockage. Tomorrow’s problem.

Twelve

It feels wrong sleeping in my room. The idea that Willis was in here, invading more of my life, makes me want to scream. The toxic fear burrows beneath my skin, terrifying, polluting, claiming. I don’t care what the detective says, it has to be Willis. Everything feels so personal, calculated. Sitting up, I drag my old box between my legs and lift the lid, finding the remnants of my newspaper clippings. The police only took the ones scattered on Lee’s body. Reaching inside, my eyes close. It feels like my world is on fire and I’m choking in the smoke at the center of it all.

The body of missing teenager, Emma Hartley, was found after a grueling, fourteen-day search.

A routine traffic stop ended with a disturbing discovery when an officer, Markus James, pulled over a white Chevy Crusader.

The Chevy Crusader was being driven after dark without lights on.

What was thought to be a routine ticket stop turned out to be the break in a case plaguing the local police and the small town of Hollywell.

The body of the teen was found in the bed of the truck with another victim believed to be missing teen, Tasha Presley but not confirmed due to her age and to protect her identity still alive in the back seat.

The cause of death has not been made public at this time, but the driver, Mr. Langford, is being held on suspicion of abduction, sexual assault, and murder.

It has not yet been made clear whether this death is in anyway connected to the discovery of the body belonging to Jessica Lee found in the marshlands on September 5th.

Shoving the clipping back in the box, I throw myself down on the bed. Banging followed by a gentle humming vibrates through the ceiling, oddly soothing me.

Charlotte is sitting at the small table when I wake up a couple hours later. She looks sheepish as she watches me. “I looked him up,” she announces.