I pocketed the keys, went over to the suitcase, and checked it. The luggage held men’s clothing. Further search produced two guns. I put them in my book bag.
Thanks, Wyatt.
I unzipped the inner pocket of the suitcase, felt a book, and pulled it out.
What’s this?
I put the flashlight on it.
A journal? You’re sharing your thoughts?
I opened it, browsed a few pages, and read.
I’m going to cut that bitch, slice her skin, and peel it off. She ruined my life. Took everything from me. My career. My kids. My happiness. That bitch is going to die.
Rage boiled in me.
Three more pages had Ebony’s name written over and over in erratic scribbling.
I considered what I would do with it. An idea came. I put the flashlight down, tore out all the pages he’d written, and placed them in my book bag. It took a minute to find a pen off Selena’s dresser. When I found it, I wrote in the few pages that were left.
You don’t know me, but I’m going to kill you.
Sincerely,
Your new friend.
With that, I closed his pathetic journal and slid it back in its place.
It hadn’t been my most mature moment, but it was time for Wyatt to run—time for him to be anxious and scared. It was his moment to look over his shoulder and wonder who might be coming after him.
I returned to rummaging through Selena’s bedroom and searched the whole space carefully. The room was dirty. But I found nothing of significance. The rest of the stuff was hers—clothes, makeup, two bottles of oxycodone with another person’s name on the label. I saw no sign of an occupation, but it didn’t matter. I hadn’t come here for her.
I left the room and went to the other ones. Although furniture and things were in there, it appeared unused. Dust on the desk. Old pictures of teenagers. Selena’s kids must’ve been long gone from the house. Perhaps college or military. I found no signs to tell me anything more, just that teenagers had lived here long ago.
I returned to the first level and realized I’d missed a small room behind the stairs. I checked my watch. Almost an hour had passed.
I went to the door and turned the knob.
Locked. Interesting.
The lock was the typical brass deal found in most homes. Nothing fancy or high security. One that could be opened with the end of a wire hanger. I pulled my lock pick out, stuck it in, and twisted. The lock clicked. The door opened.
I stepped inside and shined the flashlight on the wall.
While this was Selena’s house, it was clear that she’d given Wyatt the room. I didn’t know what he had told her. Perhaps, he’d said he used it for an office. Maybe, it was his man cave while he visited. But for now, he’d used it as his headquarters to find Ebony.
No wonder, it’s locked. I doubt Selena would like you being obsessed with your wife.
I walked to the wall on the right. He’d taped a map of Oregon on that one. I checked the left wall. It held a map of Washington. Several more unfolded maps rested on the desk. A chair sat behind the desk.
Can’t find Ebony? It must be burning you up inside. You don’t have your mother-in-law to help. What will you do now?
I went back to the Oregon map. Red pins stuck in some cities. Black pins sat in others. He had a system, but I wasn’t sure what it was. Either way, none came close to Tenino. He wasn’t even close to figuring out her location.
I bet you told Selena some story that Ebony took the kids. Men always lie about their exes, when the whole time they were the bitches.
Boxes of ammo sat on the desk, along with another gun. I took those. My book bag hung heavy on my back.
I covered every inch of the office with the flashlight beam.
There was no television. No computer. Thick drapes pulled across the window.
A pile of boxes stood on the only wall without a map. Each was sealed with stripes of thick tape with the words Top Secret printed on them. I walked over, lifted one of the tops, and looked inside. Tons of folders had been placed inside. I pulled one out and opened it.
Military records. Deployment notes. None of them have his name on them. Should he have this stuff?
A car door slammed. It sounded too close for comfort.
I put the folder down, hurried over to the window, and looked outside. This part of the house was in the back, not facing the window.
Fuck. Where did that come from?
I waited for more sound.
“I’m sorry, Wyatt,” A woman cried outside. “I really am!”
A gruff man’s voice came next. “You were flirting with him.”
“He just asked, if that was my popcorn. It was on the floor between us.”