Page 126 of Let the Light Shine Through

Behind a locked door sits a hot bath.

Winner gets the key.

Come find me.

I dare you.

This is the shit I’m talking about. He knows adventures are my weakness, Roz himself being the biggest one. How am I supposed to turn this down?

Tricky. He’s tricky.

I’m doing it for the bath, I tell myself as I fling my head forward, wrapping the towel around my hair, then secure it into a tight twist before standing again. I slip my boots and socks off and head inside—with the gun in my hold, a finger on the trigger, and a smile on my lips. Game on, Roz.

The dark living room meets me as I enter, silently sliding the door closed behind me. I immediately duck behind the kitchen counter, poking my head over the top and sweeping the darkened area, only to come up empty. The adrenaline buzzing over my arms chases away the cold as I take stock of my ammo. The cartridge holds six, but Roz only gave me four. Shit. That’s not nearly enough.

A foam bullet whizzes past my head, hitting the wall before landing at my feet.

Five.

I add it to my arsenal, carefully remaining perched beneath the countertop. Going off of the angle the bullet came from, I aim my gun in that direction, then take off across the kitchen, the towel on my head falling at my feet as I go.

Two more bullets suction to the fridge at my back and I laugh from the string of curses that follows.

I make it to the front door, pressing myself flat against it while listening, my gun in front of me, searching for any movement.

When no one appears, I push off the metal, creeping forward. Coming up on the stairwell leading to Roz’s room, I stop, straining my ears since I can’t see a thing, then fire off a couple bullets of my own into the blacked-out space.

Nothing.

I pass it, continuing my sweep of the house. Every room is checked, and every room is cleared, even the bedrooms upstairs, and by the time I make it back downstairs, I’m starting to think I imagined the entire thing. The only thing keeping me from believing I did is the door to the bathroom being locked like the note said.

With my gun hanging at my side, I notice a glow that wasn’t there before, so I lift it again, moving my feet in the direction of Roz’s stairwell.

I could’ve sworn it was empty before.

Coming into view first, the handrail has a string of white lights wrapped around its wood, giving off a healthy amount of light, but the strings of lights hanging overhead illuminate the entire stairwell. Pictures, dozens of them, decorate the walls, stairs, and…door. Which is closed with Roz sitting calmly in front of it with his gun at his feet and his heart bleeding out on to his face.

I fire off my last shot. The other two were used on Fletcher’s room for stealing my underwear that first night I stayed here. I’m still not over it.

Roz drops his gaze to his chest, saying, “You shot me.”

“You dared me.” I pop a shoulder even though he can’t see it.

When he lifts his head, his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. Pain, pain, pain—that’s all I cause.

“Where’s the key?”

“Don’t you want to know what all this is?”

“No.” I keep my gaze trained just below his, so we’re not making actual eye contact.

“It’s my own collection, of all the moments worth remembering.”

My eyes rise to his.

“It’s my life, the parts I want to remember.”

I shift my gaze to the right of Roz, then up and over to the other side of the stairwell, touching on every single one. The pictures are…of us. Not his snowboarding days, not his childhood. They’re all recent pictures he took over the last couple months. Some are just of me, but most are of our time together. There’s even birds and a couple dishes from Al’s I know he’s responsible for by the obscene amount of garnish on each one.