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“You got it. As soon as I hear back, you’re my first call,” Mac promises.
“Thanks,” I grunt.
I pull the phone away from my ear but stop when Mac calls my name.
“This could be it, Niko, but it could also be a coincidence. Don’t get your hopes up until we know for sure.”
I understand what he’s trying to say. I’ve worked so hard to find out what happened to Aislin. It’s been my focus for the past fifteen years. Even as a teenager when she first disappeared, I spent most of my time looking for any clues I could find. I walked from her house to the corner where the bus picked her up more times than I could count, hoping I would come across something to prove she didn’t just run away and something had happened to her. I didn’t find anything, but it didn’t stop me from doing it again the next time. I’ve been so close to finding answers so many times, only for them not to be the ones I’m looking for. I’ve been disappointed over and over again.
“Yeah. I hear you.”
“Talk soon.”
I pull the phone from my ear and drop it on the counter. Turning, I plant my palms against the counter and let my head fall forward. I draw in a few deep breaths and try to calm my racing heart, pushing back the hopeful feeling. Mac’s words of not getting my hopes up play over and over in my head. That shit’s easier said than done.
I lift my head and look out the window above the sink at Aislin’s house. I finished the last repair two weeks ago, but I still have no idea what to do with it. All I know is I’m not ready to let it go yet. I’m not sure if I ever will. I know it’s an unhealthy obsession to keep something that’s connected to a dead girl, but Aislin was so much more than just a girl.
I pull my eyes away from the window and look down to my empty coffee cup. Grabbing the decanter, I pour myself a cup of the dark liquid with shaky hands. It burns when it hits my throat, but I welcome it. It helps center me from the constant thoughts of knowing I can possibly put Aislin to rest finally. Grief hits me with the thought. I want more than anything to have all my questions answered and for Aislin to have her justice, but it also scares me shitless. What will it do to me to have them, and what will I do afterward? She’ll truly be gone once it’s over. I’ve grieved for years, more so when her body was found, but she was still there with me in a way. I still had a reason to keep her with me. Although the thread tethering us together shredded once she was found and my world turn dark, I still held on. But once that reason is gone, so will she. I’ll have no reason left. She was the one who kept the small spark of light shining off in the distance. Without her, that light will disappear for good. I may have family and friends who care for me, but I’ll still be alone because she won’t be there anymore.
I finish my coffee and set the cup in the sink. My phone goes in my pocket, and I whistle for Betsy on my way to the door leading out back. Waiting for Mac to call me back is going to drive me crazy, so I need to distract myself. I squint when the bright sun hits my eyes, reminding me of my drinking binge from last night. I stand on the back porch for several minutes while Betsy runs off to the side yard to do her business. She stops, her nose going to the ground, as she picks up the scent from whoever was here the other night. The reminder has my fists clenching. It pisses me off that whoever it was got away.
“Come on, girl,” I call as I walk off the porch. It takes her several seconds to unglue her nose from the ground then she runs after me.
I pull the keys I swiped from the counter out of my pocket and unlock the back door to Aislin’s house. Fresh paint and the smell of wood hits my nose when I step inside the kitchen. It looks nothing like the shithole it was before. I wonder if Aislin would like the new look.
I trail my hand over the new slick countertop as I take in the rest of the kitchen. Everything is new. I didn’t leave one thing from the past behind, and I did that on purpose. This house wasn’t one of love, and the look now is deceiving. This looks like a place where a family would sit and laugh while they ate dinner. These walls haven’t heard laughter as far back as I can remember.
Betsy’s claws click against the floor as she explores each room. Leaving the kitchen, I follow her. The small living room is void of any furniture. The walls are white, and the floors are a dark brown hardwood. Again, an image of a family sitting and watching a movie while eating popcorn pops in my head. I shake away the thought as ridiculous. Maybe one day this house will be destined for that.
I walk down the dark hallway that leads to the three bedrooms. I pass by the bathroom with its new floors, freshly painted walls, and new toilet, sink, and bath/shower combo. The door to the bedroom on the right is open, and light filters in through the bare window, illuminating the white walls.
A door across from it is the linen closet. The door next to it is the room that scares me to enter. I still haven’t found the courage to walk inside it. It’s the only room in the house I have yet to touch. I place my hand on the door and swear I feel warmth. It’s an illusion that sends pain through me.
Yanking away my hand with a snarl, I turn on my heel and walk back through the living room to the kitchen then out the back door. As if sensing my dark mood, Betsy trots behind me until we’re both outside. I slam the door, lock the house, and stuff the key back in my pocket. I don’t even know why I came over here. Maybe as punishment. Maybe because it feels like I’m so close to it being over, and I needed a reminder of who Aislin was. I scoff. As if I could ever forget her. She’s so far ingrained in me that she’ll always be a part of me, no matter how long she’s been gone.
I stomp off the porch, anger making my movements jerky. I palm the phone in my pocket, willing Mac to call me back with good news. My eyes catch something as I walk across the yard back to mine. I switch directions without slowing and head to the corner of Aislin’s house. I stop at the small window that leads to the basement. The grass around the area is matted down. Squatting, I take a closer look. Footprints. Small and bare. No shoes.
Betsy steps up beside me, sniffs the ground, and starts whining. I reach out and run my hand down her back.
“What’s wrong, girl?”
She looks up at me, whines, and then sniffs the ground again. I look up and around me, noticing more worn patches of grass that lead around the side of the house to the front. Like someone’s been walking the same path over and over again.
What the hell?
I lean down and wiggle the small window and am surprised when it pops open easily. I grab my phone from my pocket, pull up my flashlight app, lift the window, and peer inside. The dirt and dust directly below the window have been disturbed, and footprints lead away from it. From the size of the footprints, whoever made them is small. I glance down and see a streak of red on the window frame. Blood. The wood is splintered and sharp. I make note to come back and scrape some off to take to the lab at work for testing. I may get lucky and the person’s DNA will be in the system.
I stand and follow the path around the corner then come to a stop when another set of prints appear. These are much larger and are shoeprints. They also look fresh, probably from last night.
What the fuck is going on? Obviously, the person who was here last night was shooting at someone. Was it the person who’s been sneaking into my house? And why has the person been breaking in? There’s nothing in the basement. That was one of the first things I cleaned out, which wasn’t hard to do because there wasn’t much there. I had originally intended to store Aislin’s things from her room in there, but being the pussy I am, I still haven’t sorted through it. The house is empty except for that one room, and there isn’t anything valuable in there.
Betsy barks, disturbing my train of thought, and I turn around. My neighbor Jeremy is walking across the yard toward me. He’s a middle-aged man who was probably a woman in a past life. He’s the gossip whore of the neighborhood, eating up and passing along any and all information he can get.
“Some night the other night, huh?” he says, whistling.
“What?” I ask distracted, looking back down at the footprints. “Oh, yeah.”
“Say, do you know if they caught the guy?”
