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Every time I blink, I seehim.
Not Sal, and not his dead body, buthim.
Why did he let me go? Why am I alive? Is Agent Hayes right? Does it even matter?
“Yo, girl, you’re going to use all the hot water.” Tatum barges into the bathroom, dragging me from my thoughts. It’s a rescue mission. She saves me from the torture of my own mind.
She shuts the door and opens a window, waving the steam from her face as she sits on the toilet. Tatum is way too comfortable with everyone. Maybe that’s why she became my first friend when we moved here. The strange woman looked at me and just started talking. Looking back, I can’t even remember what she talked about. She just spoke, making me feel as though I belonged somewhere.
“Christ, Charlotte.” She flushes the toilet, turning the water cold. Normally that would faze me, but today, it doesn’t, and I let the cold water wake me up. This is when she yanks the shower curtain back and glares at me. “What happened?” She looks me up and down, not because I’m naked, but because she’s looking to see if I’m harmed. Her concern is in the little wrinkle that forms across her forehead and how she purses her lips to glare at me.
“Sal.” I slam the water off and reach for a towel. I’ve been in the shower long enough, and I’m surprised the hot water ran that long. “He’s gone.”
“You’re talking nonsense.” She backs up as I step out of the shower, that little frown in place. “You didn’t come to bed.” Gripping my shoulders, she digs her nails into my flesh. The slight pinch anchors me in place. “Charlotte, what happened?”
“He killed him. Right in front of me. He killed him.” For a moment, I let the words sink in. I let them simmer in the air between us. “There’s blood on my clothes.”
Tatum doesn’t believe me. I can see it in her eyes as she looks from me to my pile of work clothes, and then her eyes catch on a spot on my neck. “There’s blood behind your ear.”
“I thought I got it all.” I reach up and drag a nail down my neck, intent on scraping it from my skin. It isn’t even the blood that bothers me, it’s what the blood represents.
The mysteries that haunt this town, ones I didn’t even know existed. The secrets and the shadows that lurk in plain sight.
“Sal’s dead?” Tatum murmurs, dropping her hands and leaning against the sink. Her face turns white, making her red hair stand out in the steamy bathroom. “You said someone killed him?” Her eyes jerk to mine, the white so vibrant that it’s all I see.
“Executed him.” Such a harsh word, and it’s the one I used when I called 911. It’s the reason Agent Hayes showed up.
“Charlotte, tell me right now, were you there?” Tatum turns back to me, her body jerking as she grips my shoulders again, but this time, her tone is different. It’s no longer full of shock, but disbelief.
“Tatum, you just pointed out blood on my neck. Yes, I was there.”
“Right, right, yes, I did.” She lets go, running her hands through her hair as she tugs at the strands. “This is bad. Fucking Harlow. Fucking Harlow.”
“What does Harlow have to do with this?” Annoyed, I grab Tatum, forcing her to look at me. She looks everywhere but at me in the small bathroom. “You know something.”
“Charlotte. I can’t.” She shakes her head. “I need you to tell me everything. Leave nothing out, okay? This is important, but I need you to do it with the rest of us, so hold onto your tongue.”
“No.” I open the door, letting the steam billow out into the hallway. I have to wake Milo up soon, take him to school, and pretend like everything is normal, as though it’s just another Tuesday off. Entering my bedroom, I look longingly at my bed before I move past it to my dresser.
“What do you mean, no?” Tatum shuts the door and turns on the light, letting an ambient yellow glow wash through the room.
“I mean no, Tate.” My fingers shake as I grip the drawer and yank it open for panties. There’s one pair, reminding me I need to do laundry today. The grannie panties will have to do. “I feel like I’m drowning in an ocean with lifeboats all around me, and you guys are all standing on the boats holding onto a life raft, just staring at me.”
“It’s not like that, Charlotte,” Tatum says, sinking down onto the end of my bed. Her eyes are closed, and her phone is in her hand. “Damn you, Sal.”
“Executed, Tatum.” I grab a sports bra and roll it on over my damn skin. “And the bullet lodged into the fridge beside my head.”
I feel sick.
Her eyes remain closed, her breathing even. The only tell she has is how she holds her phone, gripping it with white knuckles.
“Who is Salvatore Bonanno?” I ask her as I pull on leggings. They jerk over my skin, getting stuck on my damp thighs. “Because,” I rush out when her eyes open, “that was Sal’s name. Not the name he gave me. Not the name that signed my checks either, Tatum.”
“Who?” She licks her lips. “Who gave you that name?”
“Special Agent Matthew Hayes.” I slam my dresser drawer shut, then pause, taking a deep breath to center myself. A ripple runs from my head to my toes, a chill that has nothing to do with the October weather.
“FBI?” Tatum hangs her head, her hands gripping her hair. “The FBI is in town.”
