The furious beat of my heart lessens when Izzy’s faint voice emerges from an office attached to the side of the house. When I sprint into the space, my eyes scope the room, ensuring it is free of any threats. Other than stacks of moldy boxes, Izzy is the only living thing insidetheroom.
“What is this room?” I ask, pacing deeper into thespace.
Izzy huffs. “Years of hard work wasted. My Uncle Tobias never relied on computers. He said they were too risky. I guess he never met a cracked tilebefore.”
When she rolls her eyes while dragging a stack of sagging boxes across the room, I chuckle lightheartedly. I’ve never been a fan of computers either, preferring to communicate in person rather than over the internet. Perhaps if I hadn’t been so stubborn, I would have discovered Joel’s existenceyearsago.
Hours pass in an instant as I aid Izzy in saving years of her uncle’s FBI paperwork. I’ve never had a fondness for law enforcement officers, but the way Izzy speaks about her uncle tilts the pendulum in his favor. My lack of respect for law enforcement wasn’t engrained in me until my sister’s death. I know I made a mistake five years ago when I allowed my grief to overrule my moral compass. But in my defense, I did try to handle the situation legally. It was only when it failed did I let my anger get the betterofme.
A small giggle spills from Izzy’s lips when my stomach loudly grumbles. I’m not surprised by its reaction. I haven’t eaten anything since the cheeseburgers Joel and Ava’s friend brought back lastnight.
“I’ll climb up onto the roof tomorrow morning and patch the hole the best I can, but you might need to get a professional out to look at it,” Ioffer.
Izzy smiles. “Thanks. I guess I should feed you then, to make sure you don’t fade away before tomorrow morning,” shejests.
I laugh. Given the chance to meet, Izzy and Ava would get on like a house on fire. Both can make me laugh even when my mood is woeful. My stomach is still cramping from the amount of laughing I did in Ava’s office. I can’t believe how immature I acted last night. I’m nearly thirty years old, but that didn’t stop me from tackling Ava to the ground and tickling her until she begged me to stop. It’s been years since I fooled around like that. I’m not surprised, though. Only Ava has the ability to make it seem like I’ve stepped back in time. Anytime I’m around her, I once again become a teenage boy chasing his high schoolcrush.
“I don’t think there is much chance of me fading away,” I quip, my tone playful as the memories of last night drastically improvemymood.
“Just give me a chance to get the box I originally came in here for and then I’ll order us some pizza from Maria’s,” Izzy advises, pacing towards a large stack of shelves housing documentboxes.
I slant my head to the side and stare into Izzy’s eyes when she paces back towards me with a box marked O01P10. It isn’t the box gaining my attention, it is the fretful mask slipped over Izzy’s face causing my greatest concern. I follow Izzy into the main house, noticing her positive stance has alsofadedaway.
“I’ll order in some pizza, then I’m going to grab a quick shower,” she tells me, hervoicelow.
Not waiting for me to reply, she steps into the hallway. My eyes incessantly peer at the box she left sitting on the dining room table as I prepare myself a cup of coffee, hoping a good dose of caffeine will give me a boost. No matter how much I try to keep my focus off the box, my eyes consistently straytoit.
Unable to assuage my curiosity any longer, I set down my half-empty mug of coffee and amble towards the box. My eyes dart to the hallway, ensuring the coast is clear before I lift up the corner of the box flap. The air is vehemently removed from my body when my eyes zoom in on the first photo in thebox.Him.
I throw off the lid with brutal force, sending it flying halfway across the kitchen floor. My hand shakes when I snatch the photo from the top of the pile.Why is Izzy investigating the man who killed mysister?
As I continue to delve through the box of photos and handwritten records, my concern grows. Numerous photos of Isaac are stored in this box, taken around the age he was when I first met him. Izzy isn’t investigating Robert Petretti. She is investigating Isaac. Why would she do this? Why can’t she just leave it alone? What’s done is done. It can’t betakenback.
“What are you doing? You can’t go through that. Those files are highly confidential,” roars a voice acrosstheroom.
“Confidential?” I sneer, glaring at Izzy storming across the room. “You’re invading his privacy, and you’re worried about confidentiality. Is this why you came here? Searching for answers to questions he can’t answer yet?”Questions he shouldn’t have toanswer.
Izzy gathers up the articles and photos spread across the table. Her face is pale, and her eyes are welling withtears.
“If you want answers, you should’ve kept asking, not go behind his back and investigate him.”He doesn’t deserve your interrogation.Ido.
“I’m not investigating him,” sheretaliates.
“Then what do you call it, Izzy? You’re looking into his past, digging through hispersonallife.”
“I’m not prying into hispersonallife!”
I slam a surveillance photo of Isaac onto the wooden tabletop. “You’re not prying into his personal life, hey, then what the fuck is this?” I yell, no longer able to harbor my anger. Isaac has sheltered and defended me for years, all to have the woman he loves investigate him like he is acriminal.
“He isn’t a criminal, but you are treating him as if he is one, and not the man you’ve agreed tomarry.”
A tear rolls down Izzy’s cheek, calming my anger. I inhale a deep breath and count backwards from ten, a trick Avery taught me to do when I feel my anger is spiraling out ofcontrol.
“Ten seconds can be the difference between a lifetime of mistakes or a lifetime of memories,” she has oftenquoted.
Izzy snaps her eyes shut, battling against her tears. Her hand slips into the back pocket of her jeans to remove a folded up piece of glossy paper. My eyes roam over her face as she unfolds the piece of paper before handing it to me. Even though the blood surging through my body has turned potent, the spark of fear ignited in Izzy’s eyes sets me on edge. When she hands me the piece of paper, a freight train crashes into me. My eyes bounce between the photos of Isaac and his girlfriend before her untimely demise sprawled on the table and the photo in my hand of a girl who looks eerily similar to Isaac’s deceased girlfriend.No way, itcan’tbe.
“This can’t be true,” I mutter, my tone quickly shifting from angry tosympathetic.
