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When we reach the bottom step, Davis cuts in front of me. He walks over to the wall of bottles. I watch as his fingertips, caked in dried blood, slide over the labels. He stops when he finds one that is familiar. A simple smile passes across his features as he slides it out.
He turns to leave, as though this is the reason we’ve come, as though everything that’s happened hasn’t. “Where is Roy?” I demand, and Davis stops as though he remembers. He glances around the shadowy cellar. It's an unsettling part of the house, always has been.
Davis stands very still and watches the edge of the cellar where the light doesn’t quite touch. Just beyond that is the door that leads to the small room where Mama used to store canned goods, and Daddy liked to keep money.
As my eyes adjust to the dim light, I see that just in front of the door lays a lump in the exact shape of a human. The light swings this way and that way, until Cole catches it in his hand. He fiddles with it until it’s steady and the room is illuminated.
“Roy?” I say, taking strides in that direction. I kneel next to the figure on the floor. In his right hand is a baton, and he rears it back. Just when I am certain he is going to strike me, Davis moves forward and kicks it out of his hand.
Cole steps forward and takes my brother by the arm. He forces him to the ground. “Stay,” he says, and Davis complies.
I check Roy over, or at least as much as one can in the dark. “Are you okay?”
He’s kind of going in and out of consciousness, which is maybe why he doesn’t answer. God, let him be okay. Killing a cop is no joke, and Roy is my friend. It’s my fault he’s here. Blood drips from his temple, and one hand is cuffed to a pipe. His gun is missing from his holster. This would be really difficult to make look like an accident. “Roy,” I say, slapping his cheek. “Roy, talk to me.”
“He’s fine,” Davis coughs. “He just took a little tumble down the stairs.”
My eyes land on my brother. “What the fuck?”
“I know,” Davis says. “It was stupid. But he saw me covered in blood, and I didn’t know what to do.”
I look over at Cole, who is searching for something. Hopefully, it’s the gun. Above us, there are footsteps. Party-goers have made their way into the kitchen.
“Davis,” I say, saving Cole the trouble of searching for a needle in a haystack. “Where is the gun?”
He points upward.
“In the kitchen?” It can’t be. “I would have seen it.”
“Yeah, well,” Davis tells me with a scoff. “I guess there are a lot of things we don’t see. Not unless we know to look for them.”
Roy stirs. I place my hand on his shoulder. He reaches up to touch the gash in his forehead with his free hand. “Your brother is in deep shit,” he mumbles as he cups his head.
A chill sweeps over me. “I know.”
I turn to Davis. “Where’s the key to the cuffs?”
He shrugs. “How should I know?”
“The key is in my wallet,” Roy says, shifting. He winces as he moves. “I’m going to need you to hand me my radio.”
As I move to empty his pocket, my foot connects with something on the floor just beyond where he is crouched. My eyes shift, and it takes me by surprise when Roy reaches up and takes my chin in his hand. “I wouldn’t look if I were you.”
I should listen, but I don’t. “Cole, shift the light this way, would you?”
He does and then I wish he hadn’t. What I see is gruesome, but from the chin upward, it’s also just a young man with a forgettable face. Roy releases the grip he has on my chin. I take a deep breath in and let it out. “Who is he?”
“That’s Chris Larsen,” Davis says flatly.
My stomach sinks like I’m on the downward slope of a very fast roller coaster.
“Who’s Chris Larsen?” Cole asks.
“Ashley’s ex,” Davis and Roy say at the same time. I don’t answer because there’s a lump in my throat that’s too big to speak around.
“You asked me to do some checking,” Roy tells me with a groan. “And I did…”
It seems a little late for this information, but as I search his wallet for the key to free him, I let him talk. “She had a restraining order against him.”
