“Which one?”
“Don’t go to Beth’s tonight,” I said firmly, taking a step back.
“Fuck you,” Greg retorted.
“I’m goddamn serious, Greg!” I snapped. “If you want to live to see the new year, don’t go.” I turned and walked out of the shop, flagging down the nearest taxi.
I HADgone back to Calvin’s apartment and let myself in with the key he’d given me. The place was quiet. Still. A silence that I didn’t think could exist in a place like New York. I sat on the edge of his bed, listening to that high-pitched hum that fills an empty space.
I don’t know for how long. Twenty minutes. An hour. Two?
Eventually I stood and started searching for a notepad. I ended up rummaging under Calvin’s bed and finding a box that had some discarded office supplies. I took one of the legal pads and a pen, then paused when I unveiled a small black box. Calvin had trusted me not to go digging about his private things when he gave me his key, but I was about to do somethingvery stupid, and if something happened to me… I wanted to know just a bit more about him.
Inside the box were his medals from his military service. There was a photo of Calvin in his police cadet uniform, smile so big and, daresay, a little dorky. He looked innocent. I turned it over to see the date on the back. So he’d been in the police academy before he went off to war.
Innocent indeed.
There were a few more photos buried at the bottom. In one, Calvin posed beside several other men in uniform, the backdrop of some far-off desert in the Middle East. The back had a few names scribbled on it. Some more photos showed the same men, a face or two missing this time, and smiles more drawn and worn. At the bottom of the pile was a photo of Calvin that someone must have taken without his knowledge and given to him later. He was crouched on one knee, face dirty and helmet missing. A young girl was in his arms and appeared to be crying while holding on to Calvin tightly.
My throat tightened as I looked through the box. Small snapshots of Calvin’s past, moments he was unable to let go of but that tore at his mind day in and day out. Among the military photos was one of a family in front of a home, including Calvin in dress uniform with a somber expression. An older man and woman posed with him, along with another young man and woman. Brother and sister? Calvin’s family? I wondered what their reason was for being locked away in this box.
Maybe Calvin would tell me about them one day.
Assuming I lived through the night.
I put the memories away and pushed the box back in its place under the bed. I sat once again and started writing. I wrote down everything I knew about the victims and the events that had led up to this moment. I put down all of my suspicions and evidence that Duncan Andrews was the man who had killed two people, assaulted me, and broken into numerous establishments in his search forTamerlane. I did it so that if I wasn’t here to explain it myself, Calvin would still have my notes. Maybe he’d be able to catch that bastard in my name.
I couldn’t get the cops involved now. Duncan knew who Calvin was, and he’d be looking for him. If I was at Beth’s without backup, Duncan would feel safe. It’d be my only chance to stop him in a place I knew to expect him.
I turned the page and wrote another quick note to my dad. I kept it simple, because to think much more into it would be like admitting I was going to be killed.
I love you, Pop.
Thank you for being there for me, always.
I quickly turned the page again, biting back the urge to cry.
Calvin—
Please visit a VA hospital. Don’t do this alone.
I love you.
I pulled the pages back to the beginning and let out a breath. I left the notebook on the pillow before standing and going to the clock on the wall to check the time.
Six o’clock.
Showtime.
GOOD BOOKSwas packed by the time I arrived at quarter to seven. People drank champagne from plastic flutes and chatted happily in groups throughout the store. The shop was bright with twinkling Christmas lights and electric candles among the front window displays and bookshelves. Fake snow and garland decorated end tables, and holiday cookies were being served alongside the bubbly alcohol. Festive music played overhead.
The aesthetic didn’t really fit Poe, but then again, what would Beth have done to decorate for the Master of Macabre? Play recordings of a beating heart and splatter fake blood across the floors and tables?
Christmas was a safer theme. And cleaner.
Ella Fitzgerald came up next on the mix. Next year all of my troubles would be out of sight, if I was inclined to believe her.
I smiled and shook my head.I hope so, Ella. I really do.
