Only the strong need to see my sister’s face and the knowledge of how happy Aria will be gives me the courage to open the truck door. I look at the neighboring houses as I make my way up the walkway to the porch. My hands shake as I wipe away the leaves from the fake rock that holds the spare key.
The steps creaking as I walk up them does nothing to help my nerves. I feel like I shouldn’t be here, like I’m doing something wrong by going into his house. I guess according to the law it’s technically partially mine, but it still doesn’t feel right afte
r everything that’s happened.
The house is quiet when I walk in the door. Not the normal silence, but the creepy kind that sends shivers down your spine and dread rushing through your veins.
Ignoring the eerie feeling, I close the door behind me. I take a moment to look around, and my eyes widen at the destruction of the living room. It looks like a madman has been in here. Couch cushions are ripped apart and thrown across the room, the end table is knocked over with the lamp smashed beside it, the screen on the TV’s been busted, and there’s trash all over the floor. A glance at the kitchen shows it in no better condition.
Suddenly feeling like this was a mistake, I quickly leave the room and walk down the hallway. I spot Mr. Waffles on Aria’s bed and snatch it up before going into the bathroom. The locket isn’t on the counter or in the cabinet.
Theo’s room is next. I’ve never felt truly comfortable in this house. Being around Aria was the only time I felt serene. But this room… Theo’s room, I hated. It was the one I dreaded walking into the most. That feeling hasn’t faded with being away. If anything, it’s much worse. Cold slithers in my veins, and I shudder.
I immediately walk to the dresser and check the surface. I move stuff around and still don’t find it. Next, I move to my side of the bed and check the nightstand. No locket. I pull open the drawer, and my shoulders slump when it’s not inside either. I move around to Theo’s side, not really expecting to find it, but still disappointed when I don’t.
I look down, and as a last-ditch effort and sending up a silent prayer, I decide to check underneath the bed. Dropping to my knees, I put Mr. Waffles down beside me then bring up the flashlight app on my phone, another nifty piece of technology Luca showed me. I shine it under the bed. I find a pair of Aria’s shoes, a couple of hair ties, a few wayward papers, and a box. It’s the box that catches my attention. Or rather, the gold chain that’s partially sticking out of it.
It’s pushed far under the bed, up against the wall where the headboard is, so I fall to my stomach and shimmy until my fingers reach it. Sliding out from underneath the bed, I bring the box with me, then get to my knees, dropping my phone beside me. I finger the chain, already knowing it’s the one my locket is attached to.
How did it end up in the box? Theo must have put it there. But why? He knew how much it meant to me, so why would he hide it?
I pull the lid off the box then frown down at the contents. Pictures. A bunch of them. And a cell phone, a manila envelope, the locket, and some other papers.
I pull the stack of pictures out first and suck in a sharp breath when I get a closer look and see that it’s me. It’s a far-off image of me standing in front of a familiar house. It takes me a moment to realize it’s Luca’s. It looks different, like the house has since been repainted and the porch behind me updated.
I look at the next image and it’s another one of me. This one is taken from outside a window looking in. The sheer curtains are only partially open, but it’s still easy to see me standing in front of a mirror. Through the reflection of the mirror, I can see the smile on my face, my eyes trained on something behind me that’s out of view of the camera. I’m only wearing a black V-neck T-shirt that goes halfway down my thighs. Given the size of the shirt, it’s obviously not mine.
Bile rises in my throat when I look at the next image. It’s another window shot, but at a different angle. The quality isn’t as good, but it’s easy to see I’m lying on a bed, naked, with a man on his knees between my legs. At first, I think it’s Theo, but then a surprised gasp leaves my lips when I realize it’s Luca. It’s hard to see, but there’s no mistaking the gauge in his ear. The tattoos, not as many as he has now, are another giveaway.
The surprise of me being naked in a picture gets pushed to the back of my mind, although that is a shock. What takes forefront is the fact that I’m in bed with Luca. What in the hell is going on? Why am I in bed with Luca? Through the fuzziness of the picture, I can tell from the look on my face and the way my body is relaxed that I wanted to be there. I wasn’t being forced.
I push that thought aside for the moment, because it totally confuses me, and look at the next image. This is one I’ve seen before. Or rather, I think I have. It looks exactly like one of the ones Theo has shown me, but with minor differences. It’s a close-up of Theo and me, except in this one, there’s a gauge in his ear and an eyebrow ring. Theo doesn’t have either of those. I have my face toward him, and I’m kissing his cheek, while his lips tip up into a smirk. His arm is thrown over my shoulders as if he’s pulling me toward him. He’s obviously the one taking the picture. His shirt is sleeveless, and I spot an eagle tattoo on the top of his arm. The same one I touched up for Luca.
A strangled sound rips from my throat.
I flip through to the next picture and it’s another one of us. And so is the next one, and the one after that. They all are either pictures of me and Luca or just me.
A sinking feeling forms in the pit of my stomach as I look over each image. Realization dawns, but I’m too scared to believe it. I want to believe it, I want it to be true so damn much, but if it is, that means Theo is more of a sick bastard than we all thought.
I set the pictures down, my body beginning to shake, and grab the phone next. I bring the screen to life and see five missed calls, along with the voicemail icon. I jerk when I notice the missed calls are from my phone number. I press the icon for the voicemail, and with a trembling hand, bring the phone to my ear. The electronic sounding voice says there are five messages, and I press the number one to listen to the first.
I throw my hand over my mouth and a sob escapes me when my voice comes over the line.
“Mom, Dad?” my voice sounds weak. “It’s me. Jules.” There’s a sniff then, “I miss you both.” I hear myself release cry. “P-please please call me. My number is…” There’s a pause, and I know that’s when I look at Theo for the phone number to the cell phone I was using, then repeat it. I finish with “I love you.” Before the line goes dead.
Tears streak down my face and my heart feels like it’s being beaten by a battering ram. I go to the next voicemail, already knowing what it’ll say.
“It’s me again.” I clear my throat over the line, but it still cracks when I speak again. “I’m so sorry for everything.” A pause, then a whispered, “Please call me.” I give them my cell phone number before hanging up.
I move onto the next one and it’s another voicemail from me to my parents. All five of them are. They never got them. I wasn’t even calling them. I was calling a random phone number to a phone that was hidden in a box underneath a bed.
I don’t know what hurts worse. Being lied to by someone who supposedly loved me at one point in his life, my husband, or knowing my parents never got those messages. Actually, I do know what hurts more. From the moment I woke up from my coma, I’ve felt a deep ache with my parents’ absence. I’ve grieved for them, missed them, needed them, and wished they were there for me to talk to and have comfort me. And if I’m truthful, I’ve resented them for disregarding me. But it wasn’t them ignoring me. It was the twisted mind of a man doing evil things.
My hatred for Theo grows until it’s nearly suffocating. My blood runs both hot and cold, chilling me, but also leaving me feverish. The phone bites into my hand as I grip it hard. I force my fingers to relax and set it back down in the box before pulling out the manila envelope. After pulling the metal tabs up and opening the flap, I reach inside and pull out a document.
It’s a marriage certificate. When I see the names printed on it and the signatures at the bottom, my whole world rocks on its axis. Blood rushes to my ears and my vision blurs. I close my eyes and pull in several deep breaths. It has to be a mistake. It has to be. There’s no way someone can be so cruel.
I tell myself this, but I know it’s not true. The truth is so blindingly in my face now after seeing all those pictures. My throat feels tight, like someone is choking me, and it hurts to pull in air. I