Ride the Wreck (Stonewall Investigations Blue Creek 2)

The door swung shut, and a peek of Elijah’s sequined back and dripping wet wig was all I got before he disappeared and another shout pulled my attention right back to the stage.

4

Elijah King

I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care.

I kept repeating those words to myself as I hurried out of the bar. I heard the shout and assumed it was from a queen who drunkenly stumbled into the back room and read the message on the mirror. It didn’t matter, not to them at least, since the message was directed at me. I just didn’t want to deal with it. I was done with all of it. Drag, stalkers, hot and handsome Prince Charmings that stop you mid-dramatic exit and make you reconsider everything for a split second before all the blood goes back up to the correct head.

Yeah. Done with all of that shit.

…

…

…

Fuck. That was a loud scream… and what if someone thought I left that fucked-up message?

I stopped under a blinking streetlight. The moon hung full and bright in the sky, framed by a field of white and twinkling stars, only a handful of seemingly airbrushed clouds floating past. It was a not-so-subtle reminder of just how tiny I was in comparison to the entire fucking galaxy. My wig dripped onto the pavement, and one of my eyelashes drooped over my eyelid. I ripped it off, threw it out (along with the wig), and turned back to the Queen’s Throne, my shoulders stiff and my frown a permanent fixture on my face. This felt equal parts like the wrong thing to do and the exact right thing to do. As badly as I wanted to clean off my face and climb into bed right now, I knew I had to go back and see if there was a conclusion to this saga. Maybe someone at the bar saw who had left the message on the mirror. It wouldn’t hurt to try and get some answers before I decided there weren’t any to begin with.

A streak of police cars raced down the street, lights flaring and sirens blaring. I expected them to keep driving, past the bar, but they all halted to a stop directly in front of the bar, blocking the street. The surrounding buildings—a barbershop, a bookstore, a travel agency—were bathed in blue and red. Jennifer and Kyla ran out the double doors of the bar, going straight to the police officer who had first gotten out of her car.

What the fuck…

There was no way this could have been about my mirror message. It had been spooky to the capital “boo,” for sure, but it didn’t warrant an entire battalion of Blue Creek police officers.

“What’s happening?” I asked Kyla as I got close. A police officer put a hand out to stop me, but Kyla moved past him, coming over and grabbing my elbows in a tight grip. Her typically friendly and warm hazel eyes were filled with undeniable fear.

“Elijah, there’s been a murder. Jesus. Are you all right?”

The panic spread to me like a pox. It was as if the heavens opened up and dumped a Saturn-sized bucket of ice on top of me. “Murder? What? In the Queen’s Throne? What the fuck? Who? What happened?”

The questions rushed out of me before I could filter any of them.

“It was Julius. They found him in the office… Elijah, it was terrible. There was so much blood. Oh Lord.” Kyla wobbled, and her eyes rolled back. I burst into action and grabbed her before she could hit the ground. Jen ran over and helped me hold Kyla up as she regained her senses, face still blanched with fear.

More patrons burst out of the door. The police corralled any who tried to leave, wanting to question everyone who had been in attendance. Did this have anything to do with the message on the mirror? Could my stalker be a cold-blooded killer? They must have been done at around the same time, since the mirror had been clean before the show started tonight and I had said hi to Julius when I arrived earlier in the evening.

A hand on my shoulder made me jump. I turned, expecting to have to answer to a cop, and instead found myself looking into the depths of a serene and endless ocean.

Blue eyes. The same blue eyes I had been transfixed by during my performance. They seemed so relaxed, tranquil almost, a stark contrast to the still-flashing lights and scattered shouts for calm. Like a drag show and a murder were part of a regular night out on the town for him.

Who is this guy?

“Elijah, are you okay?” he asked, concern shifting into the blue expanse as he looked me up and down. I realized I still had my wig cap on. I pulled that off, nodded, looked over at the bar.