The incessant ringing of the doorbell attested to the inactivity of Mike Freeway's apartment. He mopped his sweating brow with the edge of his robe as he looked in the direction of the door, nervously. The police cars had arrived only a couple of minutes beforehand, and he knew that the officers would be ringing any moment.Damn it," he cursed through his teeth. What had happened up there? He'd felt the rushing of feet, the muffling, and then the cold silence after that. All the fibers were screaming murder, but he refused to let himself say it. Not now, not when he'd nearly made it vanish, to become transparent and ignored.His gaze roamed over the grimy, dusty room. He had hidden evidence of last night by spilling it into the floor, but the pungent odor of covered-up secrets lingered. None of it had attempted to get out at all.He looked at the dusty cupboard whose battered surface concealed far darker secrets than anyone could ever have imagined. Good that he was aware of the law a
Lieutenant Jack Macon's eyes pierced through the battered brass plates lining the front of the building. A quiet, deep breath slipped from his lips as his finger followed the letters. Forsythe Avenue, he thought, puckering his lips. No city address had a nastier reputation—crooks, misfits, derelicts all streamed through here like an underground current that was always present."Top floor, Lieutenant," the young patrolman replied, saluting as Macon stepped from his car. He eyed him, took in the crispness of his uniform, the bright nervous glaze on his eye."Top floor, eh?" Macon sneered at the patrolman. "Where would she be, kid, except in hiding in wait in the basement?" He pushed the boy aside with an elbow and started up the worn marble stairs curving into darkness.The building was silent like a coffin, the morning's usual hum of conversation muffled by fear. The doors shut, the blinds pulled down, as if the walls themselves were not breathing. They know we're here, he found himsel
Lilian flipped her phone to silent and resumed cleaning the coffee table. It was all routine—the soft scrape of the cloth, the glaze on the surface in the afternoon light. It reminded her that she was once again strong, with or without the creases in her heart.Then Doris's name came up on the screen. Her half-apology for the recession and her obstinate loyalty still stung, so much so that Lilian nearly hung up."Hi," she said, her tone icy as steel."I'm sorry, Lilian. I went over the line," was Doris's apology, filled with regret.Lilian waited but said nothing."You were right. You owe Kelvin nothing. Not after all the cruelty over the years, all the years of torment. I love him, but my love does not excuse cruelty. I never wanted to hurt you—or lose you." Doris's voice shook under its burden.The phrase "lose you" had shattered years of armor. Walking into cold air, Lilian whispered, "I get it. I do. But I'm tired—tired of being all wound up in their anger. I don't want more guilt
Lilian's heart seemed to be more heavier than stone pressing against the cage of her ribs as she slumped in the harsh café chair. Opposite her, Doris held her hand hesitantly—it was enough to remind Lilian to gasp in the present. Clichés ran through her mind, thudding like a beating pulse: You were worth being kissed like the world would end in the next minute."Everything else was perfect?" Doris inquired, voice so silky, catching Lilian into actual consideration.She took a slow sip of the beverage—the cold caramel latte did not burn her throat as she spoke. "Yes… It was. Except I saw Chris and Rita. They were, um, intimate."Doris's eyebrows knitted. "You mean… on a date?"Lilian's nerves wriggled. She glanced at her hands, not to look. "Yes. They were. compatible."The words had created an empty ache inside her chest. They'd been told they were compatible. Now maybe it was so."I'm glad you were lovely," Doris smiled. "You were so lovely—I hope it hit him like a lightning bolt."Th
The words stayed with her days afterward—words she had never wanted, acts she had never provoked. Chris. The kiss. The betrayal.Lilian sat alone in the far corner of the crowded coffee shop, her tightly gripped fingers around the warm ceramic mug, although the tea within had long since cooled.She did not drink—she didn't want to—and needed something stronger than chamomile to put on top of the confusion swirling relentlessly in her brain. The calming jazz drifting from the speakers above did no good, and the hum of conversation all around her was nothing but noise.Chris had kissed her.Uninvited. Unexplained. Unexpected.And Rita hated her more than ever now.That kiss had been a fire to parched tinder, and now it was all smoldering—her conscience, her dignity, her silence.What did he think?Was he trying to wreck whatever fragile peace she'd managed to cobble together since the divorce? Or punishing her? Or worse, punishing Rita by using her in whatever trouble he was in?Chris h
Kelvin glanced at the newspaper again; the heavy lettering glared back at him like a condemnation.ROMANCE NIGHT GONE TRAGIC. Ex-Dancer Killed by Unknown Attacker. The words pierced through his chest like a cold knife, numbing his innards. Evelyn Chase. Killed.The woman he had spent hours with moments ago. His brain whirled, resisting the wave of panic that tickled its way into his bloodstream. He balled the paper up, his shaking hands, and shoved it into the coat pocket as if attempting to conceal the reality.His legs weighed as much as lead as he forced them to propel him, haul him up the road to his house. Every step was heavier than the previous one, and sweat trickled down his back despite the cool autumn breeze; he wasn't really paying much attention to the sound of Mr. Townsend's voice until the elderly man appeared from behind the hedge, smiling at him"Home from town, Kelvin?" Townsend asked, his voice a bit too cheerful, a bit too inquisitive, those intense eyes glaring in