Lilian first noticed the pain at the back of her head like a war drum. Her eyes flickered open. The living room ceiling loomed above her, near yet distant, warped by the fear welling in her chest.She was tied to a chair—her chair. Thick ropes cut into the skin of her wrists. The scent of sweet wine and sweat filled the air.Then came the voice.“Ahh, you’re awake.”Low. Gruff. Disturbingly casual.“I was wondering how long it’d take before you wake up. I prefer my victims to be awake when I kill them.Lilian was filled with fear. Her gaze followed the voice.As he crept and walked deliberately down the corridor, it seemed that his task was to stage a murder.Half his face was hidden behind a mask. His shoulders were broad and he had broad shoulders, tree trunk-thick arms that were so strong that with the mere flick of the wrist, they could snap bones into two. But it wasn't his size that appeared threatening, although that did seem to loom. It was how he habitually carried himself.H
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