AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I’ve tucked Connor into bed, fed my husband, and cleaned the kitchen. Mark is now watching sports in the living room, so loud that a bomb could hit our front yard and he wouldn’t hear it, and I have escaped to the garage.
I slide my glass of wine onto one of the dusty shelves, careful to avoid the spider web in the corner. After kneeling next to the dozen boxes that contain all my old client files, I set the notebook on the floor and open to the page where my client felt like she was being watched.
“Okay, I’m listening,” I said, like I’m talking to a damn Ouija board. “Guide me if you have something to tell me.”
I pick a random client file, open, and filter through the contents. Definitely not my mystery writer. I scan another, then another.
File after file, I search for anything to help spark a solid memory, but get nothing other than a reminder of how damn hard life is, how many people struggle behind closed doors, behind perfect facades.
It’s disheartening, and frankly, extremely depressing.
With a heavy sigh, I down the rest of my wine and lie down on the cold concrete where I stare at the ceiling until sleep takes me.
TWENTY-SEVEN
ROWAN
It is a moonless night, not a single star in the sky. Despite the chilled air, sweat drips down the side of my face. My heart is pounding, my legs are heavy, my stomach uneasy as I sprint over the pavement. The sidewalk is covered in slick, dead leaves, making it dangerous for running.
Unsurprisingly, I am alone on the jogging trail. The path ahead is illuminated only as far as the light of each lamp post will reach. Dangerous for a woman.
Seven, eight, nine, I count each post as I pass.
Banjo jogs beside me, tongue lolling, ears perched, having the time of his life. He was ecstatic when I stopped by the house to pick him up; unbeknownst to him, the real reason I stopped by was to ensure Shepherd was home and not out at the bar.
I slow as I pass post eleven, twelve, and then come to a full stop at post thirteen. Banjo circles my legs as I bend over to catch my breath, his leash tangling around my ankles. After a quick glance over my shoulder, I slip into the shadows of the woods, the dewy grass instantly saturating my tennis shoes.
I tap into the compass app on my watch and confirm that I am going southwest. Once I am certain I am out of the view of the trail, I click on my cell phone flashlight to guide the way. This part of the woods is overgrown, the brush thick and gnarled, cutting into my calves as I push through it. I am far away from the park now, deep into a section of woods that is rarely traveled.
I press on, my legs growing weaker. Eventually, the trees thin and the terrain becomes rocky. Large, craggy boulders spear up from the earth. I slow down as I near The Cliff, the place Kellan and I secretly meet. I pause behind a tree, and stare at the the picnic tables where we share coffee, the swing where we share wine.
My stomach knots.
I step away from the tree and begin again, checking my compass to ensure I’m on the right path.
Banjo suddenly stops, lifts his nose and begins sniffing wildly. I shine the flashlight around, but can only see about a five-foot radius.
I unleash him. He bolts like a rocket. I take off after him, having to push into a sprint to keep up. The light bounces as I run, turning the woods into a dizzying discotheque.
His barks turn into manic yips.
I finally catch up to Banjo at the edge of a ravine. My heart hammers as I peer down into the abyss. Though the light from my cell phone hardly illuminates the space below, there is no mistaking the outline of the body laying at the bottom of the ravine.
“Shit…” I shove the phone in my pocket, thread my fingers together and grip the top of my head. “Shit, shit, shit. Okay, it’s okay,” I say to Banjo as much as to myself. We are both pacing now. “Everything’s okay, buddy, everything’s okay.” I stroke his head while staring at the outline below. “Okay,” I exhale, regaining composure. “I need you to stay here, buddy, okay?”
After re-clipping Banjo to his leash and then attaching the leash to a tree, I position my phone in my waistband—keeping the flashlight on—and slowly climb down the edge of the ravine.
The moment my shoes reach the bottom, I spin around, retrieve my phone, and shine the light.
The body is on its side, wedged between two sharp rocks, and is obviously dead. It’s a woman, based on the long brown hair and feminine clothing. She is wearing a pair of blue jeans, a gray sweater, and slip-on ballet flats, though one has fallen off. The back of her head dangles over the edge of the rock, her feet off the other edge. I immediately note the lack of blood around the body. This woman was not killed here.
Carefully, I cross the ravine, shining the torch along her body as I maneuver around the rock.
The side of the woman’s face is crushed from either the fall over the ravine or a blunt instrument. Flies and bugs swarm in and out of the oozing tissues.
My stomach lurches and I cover my nose and mouth.
The woman’s arm is dangling outward, as if reaching for me, and carved into the skin of her palm is the letter X.
