Hundred Trick Pony
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13,681
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| Assault | Gun Violence | Murder | Foul Language | Sexual Themes |
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Two women have something valuable stolen from the shared garage space in their apartment complex and must work together to solve the mystery.
“Hannah! Open up!”
Just don’t answer, and she’ll go away.
I pull the covers tighter around my shoulders and roll onto my side, just as a flurry of fists beat at my door for the second time this morning.
“I’m fucking serious Hannah! Get your ass out here.”
I throw my covers off and stomp to the door. Ripping it inward, I say, with the utmost restraint, “Jesus Emerie, what? What is it? What is so fucking important that you are once again wak—“
I’m interrupted by Emerie grabbing my wrist and tugging me through our apartment. She is, apparently, beyond words this fine Tuesday. She drags me through the living room, down the outside hallway and two flights of stairs, into our shared garage space, a string of curses and demands flying from my mouth at lightning speed.
We decided on move-in day that we wouldn’t use it for either of our cars. Instead, it is packed floor to ceiling with boxes of all shapes and sizes. Cardboard boxes, storage boxes, plastic boxes… crammed into our 10x10 space. Emerie took the left side and I took the right. We didn’t intend for the space to grow so cramped, but our apartment is tiny. The plus side of having such a small apartment is, of course, this extra space that one might use to house a car, but even better is the rent. It includes utilities, and the landlord worked with us when I threatened living elsewhere. In fact, at the beginning of our apartment search, I was insistent on living elsewhere. But Emerie was more-so. She would not let this place go, especially after the landlord called us back and offered us a deal. Her determination won out in the end.
Emerie and I have had a fair share of differences since moving in together, and fair share is being generous. By the time I started looking for a roommate, I absolutely could not last another day living out of my car.
A Craigslist ad brought us together, but these early morning wake-up calls are going to end this rocky relationship barely three months in. We both work from home, but we work for companies in different time zones. I specifically chose one that would allow me to sleep in until 8:55. Emerie was not so lucky, or perhaps she didn’t care. Or maybe she’s a morning person and wanted to get up early. I don’t know, and I don’t really care. Either way, being together 24/7 in that tiny apartment certainly stresses the pre-existing tension.
But I suppose it’s better than a cardboard box.
I survey the clutter spread throughout the garage. “Um, yeah. This is the garage.”
Emerie crosses her arms over her chest. “Notice anything missing?”
My heart skips a beat. Missing?
She leans forward and enunciates every word with a sharp jab, “my lockbox is gone.”
I look to the upper corner of her side, where that slate grey lockbox usually sits, teetering on a tower of brown mystery boxes.
“Are you sure? You haven’t moved it?”
“Hannah, how stupid do you think I am? Of course I didn’t fucking move it.”
I stare at that empty corner while Emerie glares at the side of my head. “You could report it stolen if the contents are valuable. What was inside?”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
I turn and glare right back. “You think I took it?”
Emerie throws her hands in the air and starts to pace, which is a mere step back and forth in the few feet of empty floor space. “You’re the only one with access to the garage. You know how important that stuff is to me.”
I scoff and try my hardest to sound soothing, “Emerie, I know we’re not exactly besties, but this is ridiculous. You can’t possibly believe that I took your lockbox. I’d be an idiot to steal it from our shared garage space.”
“All I know is that my shit is gone, and you are the only one with a key. Does that window look broken to you? Or the padlock?” She gestures wildly around the room. “Maybe you left it unlocked the last time you were inside.”
My temper flares and tone rises. “Maybe you left it unlocked!”
“Well I don’t see any of your shit missing!”
Oh shit. I hadn’t even thought of that. When was the last time I was here? A dark oak box flashes through my mind and I instinctively reach for the key attached to my necklace. I haven’t taken it off in months. Not since my grandmother passed.
I just picked through the box last week, but I can’t remember where I stored it upon leaving. I wouldn’t have left it in plain sight. But where? I pick a box and start tearing through them. With my arms elbow deep in Halloween decorations I’d just taken down last week, I ask, “was anything else taken?”
“That lockbox is the only thing that has any real value to me. And nothing else is out of place.”
I push aside one box after another, all the while my grandmother’s voice ringing through my mind, making the edges of my mind go hazy. Take care of these. Your Poppa gave them to me. I want you to have them.
I swore up and down I’d take care of them, and I did. Those earrings were a wedding present from my Poppa to my Nona, and worth more money than she cared to share. Nona wore them on her wedding day and again on their honeymoon, and every day they lived together after. She never took them off the two years he was in Vietnam, and she wore them every day of every year she spent alone after burying his empty coffin. They might have sold well at a pawn shop, but I never could bring myself to search out a definitive price. There’s no doubt that antique, authentic diamond earrings would have sold beautifully, but they were priceless to my Nona, and therefore priceless to me. I stashed them in a vintage jewelry box an old friend gifted to me back in high school. It’s an elegant, dark oak box that, after searching my entire side, is now nowhere to be seen.
“My jewelry box is gone,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.
Emerie snorts. “What’s so important about that?”
I whip around, nausea and fury filling every part of my body. “My grandmother’s earrings were inside. I told you that when we first moved in. You don’t remember?”
She shrugs and heaves a sigh. “Okay, maybe you didn’t take my lockbox.”
“Is that an apology?”
“No.” The silence hangs between us as heavy as a noose. “Well what are we gonna do?”
“We have to report this to the police.”
“And tell them what? Someone broke in to our locked garage, with no sign of forced entry, and stole just two things? Who would do that? And how?”
The question leaves me gaping, no gears turning in my head.
“Maybe… other people have had break-ins. We could ask our neighbors. Report this to Chris.”
Emerie snaps her fingers, eyes wide with revelation. “Yes! He is our landlord, which sort of makes this his problem, too. Maybe he can help.”
“Okay,” I answer slowly. I glance at my watch, the time displaying 8:20. “But I have to start work soon, so maybe we can talk to him tomorrow. Together.” It was a tentative offering. Emerie and I hadn’t spent much time together at all, apart from a handful of drunken nights and living room run-ins.
“Are you kidding? I’m not letting you out of my sight. I’m still not fully convinced you aren’t behind this.”
Astonished, I ask, “that’s sarcasm, right?”
Emerie waggles her hand in a so-so motion, but cracks a grin before stalking off.
I can’t help the smile that graces my cheeks. She might be an insufferable bitch, but she has her moments.
�
Work is torturous. I do my best to pull my attention to the spreadsheets and emails layered on my monitor, but my mind is a boat with no anchor. It drifts and drifts, always returning to my Nona’s earrings, or the padlock, or Emerie’s box. I wonder what’s inside that’s so important to her that she feels the need to keep it top secret, behind two locked doors. It must be one of two things: incredibly sentimental or incredibly valuable. And I don’t picture Emerie as the sentimental type.
1:15. Four more hours. I can do this.
An hour passes. I get up for a cup of coffee and a snack. Stretch my legs.
I sit back at my desk. Another hour. I don’t hear Emerie’s voice through the walls. Must be a quiet day at work for her, since she’s usually in and out of meetings her whole shift and lacks all sense of self-awareness.
Two more hours pass. I am viscerally aware of the clock in the bottom corner of my desktop ticking over to 5. I clock out immediately and speed walk to my bedroom door. I whip it open and stifle a gasp, as Emerie is standing with a raised fist now aimed for my head.
She lowers her arm and clears her throat. “I’m kind of freaked out.”
“I can’t stop thinking about it,” my voice is a relieved, rushing sigh.
“We can take my car.”
She didn’t have to tell me the destination.
�
I’ve never been in Emerie’s car. It’s… clean. She clearly takes good care of it, despite being a hundred year old stick-shift BMW.
“How was work?”
Emerie chuckles. A sound softer than most anything else out of her mouth. “We don’t have to do the small talk.”
“I just want a distraction. And I thought that it might be polite. To ask about your life.”
She chuckles again, and for a second I think she’s not going to respond. But then she speaks, barely audible above the hum of her vehicle, “work was fine. It was hard to focus. When I first saw my lockbox was gone, I immediately blamed you. I figured you had taken it, and I got really angry. But after talking to you this morning in the garage, even though I’m still not 100% convinced, if your jewelry box is gone too, that means someone was in our garage.” She pauses to shudder. “And since the window wasn’t broken… it means they have a key. Unless you can think of some other possibility.”
It’s quiet for a moment, the weight of her words settling in like an elephant on a tree branch. I don’t want to think about it. It’s the last thing I want to think about. But at the same time, I can’t think about anything else. The thought of a random person–a criminal and a thief–stepping into our private space, into an area that’s meant to be safe, consumed my mind all shift.
“Unfortunately, I came to the same conclusion.”
Emerie sighs, disappointed, like she’d been hoping for something more. A twinge of guilt pierces my chest.
“Maybe Chris will have some answers for us.”
I scoff and shake my head. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up. Chris doesn’t seem like the generous, help out a friend, watch my dog when I go on vacation type of guy.”
“He helped us out when we said we couldn’t afford the apartment,” Emerie points out.
“That’s probably because he was desperate for tenants. I would not bet on him being kind just for the sake of being kind. For all we know, he took our stuff.”
“No way. He might not be the best landlord, but he’s not an idiot. He wouldn’t do that.” Emerie looks like she wants to say something more, but trails off, seemingly lost in thought. Then, a wicked smile curves her lips, “he’s pretty hot though.”
I don’t argue with her there. Chris is hot in a wet dog, hallucinating rat kind of way.
“How do you know where he lives?” I ask, changing the subject. She doesn’t have the GPS on her phone pulled up, and hasn’t asked me for guidance.
She shrugs. “A woman has her ways.”
I narrow my eyes, not buying it. From her silence, she clearly isn’t going to elaborate. So I hazard a guess, “you’ve fucked him.”
Emerie cackles, bowing forward into the wheel. “Jesus, no! His address was on the business card and he lives in the same neighborhood as my mom. Fuck, Hannah.” Her laughter dies down to a chuckle, and I grin myself. “Not that I wouldn’t.”
“Well, that makes one of us.”
She tosses a smirk my way. “Your loss.”
�
“Shouldn’t we have called first?”
Chris’ house is in the depths of a neighborhood, tucked into the very back of a cul-de-sac, hidden behind a layer of trees and shrubbery. The driveway was paved closer to the road, but slowly shifted into gravel halfway, and our car shivers along the drive.
“I called earlier. He said we could come by tonight.” She adds after a second, “are you nervous?”
“It’d be weird if I wasn’t.”
“Relax. Chris will be able to help.”
“Okay. I’m trusting you on this.”
Emerie’s car slows to a stop near the end of the driveway within full view of the front of the house. It’s not a large place. One story, a separate garage at the head of the pavement, all in varying shades of brown and a light grey that might have been white at some point, but has lost its vibrance through years of weather-wear. A square section of the front is decorated with stones jutting out in a pattern meant to look random, giving the house a cabin-like appearance when viewed with the surrounding wood. A chimney pokes out the top, barely visible over the slant of the roof. Smoke wafts toward the tree line and disappears into the orange leaves.
I step out of the car and crunch into the gravel. Emerie and I meet at the front of the car, surveying the grounds.
“Should we…”
“You seriously need to chill. You’re freaking me out.” She shudders, not entirely for effect. Emerie stalks toward the porch, several steps ahead of me. I quicken my pace to match her stride.
We climb the steps together. The white-grey paint is peeling off the railing in gangly, thin strips, like someone chipped away at it with their fingernails. From the driveway, the house looks cozy, inviting. But up close, with leaves and dead grass collecting in the corners of the porch, two dirty stools set side by side in front of the window, the ancient wood creaking beneath our feet—
A chill slivers down my back like a bead of sweat. I glance toward the trees watching us from the edge of the yard, and suddenly feel the size of a mouse. A mouse lured into a hole in the wall, only to find a cat waiting in the dark on the other side.
Emerie shifts her weight side to side, then reaches up to knock. Four short raps. The door swings open not three seconds later.
“Ladies,” Chris drawls, a grin spread wide. He makes a show of stepping to the side and gesturing us in.
We both murmur a hello, hi, how are you—which he does not acknowledge.
Once inside, the door sealed behind us, Emerie says, “you look… chipper.”
Chris’ head dips to the side, eyes swimming, the corners of his mouth tilted towards his crinkled eyes. “I have a lot to be happy about. It’s not every day I have two pretty girls in my house.”
“Chris…” Emerie says his name like a warning.
“Okay, okay.” He holds up his hands in mock surrender.
“You’re high.” She stuffs her hands in her back pockets. When he doesn’t answer, Emerie raises her voice, “what the fuck, Chris?”
“Sorry, Emerie! Just a little. You want some?”
“I told you to take this seriously.”
“I am, pinky promise,” he says with a wicked grin.
Emerie doesn’t look convinced, and I have little faith in our drugged-up landlord, currently high on God knows what. But… we’re already here. And I’m terrified of going back to our apartment.
Chris leads us into his living room. Surprisingly, the house is quite clean. Neat, even. For a man who’s pacing the wood paneled floors like a maniac, with a droopy facial expression and eyes like a glazed donut, he clearly keeps his place in order. The main couch in the middle of the room looks new, as do the matching loveseat and chair beside it, all facing inward toward a circular coffee table. A real wood fire burning in the hearth gives the room an inviting, cozy glow.
My eyes wander to the green and white canister sat on the table, right beside a pocket sized torch and a clear glass pipe speckled with flecks of black soot. Chris catches me staring and laughs heartily, “you want something? I have everything you could possibly desire in my room.” Emerie and I both scowl at him, trying to pierce through his skull with our eyes. “First hit’s free,” he adds with raised brows and a sideways smirk.
Emerie speaks, her words sharp and enunciated, before I can lay into him, “was it a mistake for us to come here?”
“No, no.” He waves off her question and circles around the couch, moving to sit in the leather armchair. He beckons us to join him and, slowly, we make our way around the couch, passing in front of the heat of the fireplace. Chris’ gaze never leaves our bodies, eyes roving between us brazenly, like an eagle hunting fish in a swimming pool. My heart hammers against my sternum as my feet shuffle forward to sit in the middle of the three-cushioned couch, Emerie on my left, looking comfortable in the loveseat. She can’t possibly be so at ease in her head; she must be pretending for my sake, or trying to intimidate him. I wish I felt as relaxed as she looks, her right foot crossed over her knee, arms splayed against the backrest of the loveseat from one end to the other. Completely open. Vulnerable. A position that screams I am not afraid. Do your worst.
I, on the other hand, want nothing more than to curl up on this couch and squeeze my knees to my chest. To bolt for the safety of the car. Despite the intimate warmth of the room, something deep in my chest, my core, is clawing at me to get out. That wave of terror rises and roils in my gut, and I push it down, force it to stay under wraps.
I only feel like this because someone stole something from our personal space. I remind myself, over and over, that I am safe here. That I need to solve this mystery and retrieve my grandmother’s earrings. She deserves that much. The twinge of sadness and anger in my mother’s eyes when I have to tell her that I lost them, our family’s most valuable and treasured heirloom, is enough to keep me rooted to my seat, spine straight, chin high. Mother wouldn’t want excuses. She wouldn’t care that they were stolen. She would blame me, eternally. I would watch her casket lower into the ground with shame and guilt wrapping my mind, nothing else, nothing inside—
“You claim that something was stolen from your garage,” Chris’ voice interrupts my spiraling thoughts.
I clear my throat, pulling my attention back to my body, “um, yes,” I respond. “My jewelry box was taken. It had a pair of earrings that are incredibly meaningful to me. And Emerie’s lockbox is gone. I’m…” I look to her, and she’s staring daggers into Chris’ eyes. Neither have acknowledged my words. Neither have looked in my direction. Some silent conversation is occurring between them. I can practically feel the vibrations of words unsaid buzzing through the air. “I’m not sure what was inside.”
“Claim?” Emerie asks, completely ignoring everything I said.
“Yes. How can you be certain it was stolen? Are you sure neither of you simply–” he waves his hands in rapid, tight circles– “misplaced your things?”
“For fuck’s sake, Chris. We’re not stupid. We didn’t misplace our most valuable shit!” Emerie throws up air quotes around ‘misplace’ as she spits at him.
Chris puts up his hands, open palmed, as if calming a wild horse rather than a seething human woman. “Alright, alright. My bad.”
I’m tempted to ask them what the hell is going on between them, but I’m hesitant to know. They clearly have a deeper relationship than Emerie let on. I scrunch my brows at her, willing her to speak, to tell me about the nature of their relationship, to explain what was in her box that holds so much value.
But she does neither. She states, simply and efficiently, “we need your help, Chris. Our most valuable items are missing. We both had things taken.” Emerie’s words are pointed as her patience runs thin. Chris is stomping on her nerves, carelessly pressing her buttons.
“How did they get inside? Did you forget to lock the padlock? Did you leave the window open?”
“That’s what we’re here trying to find out.”
“If you ladies aren’t here to play, I’m not particularly interested in anything you have to say.”
Emerie takes in a breath, steadying herself. He’s done it now. Her face is growing redder by the second, and I wince in anticipation. I expected a shriek to erupt from her mouth, but am surprised by the velvet darkness of her tone, “you are our landlord. It is your responsibility to help us. You’re the first and only person we’ve talked to about this crime. Next stop is the police station.” Emerie cocks her head and pauses, allowing Chris to read her insinuation. No way he’d want the cops crawling around his apartment complex, let alone his house. “That is, unless you can help us. So I suggest--” she leans in, folding her elbows across her knees, “--that you try your very fucking hardest to be interested in what we have to say.”
Chris grits his teeth and swallows. Emerie is good at this. I stare openly at Chris now, a small, triumphant smile on my lips.
“Fine.”
Emerie grins victoriously before continuing. “The window wasn’t broken, and it was locked from the inside. The padlock was still on the outside when I went into the garage this morning. Hannah and I both have a key, and you have a key.” A pointed look at him. “Correct?”
“That’s right.” Chris reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a pack of Marlboros along with a hot pink Bic lighter. He offers the box to me, eyes wide in question, and I shake my head. Emerie, to my astonishment, accepts. She leans over the coffee table, filtered tip between her lips, and stares Chris down as he lights the end, the tiny orange flame flickering a hair’s width from her nose.
“I didn’t know you smoked,” I question as Emerie pulls from the cigarette.
“I don’t,” she says, glancing toward me. “But given the circumstances of our meeting, one can’t hurt.”
She might claim to be a non-smoker, but the cigarette looks at home clasped between her forefinger and middle. She doesn’t cough as she takes another drag, eyelids fluttering closed, savoring every second of that inhale. Did she used to?
My attention shifts back to Chris. “Are you sure there aren’t any other copies? Positive?”
“There’s no way for me to know if the previous tenants made copies of the garage key.”
“Wouldn’t it be illegal if they did, without your permission?”
Chris shrugs, blowing smoke towards the fireplace. “Hell if I know. Probably.”
The cigarette seems to steady him, and he gazes at the logs burning in the hearth. A faraway look in his eye. Daydreaming of someone or something out of his reach.
“Can you give us the previous tenant’s information? I’d like to speak with them.”
“Now that, I know I’m not supposed to do. But if it gets you out of my house sooner…” Chris stands and paces into the kitchen. He emerges a moment later with a yellow manila file, cigarette now clamped between his lips while his hands flip through page after page. He plucks one apart from the others and hands it to me.
Accepting the paper, Emerie inches closer to me on the couch. She looks over my shoulder at the official tenant information listed in bold, black print.
“Kayla and Ryan.” Emerie points to one of the lines near the top. “There’s their number.”
“You wouldn’t happen to know where they live… now?”
Chris raises his brows, leaning against the frame of the doorway leading to the kitchen. “Seriously? You wanna talk about illegal shit? Letting you see that paper alone is enough to lose my job. If I were keeping tabs on my old tenants after they moved from the complex…” he scoffs, laughing at the idea. “Naturally, Kayla was hot. So I did happen to… look out for them after they moved. Their new address is here.”
I silently thank Chris for being a stalker and absolute creep. Just for a second, while I take another paper from his fingertips. Their new address is printed in sloppy, smudged black ink, undoubtedly scrawled in a rush by Chris while doing some “detective” work.
“Thank you,” I mumble in his direction, unsure how to feel about this development. I did ask him if he had their current address, but I thought it was a long shot when I did. A part of me hoped that he wouldn’t have it. How many other tenants has he stalked, kept tabs on? The question makes my mouth go dry.
“Not a problem, ladies.” He looks back and forth between us. “If there’s nothing else I can do for you…”
Emerie and I stand together. “Um, can I use your bathroom before I go?”
“Sure,” Chris says with a grin. “Gladly. I wanted to have a little chat with your friend Emerie. Privately.”
I look between them, at the strange, familiar glean in their features. I try to ignore the insanely strange vibe emanating from them and move around the couches toward the hallway. “Whatever weirdos.”
Chris’ chuckle follows me into the hallway. I realize that he didn’t tell me which way would lead me to the bathroom. There’s a single door on my right, about halfway down the hallway. I open the door and flick on the light, revealing a bathroom. Huh. Easy enough.
I pee and quietly shut the door behind me. Emerie and Chris’ voices float towards me, soft and hurried. The temptation to eavesdrop crosses my mind, but the temptation to explore Chris’ house prickles at the edges of my brain. I tiptoe toward the front, back towards the double doors we entered through, and take a left into the kitchen.
The first thing I notice is the smell. The lemon scent fills my nose before I even cross the threshold. The second thing I notice is that the kitchen, themed with dark wood and yellow and orange hues, is pristine. A large island set with a farmhouse sink fills the middle of the room, a vase of fresh flowers on top. The countertops lining the walls have clearly been cleaned recently, the white marble still showing streaks from whatever cleaning solution was used to wipe them. Two doors stand closed on the opposite wall, separated by a coffee bar stocked with clear canisters and four identical white mugs.
I step farther into the room, around the stools situated in a line at the island, and peer into the empty sink. The bottom is bone dry, not a speck of food particles. I open the fridge, expecting week-old milk and a door full of half-used sauces, but to my surprise, find it empty. The shelves look unused.
“Whatcha doing?”
Chris’ voice startles me and I slam the fridge door shut, nearly jumping out of my skin. I whip around to glare at him. He is leaning effortlessly against the frame of the arched entrance to the kitchen. I get the urge to strangle him, if only to get him to stop grinning like a broken party clown.
“Don’t you ever eat?” I ask, gesturing towards the fridge and sink.
His grin sticks to his face as he answers, “can’t cook.”
I wait, expecting him to elaborate, but he doesn’t.
I glance away from him, at the door closest to me. I don’t say anything as I walk over to it and push on the handle. It doesn’t budge.
My arms cross my chest. “What’s in there?”
“How is that any of your business, Miss Hannah?” he asks, chuckling, still leaning on the frame.
“Just curious.”
“I think it’s time for you to leave.” His bright grin shrinks to the tiniest smile, his entire expression growing dark. “Don’t want to keep Emerie waiting.”
A chill runs through me, like water sliding down the back of my neck. Suddenly, all I want is to get away from him.
“Whatever.” I stomp across the kitchen and shoulder his arm as I pass. “Where is she?”
“Car,” he calls after me. “Come back any time!” I ignore him and get the fuck out of his house.
�
I rip the passenger door open and restrain myself from yelling at Emerie. Instead, as calmly as I can, I ask, “what the fuck? You left me there alone with that creep?”
Emerie waves me off, turning the key in the ignition once I’m safely inside the car. “You were fine. Chris is a douchebag but he wouldn’t force himself on you. And I wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.”
“You seem to know an awful lot about what Chris would and wouldn’t do,” I say, more grumbly than I would have liked.
Emerie glances at me while making a three-point turn to go headfirst down the driveway. “We might have a more… complex relationship than I originally implied.”
“I knew it!” I exclaim and point an accusing finger at her. “You have fucked him.”
A wicked grin splits her face. “Something like that.”
“Unbelievable,” I mutter, watching the crisp, empty branches swim past the car as we bump down the gravel drive. As vile as the thought of a desperate druggie getting jiggy with it might be… I can’t help my curiosity and stare at her out of the corner of my eye. “How was he?”
“Ew. Don’t ask me that.”
“But I’m picturing it.”
“Gross! Why?!” Emerie asks, her tone rising, complementing the twisted smile on her face.
I laugh at her incredulousness. “I can’t help it! He was so desperate, he might be hot but I can’t imagine actually doing the nasty. Together. With him.” I throw in an exaggerated shudder.
“Maybe you just like thinking about me naked,” Emerie says, waggling an eyebrow in my direction.
I scoff. “In your dreams,” and then, before I can think better of it, “you’re not my type.”
Her eyes widen. “I didn’t know you were a lesbian.”
“I’m not.”
Emerie furrows her brows, glancing at me, but I don’t offer more. Though I’m surprised by how much I’m enjoying talking with Emerie, I’m still not ready to be buddy-buddy with her. Three months of coldness makes it slow to warm up.
Once back on the main road, Emerie types into the GPS on her phone. “Are we going to the address that Chris gave us?”
The GPS lady explains the route. It says 20 minute drive at the bottom of the screen. “Sure are. Is that cool with you?”
I nod, then say yes when I realize she can’t see it while driving. “I don’t really want to go back to the apartment.” My arms find their place across my chest.
Emerie doesn’t say anything for a long while. “Me neither.”
�
By the time we pull up to the looming three-story house on the outskirts of town, the sun is slunk below the horizon. Several windows have lights on inside, but even with the warm glow cast onto the front lawn and driveway, the house is less than inviting. The height makes the house seem that much more ominous, and though it’s difficult to make out in the dark, it was clearly designed with extravagance in mind.
“What’s the plan here?” I ask Emerie, both of us still seated in the car, staring at the darkened house.
“I have a few ideas.”
When she doesn’t say anything else, I turn to look at her. “Wanna share with the class?”
Emerie grins. “I’ll tell you in a sec.” She fumbles for the door handle, and after struggling with the lock mechanism (which wasn’t locked to begin with), finally switches on the overhead light to get the door open.
“You good?”
She brushes me off and dips her head down into the frame of the car so I can see her eyes. “Yeah… I guess I’m a little nervous.”
I nod and agree. I couldn’t possibly hide my own anxiety. We’re showing up to a stranger’s house in the dark to accuse people we’ve never met of taking our most valuable items from a locked room that they shouldn’t have access to in the first place. They may have had access before, but if they somehow managed to keep a copy of their key, we’d have a massive issue. Not to mention more than enough reason to get the cops involved.
After getting my own door open and locking the car behind us, Emerie and I approach the stoop. I can’t see the backyard or what lies behind the house, but I can feel a salty breeze wafting from the ocean. According to our GPS location, the house should be right on the edge of the water, but there’s no telling in the moonless night.
I shiver and pull my jacket tighter around my middle. “So what’s your brilliant plan?”
Emerie lifts her shirt at the hem and holds something low, just at her waist, and I catch a glimpse of its silver, metallic body wink in the faint porch light.
“What the fuck, Emerie?” I say, a bit too loudly. She shushes me and I lower my voice, “why do you have a gun?”
“For protection, obviously.”
“Why would you need that?”
She rolls her eyes. “Look, if something here goes south, then I have some insurance. I’m not planning to use it, I just want you to know that I have it.”
I stare at her, unconvinced. In my experience, a situation with guns has never had a positive outcome, whether you intend to use one or not.
She continues, “keep in mind that these people are criminals.”
“We don’t know that. They’re just the best lead we have right now.”
“Well until we know for sure, I think it would be in our best interest to consider them highly dangerous and aggressive. They’re not going to appreciate two strangers showing up at their house after dark and accusing them of stealing something from their locked garage, whether they did or not.”
I pause at the bottom of the steps leading up to the porch, and Emerie seems to sense my hesitation. She offers gently, “we could go back home and forget all this. Maybe it isn’t worth it.”
I weigh the value of my grandmother’s earrings against the potential embarrassment, or possibly even danger, of what we’re about to do. I can feel the earrings in my palm, their slight weight touching my skin, so light I could hardly tell they’re there. Something so small, worth so much. Not just in dollar value, but in value to my family. I could never sell them, no matter how desperate I am for cash. Not after everything that happened between us.
My chest aches at my mind’s reimagining of my grandmother’s face. I see her sitting in her chair by the window, sun on her wrinkled, joyous face, her favorite spot to curl up in the afternoon. I don’t picture her crinkled eyebrows and hooded lids shut tight, the blinds drawn to the windowsill because the sun now burned her eyes every time she opened them. I never see her stricken and sick in her hospital bed, pale and weary as an anemic ghost, no fight left in the same body that once held energy and vitality and radiant life. A wrought-iron bar descends over my chest, bearing its weight over my body, a familiar weight that crushed the light out of me in my chair and Nona in her bed. My hands curl into fists and I see blooming red spots when I consider that her earrings could be on the other side of that wall.
“No. We need to figure this out. I’m getting those earrings back. No matter the cost.”
Emerie raises her eyebrows and slow-nods in approval. “I didn’t know you had it in you. That’s the kind of determination I’ve been waiting for.”
I can’t help smiling at her praise. Why does her approval matter to me? For a moment it’s like we’re friends, like we might have grown together since childhood. Two people who trust each other and have the other’s back, to know someone who can read my mind and moods like a treasured book. In our last three months of living together, she’s never made me feel anything remotely similar. Not that I’d know what it’s like: I’ve never had a friend who could make me feel the way Nona did.
I take a breath, trying to loosen my nerves. “Let’s do this.”
Together, we ascend the steps. Each one creaks under our weight, so loud in the empty air that it seems impossible they wouldn’t hear our approach from inside. Not that it would matter if they did. My jaw is set, my mind is clear, my heart is steady. I am decided, I am all-in, from here on out. It could be my imagination, but an unspoken bond seems to have wrapped itself in a protective circle around me and Emerie. For the first time since I woke up this morning, I don’t feel completely helpless and afraid. We’re taking action, we’re going to figure this out. Together.
Emerie knocks. So lost in my own thoughts, I hardly registered our approach to the door. My heart skips, betraying my confidence from just a moment ago. At this proximity, the muffled sound of a TV can be heard faintly trumpeting in the background.
The locks click and the door splits open just a crack, spilling warm yellow light and a smell like pine and leather onto the porch. An eye appears just below the tiny metal chain that prevents it from swinging wide open.
“Who are you?” a small woman’s voice asks, so lilted it sounds nearly poetic.
“Hi, I’m sorry to bother you so late. My name is Tasha and this is Reagan. We’re here to speak to Kayla and Ryan?”
For a moment I’m floored by Emerie’s ability to make a lie roll so easily off her tongue. Not to mention the complete change in the tone and cadence of her voice. I wouldn’t recognize her if she’d showed up at our apartment saying she forgot her key.
“I’m sorry,” she says, the voice sickly sweet, “we aren’t interested in purchasing anything.”
The door starts to close, but Emerie nearly yells, “Wait please! We aren’t solicitors, we need your help.”
The woman’s eye swivels back and forth between our faces. “With what?”
“I’ll explain everything. I’m so sorry to ask, and to bother you this late, but can we come in? Is your husband home?”
The door shuts without another word. A small scuffling and mumbling, and then the door swings wide to reveal a tiny woman and a very tall man, standing side-by-side, looking positively giddy. The woman can’t be over 5 feet tall, but has what can only be triple D’s. I suddenly understand, with bile rising steadily into my throat, why Chris was interested in stalking her. Despite her small height, Kayla’s posture suggests someone of much greater stature. She stands stiffly, ramrod straight, with her hands clasped at her front, and a dazzling, wide smile showing all of her teeth.
Ryan, on the other hand, is absurdly tall and rail thin, with a black goatee and matching beanie. He, too, stands with incredible posture. My shoulders inadvertently straighten at the sight of them both.
“Thank you, it’s freezing out,” Emerie says, stepping inside the doorway. Seeing no other options, and despite my pounding heart and sweaty palms, I follow.
�
As soon as we’ve sat down on the couches in the living room, I shuck off my heavy jacket. The house is unusually warm. Maybe it was the biting wind outside, or maybe the warm yellow glow of the many lamps sat upon every available surface, or maybe just the nerves. Whatever it is, I was frozen just a few minutes ago, and now I’m on the verge of sweating.
Ryan ducks under the archway leading into the living room and takes up a spot beside Kayla. He looks absolutely massive standing beside her: the difference in their height is about the same as a small child.
Ryan’s eyes settle on me, his smile wide and welcoming. “What were your names again?”
Fuck. What did she say our names were? I’m about to blurt something stupid when Emerie pipes up, “Tasha and Reagan. I’m Tasha, this is Reagan.” She elbows my arm when she gestures towards me, and I get the hint. I need to catch up.
“Can… she talk?” Ryan asks, nodding at me.
Three pairs of eyes land on my face. “Yeah. I can talk.”
“Great!” Ryan says, near shouting. “So what brings you to our home?”
Emerie laughs uncomfortably. “Aren’t you gonna offer us something to drink? Or a light snack for our travels?”
Kayla grabs Ryan’s arm, her other hand flying to her forehead. “Ryan! How rude of us. I’ll go get everyone something to drink.”
She dashes from the room. Ryan turns to us, still grinning from ear to ear. We sit in silence, each of us seemingly deep in our own discomfort. Kayla returns hardly a heartbeat later with a tray of four tall glasses, ice clinking along the walls. She sets it on the coffee table in the middle of the sitting room, takes a seat in the armchair across from us, and takes a cup from the tray. Ryan follows suit, taking the chair on her left and an identical glass.
“Lemonade,” Kayla says, gesturing with her glass.
“Thank you,” Emerie says, selecting a third glass, leaving one left for me. Kayla and Ryan both look at me expectantly, their own cups sweating into their palms, my palms sweaty from the glow of the lamps, my heart thumping to the steady beat of the ceiling fan in the next room over, and I reach for the cup they’ve deemed mine. The humidity in the seaside air has the outside of the cup already drenched in condensation, and I have to grip it tightly to prevent it slipping from my fingers.
I take the slightest sip of the light yellow liquid and am immediately greeted with wild sweetness. It’s heavily sugared, but somewhat… delightful. And a lovely, cold contrast to the unnatural heat inside their home.
“It's… delicious. Thank you.”
Kayla’s smile widens, and she nods appreciatively. “You’re welcome. It’s a family recipe. I almost always have some on hand, and I just so happened to make a batch this morning.”
“Lemonade’s more of a summer drink, isn’t it?” I say, taking a sip nonetheless.
“Traditionally. But I enjoy it year-round. And Ryan certainly doesn’t mind having something cold to drink. It’s sort of our trade-off, a little agreement between us, so that I can keep it warm in here.”
I’m a bit surprised that they mentioned it. But now that I notice, Ryan is glistening with a slight sheen of sweat. “Why do you keep it so warm?”
“I’m anemic so I’m constantly cold. I’m most comfortable around 78 degrees indoors, but we usually keep it about 76.”
“That makes sense. Although I’m not sure how Ryan lives like this all the time. I think I’d be losing my cool. Literally,” I add, with a slight smile.
Kayla and Ryan both laugh, a bit too loudly for my small joke. They seem uncomfortable with our presence. Maybe they’re just trying to dissolve some of the tension so this all feels less awkward.
Emerie clears her throat and we all three turn our attention to her, but she doesn’t say anything. She simply looks back at Kayla with a tiny smile, wordlessly waiting for her to start the conversation. And after a moment, she does.
“So what brings you to our home?” Kayla asks, with genuine warmth.
Emerie and I glance at one another, a silent question of who should explain. I have no intention of weathering that one, so I keep my mouth shut.
“I’m gonna make this quick so we don’t take up too much more of your time. We had something stolen from our garage.” Kayla gasps, and Ryan’s eyebrows furrow into concern. Emerie continues, “we share the space and we both had items, valuable items, missing when we went in there this morning. We talked to our landlord and he pointed us to you guys because you used to live in our apartment.” She pauses, gauging their reactions. Neither of them seem to have caught on to her insinuations, so the words tumble out, “we were wondering if you two might still have a key, or maybe made a copy of a key, or left a key somewhere, anything like that.”
“No, that’s terrible.” Ryan says, reaching for Kayla’s hand. They sit with their hands clasped, both still the pinnacle of shock. “Are you asking if we might have had something to do with your missing items?” He asks, sounding almost hurt by such an accusation.
“We’re just looking for some answers. Or a new direction. We don’t see any point in going to the police because there was no sign of a break-in. They’d just write a report and that’d be the end of it.”
“You’re right about that. In my experience, cops are intentionally unhelpful. Not to mention untrustworthy,” Kayla says with a sigh. “Unfortunately, we never made a copy of the two keys we were given when we first moved in. And we gave both keys back to Chris when we moved out.”
She pauses, and in her pause Emerie and I once again meet eyes. These people seem kind, as far as I can tell. But if they were criminals, they’d have no problem lying to us. There’s just no way for us to be sure without more information. I try to pass all of my swirling thoughts to Emerie telepathically.
She doesn’t appear to want to speak anymore, so I take the initiative. “The thing is, we don’t know you and you don’t know us. You’ve both been extremely kind and helpful in welcoming two strangers into your home, and we appreciate that greatly. But we have no way of knowing if the two of you are genuine, or criminals. We came here not having any idea what to expect. For all we know you two are the ones who opened our garage and took our stuff.”
“I understand completely,” Kayla says, bowing toward us, one hand over her heart. “I would be feeling the exact same way. We want to help as much as we can and show you that we mean no harm.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
“Of course. Would you like a tour?”
“That sounds great.”
We all stand together. I down the rest of my lemonade and set my glass on the coffee table before following our hosts and Emerie out of the living room and into the kitchen.
Their kitchen is extremely clean, with no visible signs of dust or dirt anywhere. The stainless steel fridge is sleek in the yellow light over the stove, and not a single appliance takes up the counter space lining both walls, forming a hallway straight through the middle and opening into another hallway lined with dark wood doors. There are no windows in the hallway, just the purple wallpaper so dark it looks almost ash black, with sconces interspersed between the doors lining both walls, casting their yellow glow down towards the creaky wooden floors.
“When was the house built?” I ask as we walk.
“The 1840s, although it’s been renovated from top to bottom since then. But it seems whoever was renovating always chose to keep the same ancient, rustic style. Luckily Ryan and I love the look. We’ve elected to change a few things, but nothing too crazy.”
She opens a door on our right to reveal a room that could have been intended as a bedroom, but is now a makeshift work room. Cans of paint lay strewn about across tarps and raggedy blankets, a workbench in the corner topped with tools and all manner of random carpentry parts.
“What kind of renovations are you guys doing?”
Kayla and Ryan glance at one another, and for a moment their smiles falter. Then the moment passes and Ryan turns to address me, “painting, changing light fixtures, replacing creaky doors, things like that. Nothing unordinary or interesting.”
“Hm,” I say in response. I take another glance around the room before following the others back to the hallway and shutting it behind me, as it was when we first entered.
I take the moment to throw a look at Emerie, a look that I hope says there’s nothing here. These people have been nothing but kind.
She just shrugs and motions me to follow, straying a step behind Kayla, who in turn follows Ryan, with me bringing up the rear.
We venture farther into the house, with our hosts occasionally dipping in and out of rooms, engaging us in casual conversation yet always the picture of welcoming and warmth, we arrive back at the living room.
Emerie and I stand a bit stiffly, unsure of ourselves.
“Thank you for the tour. I know it’s under odd circumstances, but it’s been a pleasure meeting you both.”
“Of course.” Kayla gives a slight bow of her head. “But… are you going home?”
“That… seems to be the only thing left to do. This was a dead end. You don’t seem like burglars or criminals to us and we have no other leads.”
Ryan picks up where Kayla left off, “but if someone has a key to your garage, wouldn’t they also have a key to the apartment?”
It was the certainty of the question that had been rattling around in my head since the start. The key to our apartment is the same key for the garage. If someone has access to our garage… I’d been ignoring the thought all day.
After a moment of tense silence, I say, “we don’t have anywhere else to go.”
“That simply won’t do. You’ll stay with us,” Kayla says, sounding for all the world like a concerned mother.
A pang ricochets through my chest, a vision of my own mother crashing through me, her scowl, her disapproval, her last sour words to me.
I start to object, “that’s a very kind offer, but we’ve already taken too much of your time. I think it’d be best if we–”
“It’d be best if you stayed somewhere safe and uncompromised. The police can’t do a damn thing to help you girls if you’re dead. Or worse!”
On her last word, she throws her hands over her head.
I once again open my mouth to object, but Emerie cuts me off, “that would be lovely, Kayla. Thank you both so much for your kindness.”
I stare at her, mouth still open, my objections silenced by my shock.
“I’ll show you girls to a room. Now we only have the one spare bed, but it is a queen, so it should be more than enough room for the both of you.”
She starts out of the room, and when neither of us follow, Ryan motions for us to go, and we do.
�
Once we’re both changed into comfy clothes, courtesy of Kayla’s gym shorts and Ryan’s massive t-shirts, I flop into bed.
Face down into the mattress, I mutter so Emerie can hear, “I’m exhausted.”
She sighs, “me too.”
I move onto my elbow to look at her. The bedside lamp casts a hazy, dreamlike glow over her face. She looks staggeringly calm, at peace. So unlike how she often appears around our apartment.
The question is out of my mouth before I can consider it. “Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?”
Emerie’s eyebrows furrow, genuinely taken aback. “What do you mean?”
I consider the events of the day. “You haven’t been so… callous as usual. Or cold.”
Emerie laughs, tossing her head back, her black ringlets bouncing with each burst of breath. “You’re the one who’s been cold! I wouldn’t say callous, but you’ve avoided me like the plague. I tried to be friends, to invite you to parties, but every time you gave me the cold shoulder. Like I was bothering you or something. I stopped trying.”
Was it true? Had I been cold first? I think back to our first days in the apartment. My grandma passed away barely a month earlier. Maybe it had a stronger effect on me than I realized. I spoke to no one but her, I had no family to seek comfort in. She encouraged me to find some companionship in friends or a partner, but I could think only of her. I spent my time at home, tending to her needs, and then in the hospital, by her side every moment so she would not pass alone. I loved her as I’ve never loved anyone, and now that she’s gone, mending the hole Nona left in my heart may have made me defensive.
Not a day passes that I don’t wish for another moment with her.
My shoulders shrug. “I guess it’s possible.”
“You were. It’s not possible, it’s the truth. I don’t know what baggage you’re lugging around, but you need to let that shit go. Or at least unpack the suitcase. You get me?”
“I don’t really have anyone to talk to.”
She smiles, a faltering, sheepish twist that reaches her eyebrows more than her lips, and says, “what am I, a pet? Am I speaking English? Talk to me.”
I didn’t realize Emerie could be so… soft. I’d always imagined her too loud and too much, her energy as abrasive as a brillo pad. I assumed, and I was wrong.
“I’m sorry.”
She smiles and shakes her head, dismissing all of my worries and guilt and shame. “It’s cool. Fresh start.”
“I– um. I guess… my grandma died.” The realization that I haven’t spoken of my Nona since she died stuns me, and I struggle to find the next words.
Emerie’s face twists in confusion, and she speaks softly, “you mean, you aren’t sure?”
“No, no– I mean, she died. I was with her when she died. In the hospital. A few months ago. And I’ve been a little… out of it since she did.”
Her face is emotionless, and strangely, there’s something comforting about it. With all the confusion and frustration built up inside me like lego bricks, it’s nice that someone can hear my pain and feel nothing about it. She watches me for a moment but says nothing, so I continue.
“I was living with her before she got sick. She raised me. My mother would visit, and I still don’t know the full extent of their relationship and what happened between them or to me when I was a kid, but my mom lost custody of me very early on. I don’t remember ever living with her.
“I grew up in my Nona’s house. It’s the only home I know. I’ve never moved, I’ve hardly ever stayed anywhere besides there. It’s been hard to adjust to a new living situation. I guess I didn’t realize how much it’s affected me until now.” I glance at her apologetically. She nods in return.
“But now she’s dead, and the house is empty without her. I tried living there for a few weeks after she died but I can’t be in that fucking house all by myself. To see the same dishes in the sink, to come home to the living room in the same shape I left it, to smell the same fucking smells and nothing new. I couldn’t take it. I started living in my car, and that’s where I was until you responded to my ad and found our apartment. I’ve been meaning to sell the house, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I look at the papers and the black ink makes shapes I don’t recognize. My mind runs off to Nona in her hospital bed. I know that everyone has to die eventually. It’s just hard to come to terms with all of it. She wasn’t sick until she was, and by then there was nothing we could do. The hospital bills ate up all of my savings, despite Nona telling me to let her go. To let her die.”
A breath shudders through me, loosening all of the screws in my carefully constructed demeanor. “How could I? But now there’s nothing left. If I could just sell the house it would be easy. But it’s her house. It’s her house, it’s not mine to sell, it’s her house.”
I cover my face with my hands, trying to bury myself beneath them, like if I press hard enough I’ll be able to disappear completely, and with my body, all the rest of it.
“Hannah. It’s okay.”
I breathe down the panic, settle the wolves trying to claw their way into my chest.
I breathe and breathe and breathe.
Emerie touches my arm. “It’s okay.”
One last breath. “I know.” One more. “But it’s not.”
She waits, hand still resting gently on my arm. Once I’ve caught my breath and wrestled the wolves back into their resting place, I add, in a small sigh, “I miss her.”
“You still haven’t sold her house?”
I shake my head, not looking at her. “I can’t bring myself to do it. Every now and then I pull the papers out of my desk drawer and shuffle through them, but I just can’t. I know it would help me to move on. I know that, logically. But my body doesn’t acknowledge that little fact. The panic and guilt sits like a rock in my chest, no matter how many times I say I need to put it up for sale.”
“I understand. I’m sure it’s hard.” She pats my arm twice and then leans back. She grabs her phone from her side table and stands. “I’m gonna use the bathroom. I’ll be right back.” She shoots me a small smile and then disappears.
I am, frankly, grateful to be alone. I flop onto my back and stare at the ceiling, breathing calm into my lungs, the way I’ve had to practice time and time again after Nona. The faint sound of the tv in the living room filters under the door, and I imagine Kayla and Ryan sitting together on their couch, reclined into one another with a bowl of popcorn, their carefree watching of the movie interrupted only by their thoughts of renovations and home upgrades. The simple domesticity of such a life. The ache rings through me, a single drop of water radiating into every corner of my body.
Emerie reenters the room. “I just talked to Chris. He said he might have another lead for us, but we need to meet him back at his house.”
I roll my eyes. “He seems awfully insistent about having us at his house.”
She shrugs. “That’s the way he is.”
“He didn’t tell you what the lead is?”
She shakes her head and climbs under the covers. “Who knows? I say we go back tomorrow morning. I’m taking a PTO day to hopefully get this all sorted out.”
“I’ll do the same,” I say, pulling the covers up to my elbows and switching off my bedside lamp. “Goodnight, Emerie.”
“See you in the morning.”
�
We didn’t waste time hanging around Kayla and Ryan’s house. We thanked them profusely for their kindness and left before they could insist upon us staying for breakfast. Though I am positively starving by the time we leave, having only picked on snacks the night before, I don’t want to waste time sitting around their house. I need to get to the bottom of this mystery before the end of the day so I can get on with my life.
Once again, Emerie drives. I suggest stopping at the house for just a quick minute, just to change clothes and grab a snack, but Emerie refuses.
“We can stop by later, after Chris’. Then we’ll go to a coffee shop or get breakfast or something. But Chris’ first. I want to get it over with as quickly as possible.”
Though hesitant, I nod. “I guess that makes sense.” Though I really would have liked to change out of the clothes I wore all day yesterday, I allow her to take us straight to Chris.
“So what else do you have all pent up inside you, huh? Any jealous ex-boyfriends or scandalous affairs?”
I chuckle at her question. “Nothing like that. I’ve never dated anybody. My focus was always on Nona, especially after she got sick. I told myself I didn’t have the time, but really I just wasn’t interested.”
“Hm. What about your family?”
“What’s with all the prying questions all of a sudden?”
She brushes it off with a laugh. “I feel like we’re just meeting for the first time! It’s like you’re an entirely new person, revealed to me anew. I’m just curious.”
I roll my eyes, but continue. “I told you about my mom. I haven’t seen or heard from her since the hospital, a few days before Nona died. She tried to get Nona to change her will, to pass everything to her instead of me. Until that point, I had no idea Nona had changed her will. As far as I’m aware, that’s the last time she and my mom ever spoke.”
“What about your dad?”
A scoff escapes before I can contain it. “Deadbeat. Mom left him years ago, before I even had the mind to form any sort of connection with him. He’s popped up here and there over the years, but now that I’ve moved from home, he doesn’t have my address and I’ll probably never hear from him again. Good fucking riddance.”
“You don’t have any siblings?”
“Only child. And thank god for that. They shouldn’t have had one to begin with.”
Emerie whistles, long and low. “That’s tough, Hannah. I’ve always said no parents are better than shitty parents.”
“Yeah, maybe. The only reason I didn’t grow up in an orphanage is because of Nona. She’s the one stable person in my entire extended family of fuck-ups. Was,” I correct myself.
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, my family’s no better. I’d say my family’s fuck-ups could give yours a run for their money.”
“Try me,” I say with a grin.
She laughs. “Another time. We’re almost there.”
And we were. I hadn’t realized how quickly the time passed. Maybe trying to make friends would be good for me.
Maybe I can finally move on.
We roll up the driveway to Chris’ house. It stands exactly as it did the day before. Old but with a charming warmth, the house would be cozy and great for a private getaway under different circumstances. Looking at it now just makes my stomach flip.
We park the car in the same spot as before, then approach the front door. Emerie doesn’t bother knocking, just pushes the door open and strides towards the living room.
“Chris?” Emerie calls.
I shut the door behind me and follow, feeling a bit out of place.
“Check over there,” Emerie says, pointing across the living room. There’s a hallway leading in two directions, left or right, but as I enter deeper into the room, leaving Emerie at the entrance, I hear her speak from behind me.
“I’m sorry, Hannah.”
Her voice is like the edge of a blade. When I turn, the silver pistol she carried into Kayla and Ryan’s house is pointed at my chest. Chris emerges from the hallway and presses himself against the wall at my back, lazing against it, watching us with a big smirk. My heart pounds against my rib cage, thrumming like a drum beat. A vision of a hospital monitor beeping to the rhythm of my grandmother’s heart flashes across my mind, and I wonder, ridiculously, how the beeping of mine would sound.
“What are you doing?” My voice is thin and brittle, like uncooked pasta right before snapping over a boiling pot.
“Put them on.” A pair of silver handcuffs clatter at my feet.
“Emerie.”
“Don’t make me ask twice.” She raises her voice, and the gun flails in her hand.
“Did you take something? Did he drug you?”
“No. I’m sober. And so is he.”
Chris gives a silly wave from his position on the wall. “Did we get you?” His grin widens into a wolfish sneer, and he adds with a sing-song lilt, “I think we did.” He claps his hands together loudly and points at me, “look at her. She’s fuming!” he pushes off the wall and takes a few lazy steps closer, and the walls seem to fall in behind him.
Whatever emotions are filling up inside me, I can’t stop looking at Emerie. All of the twinkled softness in her eyes dissolved, the emotive lines of her face smoothed over, the loud-mouthed voice gone sour. What is happening?
“What is happening?” I wail. I want to bury my face in my hands, but I’m terrified of moving, that any change will end with a bullet in my chest.
A small smile passes over her lips. “Confused?” I swallow and try to think, but my brain has deserted me. “You were one tough cookie to crumble, maybe the toughest so far. But I’m patient. And by now, we can spot your particular breed of pathetic from a mile away.”
“What?” I ask, mind racing.
‘Single female, looking for a roommate,’” she quotes my Craigslist ad word for word, “‘quiet, easy to live with, no pets, can pay cash.’” She laughs, and then finishes with a sneer. “You were every red flag we always look for, wrapped up in an ugly bow. You were so clearly broken and had nowhere to go, nobody who could help you. The only question was why? What happened to my pretty girl?” She smiles and gestures towards Chris. “My money was on daddy issues.”
“I had a hundred on rape. Guess we get to keep our money.” They snicker together.
“But…” my brain fails to piece together anything coherent.
“But… what? Everything you know about me isn’t true. I’ve lied and lied, baby girl. But I had to make a move. You have no idea how hard it can be! Getting these silly broken girls to open up.”
“We had that college dude last year. Remember? The one with the abusive girlfriend?” He puts air quotes around ‘abusive’.
“What are you gonna do to me?” My voice is small. With her aiming the gun at me, I know they could do anything they want. I’m a caged animal.
Emerie laughs. “Don’t look so violated. We’re not sick. We’re in it for the money.”
The front door bangs open and Kayla and Ryan join Emerie and Chris by the doorway. Ryan holds my dark oak jewelry box in his arms.
“Where’s the key?” he addresses me, jaw set in anger. “We picked through every inch of your room and couldn’t find it anywhere.”
Chris groans and reaches for the box, “we should just smash it like we were going to.”
“No,” Emerie shouts, not taking her eyes off of me. Her tone changes to a lethal quiet, “we’re not going to damage it because the box alone could be worth more than the earrings. It’s vintage. Real wood. Use your fucking head, you moron. I’ve already explained this to you.”
“Fuck this,” Ryan mutters, passing the box to Kayla. He stomps over to me and grabs me by the throat, lifting me to my feet. Even on the tips of my toes, he’s an entire foot taller than me. “Where is it?” he snarls in my face.
“Fuck you,” I gasp through my teeth, fighting for breath.
He hurls me away from him and my head slams into the wall behind me. I don’t remember hitting the floor, but when I open my eyes, the edges of my vision hazy from tears, I have to look up at Emerie now standing above me, gun still poised to kill.
“Cuff her.”
I try to crawl. I manage to flip onto my hands and knees and make it to the side of the couch before my ankles are grabbed and I’m dragged back into the middle of the living room.
Ryan flips me onto my back and I thrash with all my might. I land a solid kick to his stomach and he doubles over. I dislodge his other hand and try to get to my feet, but Chris is behind me before I can stand. He grabs my shoulders and shoves me into the floor, knocking the wind from my chest. I throw my hands up to cover my face and he snatches my wrists. I try to pull my legs up, to roll into a ball, but Chris has recovered and pins my knees to the ground. He crouches over my middle and walks his way up to straddle my middle, and his weight over my abdomen is crushing. I’m too weak to pull my arms from Chris’ grasp as Ryan clicks the handcuffs around my wrists. Chris drops my wrists and grabs the handcuff chain, yanking my arms over my head.
“Please,” I gasp, and a tear slides down my cheek. “Don’t hurt me.”
Ryan lifts off of my stomach, hovering over me on his knees, and I’m finally able to take a full breath. He pulls a knife from his pocket and unsheaths the blade, holding it over me loosely. “We’re gonna treat you how you treat us.”
His fist connects with my stomach so fast I don’t have time to brace myself. Chris snickers somewhere behind me as the sweeping nausea rolls into my throat and I gag, sputtering, trying to pull my knees to my chest, but can’t with Ryan still hovering over my middle.
He leans into my face and says, “now we’re even. That was to make sure you understand the severity of your situation, and to ensure you don’t get any ideas. Cooperate with us, and we’ll pay you the same respect.”
I heave, turning my cheek to the ground for just a moment, before meeting his eyes, “take off the cuffs and give me a knife and we’ll call it equal.”
Ryan laughs. “No can do.” He uses the blade to lift the hem of my shirt, pressing the cold metal into my abdomen, just under my belly button. “You’re gonna tell me where the key to that box is, or I’m gonna carve our names into your stomach, and then spill your guts on this rug.”
Blood pounds in my ears, my breath coming faster and faster with the rapid beat of my heart.
His voice turns to a low snarl. “Or maybe I should cut these clothes off of you and we can have this conversation somewhere more private.”
When I continue to say nothing, he uses his empty hand to pop open the button of my jeans. The tears come unopposed now. A fleeting memory of Nona rises in me, and I see her wearing the earrings that rest peacefully inside the box just a few feet away, and I know with a repulsive certainty that I am never going to wear them. Even if I make it out of this house, those earrings would sit in that box for eternity with the path I’m taking.
I think… I don’t have many options. They’re going to kill me. My death is in their hands. Maybe if I cooperate they’ll at least make it quick. I can resist, and then they’ll torture me before killing me. They’d get to her earrings eventually, probably just by breaking apart the box. Or they’d find the key on my corpse after all. There’s no point in resisting except for some moral high ground that exists only in my head.
“It’s around my neck,” I answer hoarsely. “The key is on my necklace.” As the words leave my mouth, I feel my heart sink and shatter. I try to remind myself they’re just earrings. They’re meaningful only to you.
Ryan yanks down the collar of my shirt and pulls on the silver chain to reveal the small key at the end of my necklace that usually rests at the top of my chest. He uses the knife to snap the chain and takes the key, tossing the broken chain aside. He pushes off of me and stands, a triumphant smile on his lips.
“Keep her under control,” he says to Chris.
“You got it, Chief,” Chris says with an animated salute. He removes his hands to instead place one knee over the chain, holding me to the floor with his whole body weight and crunching my hands into the ground.
Ryan and Kayla exit the room, leaving the three of us together once again. Emerie, gun still pointed at my head, walks closer.
“Sorry about him. He can be a little temperamental. Gets one mediocre taco in his 12 pack and goes flying off the rails.”
I stare at her, trying to send daggers into her face. “You would’ve let him rape me.”
She shrugs and my blood boils. “I do my best to control him. But he gave you fair options. What you chose after that is out of my hands. And lucky for you, you chose cooperation. It’s simple.”
A strangled laugh escapes my throat. “Great. So now what?”
“Well… you probably don’t want to know. But for us, we’ve already got another girl lined up. She’s working on moving into your room right now.”
“But… what happened to all my stuff?”
“Chris cleaned it out last night when we were at Jo and Henry’s. We always have the option open to rent the room, the ad never closes. You’d be surprised how easy it is to find women like you around the city. This operation isn’t some one trick pony.”
When I don’t respond, she continues, “you know, it’s good that you don’t have anybody who’s gonna come looking for you. There’s no one left who loves you. Granny’s gone, Mom’s an absentee, Dad hasn’t been in the picture for a looong time. And that makes everything so much easier. We might be able to stick around here for a while. If it were up to me, we’d have everything so fine-tuned that we’d never have to move. What’s a few missing girls in a big city? Especially a few that nobody gives a shit about,” she looks at me and winks, whispering like she’s giving up a secret, “but you know how big a pain family can be, don’t you?”
I want to scream. The urge is almost undeniable. But then, the nightmare continues, “and you know what’s crazy? We really had to play our parts this time around! Trying to get you to open up was like pulling teeth. I was a little worried Aunt Jo and Uncle Henry were gonna give the whole thing away with how insufferably kind they were being. We needed you to open up to us, to feel safe with us, so we made their ‘house’ as inviting as possible. Then, all I needed was a reason to make you feel unsafe in your home. Chris suggested a real-time break-in, him busting in with a knife and a ski mask and threatening you. I said we had to be sneakier. I was worried that a grand gesture like that would scare you off completely. I knew you were hiding something sweet. Wasn’t I right, Chris?”
Chris rolls his eyes, grinning the whole time, and looks at her with a tilt of his head, palms facing the room, “You were right, I gotta give it to you, Em. This was a big one. It was worth the wait.”
“Damn straight,” they snicker together.
“So that’s it? You’re gonna pawn my grandmother’s earrings and just… move on? What’s the point?”
“Oh no,” she laughs. “We have much greater plans in the works. Sure, we’ll pawn the earrings. But the real money is in that house you’ve got on standby. Now that’s the kind of big reveal that makes it all worth the effort.”
My heart sinks at the thought of them inside Nona’s house, of selling it off just like any other object. It’s all too much. This is too much. The tears burn my eyes as they work their way out, finding their escape, and I envy their ability to slip through the smallest cracks, to will their way out of the tiniest space. I wish I could melt into the rug and slip between the floorboards. Their laughter is unbearable, their scrutiny and meddling in my life impossible to endure for a moment longer. I wail, “Can’t you just kill me so I don’t have to deal with this shit anymore?”
“Woah, woah! So eager! Don’t get ahead of yourself. There’s a few more things we need to straighten out. Plus–” she grins– “I wouldn’t want to ruin the rug.”
I don’t know how long I lay there staring at the space between the underside of the couch and the wooden planks of the floor. Emerie and Chris’ voices are muted, whether they’re speaking to me or each other, I cannot comprehend. They are hazy and somewhere far away as I drift into a dreamlike state, all pain that had existed in my body now evaporated away, no longer a nuisance or distraction.
I barely register Kayla and Ryan reentering the house. Chris snatches up my handcuffs, tugging on my arms, cueing me to stand. When I do not, when I continue to lay as useless as a stone on the floor, Ryan roughly grabs my shoulders and pulls me up. I allow my body to limp.
“Did you drug her?”
“No,” I hear Emerie say, sounding faraway, “we didn’t give her anything.”
“Whatever. She must be in shock. It’ll make this next part easier. Ferris, grab her shoulders.”
Chris drops the cuffs and my hands land heavily in my lap. Suddenly I’m being hoisted off the ground by my knees and shoulders. I let my head roll back and watch the lights in the ceiling and the different thresholds of doors pass overhead until they disappear, replaced by the brilliant blue of the sky and blinding, radiant sun.
It’s a beautiful day to die.
A small smile creeps over me. My head rolls to the side and I catch a glimpse of where they’re carrying me.
My car is parked in the gravel around the side of the house, the path forming a makeshift driveway directly down to the lake. In the shade beneath the elevated back porch is a speedboat, making the purpose of the driveway into the lake far more clear. The engine is running, and the realization of their intentions hit me like a boulder.
Emerie and Kayla stand at attention on either side of my car, the gun still grasped loosely in Emerie’s hand. As we approach, Kayla pops the trunk. All four of them are silent as Chris and Ryan place my body inside, positioning me so I’m sat upright against the backside of the seats, facing them.
Emerie steps forward as the other three step back. “I truly am sorry, Hannah. You were one of our more enjoyable mysteries. It’s not personal… we just can’t have any loose ends.” Emerie has the audacity to look down her nose, pity shimmering in her reddening eyes. “You understand.”
For a moment, I could have believed her. The glittering in her eyes and glossiness shadowing her face was more likely a trick of the light, but I choose to imagine that she might have found me interesting for even a fleeting moment. That I’m not a complete fool for falling into a spider’s web. I look at her one last time and try to communicate with my eyes, to plead desperately for my life, the last ditch effort clearly in vain when she raises her arm.
To my dismay, the gunshot is not the last sound I hear. Instead, the sound of the bullet connecting with my forehead and pushing through my brain, then exploding out the back of my head is the sound that I follow into the afterlife.
Oh, well. It could’ve been worse.
