Red Nights - Shari J. Ryan Page 0,69

Blake’s gone. I’m their only child.

I’m all they have left now.

I give Dad a quick hug and grab the bags I’ve accumulated. I’ve had rental furniture delivered to my new apartment over the past week, and I’ve spent hours every morning for the past few days setting everything up, making it habitable. It’ll take time to make the place mine, seeing as I have no pictures, artwork, or personal belongings. But it’s a start.

The restaurant is in downtown Providence, so I decided to move to the East Side, like Hayes and Aspen. They have the right idea. Everything is at my fingertips there, and there are always people around. Plus, the apartment is a block away from the park, and it just feels right.

The second I make my way inside, I lock the five deadbolts, cross the chain and fall heavily against the inside of the door. Sealing myself off from the world is the most freeing thing I’ve done in weeks…and yet, I’ve never felt so alone.

I drop my bag on the couch and pull out my new laptop. It’s the one item I didn’t feel guilty about purchasing; I’ve needed a new one for a couple of years anyway. I’m trying to hold out on buying the rest of the things I need until the insurance company comes through. At this rate though, who knows how long that will take. They told me I’d have to wait until the investigation is over. I’m certainly not holding my breath.

At least I have the Internet. It’s been keeping me company and aiding me in my research on arson. I’ve been obsessing over it. And now that I finally have a more powerful connection, I’m going to really dig in. A couple of weeks ago I submitted paperwork to Blake’s email provider, explaining his death and the reason I need access to his account. They asked me to send proof of my relationship to Blake and said once they received it, it would take ten to twelve business days to get a response with his login information. My patience is wearing thin.

I open up a search engine and type in Blake’s webmail domain. I’ve already attempted this a couple of times using various sequences of his name with different numbers; his birthday—our birthday, the last four digits of his phone number, our house number. But nothing works. How do I not know what my twin brother would use for a password?

After spending another hour trying out various combinations, I give up. I open my email instead and find a slew of store sale advertisements and reminders to pay my bills. I scan over the bills due and stop when I see the statement for the phone bill. Why didn’t I think of this sooner?

I log into my account and pull up last month’s statement. Blake’s phone was on my plan because it was cheaper for him that way. He just gave me the money every month. I have the payments automatically deducted from my bank account.

I completely forgot about it…

My pulse flutters as I scroll closer to April 2nd, the day of the fire. I don’t know what I’m expecting to find, but anything could be something right now.

There are a number of inbound and outbound calls that day. A handful of them are from Tanner and another handful from Aspen. Not exactly unexpected.

I guess this isn’t going to help…I can only see phone numbers. I print out the phone records and put them in a folder anyway. Maybe someone else can make sense of them.

I open another browser and type in Blake’s name, curious about what might come up. He has way more social media accounts than I was aware of. I begin clicking through all of them, finding most to be private because I’m not friends with him, or linked with him or following him. I only have Facebook, and I’m hardly ever on it.

“Well, Blake, you’ll be happy to know the life you left behind online is completely secure and private,” I tell him. “I can’t find a damn thing on you.”

My phone buzzes beside me and startles me out of my staring contest with the laptop monitor. I pick it up and click on the display.

Hayes: I found something I think you should know about.

He’s still trying to help me even though I’ve completely shut him out of my life. I don’t know whether to be scared or grateful, but I guess I’d be a little foolish