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The first realization to come to mind? Daze is a murderer. Did he kill Hale as well? He might have, and I didn’t see the obvious warning signs. Hale’s drawing wasn’t meant to highlight Daze as an ally but as an enemy. He’s dangerous.
And I slept with him. I let him inside my body more than once. I…enjoyed it.
Overcome by emotion, I bolt upright and throw up in the toilet—but it isn’t enough to lessen the nausea ripping through me.
The truth is, no matter how righteous I may feel now, I’m no better than he is. All I can do is punish myself by delving deeper into the questions I’ve tried to avoid dwelling on before now. Why did Hale draw that symbol? Was he there at that place? Did he witness a similar fight? Is that what drove him to the brink?
I can’t put the puzzle pieces together on my own, and the failure guts me. What was he afraid of? Maybe the answer is obvious. He told Daze to stay away from me for a reason. He was there waiting for me at the bridge for areason…
And he might be in this very apartment right now, having followed me home.
The sound of knocking penetrates through the rushing water. I spy the handle of the knife sticking out from the pile of clothing on the floor and lunge for it.
Still naked, I grab a towel and creep to the door, holding my breath. My hand shakes so badly that I can barely keep it brandished in front of me while gripping the towel around me. Do I have it in me to hurt someone?
The answer comes to me as if whispered into my ear by a voice suspiciously similar to Daze’s.Hell no, you don’t.
As the knob turns, the doubt grows. Still, I raise the blade higher. “Who’s there?” I ask.
The door opens fully, revealing a shadow on the other end.
Fear paralyzes me. All I can do is croak, “Stay back!”
The intruder doesn’t listen, boldly stepping inside the foyer, his face bathed in shadow. When his voice comes, it’s cautious. Familiar… “Frances?”
“C-Colton!” I blink, too stunned to lower the weapon. Struck dumb, I gape as he flips on the hall light, his expression puzzled. “What the hell are you doing here?” I ask.
He raises an eyebrow while eying my damp towel and dripping hair. “Are you okay?” He starts forward, but something in my expression makes him stop short and raise his hands in a placating motion. I also notice that he has the decency to avert his eyes away. “I was worried about you. You haven’t been answering your phone, and I thought it might be prudent to stop by with all the drama around the explosion.”
“What—How did you get in?”
“Are you okay?” he asks, avoiding the question entirely.
Alarm bells go off in my mind, but I focus on his question rather than my unease. Am I okay? No. I’m not.
“I… I was showering,” I croak out before rushing back toward the bathroom.
Colton follows, his tone more concerned. “Frances? Did something happen—”
“I’m fine!” He gains on me far more quickly than I expect, and I barely manage to make it inside before I smell his cologne and sense his nearness. “I’m fine!” The knife clatters to the floor as I slam the door in his face.
Then, suddenly, it hits me.
A rush of pure adrenaline. Confusion. Anger.
I burst back into the hallway and am met with a pair of shocked, wide eyes once I enter the living room.
“You need to leave,” I tell him sharply. “Now.”
“Are you okay?” Colton steps toward me. “Frances—”
“You can’t just barge in like that, Colton. That isn’t okay.” I strive to make my voice resemble something calm. I think I fail, judging from the way he gapes at me. Like I’ve just grown two heads.
“You seem upset,” he says, reaching for my hand. “I really think we should talk—”
“Get out, please—”
“We should pray.” He keeps coming, cinching my hand in a slightly tighter grip. “You’re stressed. Let me help you confess any sins you may have. Sit down with me.”
