Lost Boy

Jack grabs up my stuff and guides me out, insistent on taking care of me. I bite my nails almost down to the quick, then hide them in my sleeves when blood blossoms there, embarrassed for Jack to see how I brutalize myself. Charlotte plays on my mind. Where is she? We need to forgive each other, be more open. “Are you okay?” Jack reaches a hand over to stroke my thigh. Inhaling, I lift my legs to my chest and gaze out of the window into the darkening sky. “I’ll be fine.” Will I?

Pulling up to the apartment building, anger flickers through me. My aunt is sitting on the step outside, a grocery bag at her feet. “Perfect,” I groan, stepping out of the car.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, a nervous flurry in my stomach.

“I’ve been calling. You always send me to voicemail,” she admonishes, her eyes flitting to Jack. “Who’s your friend?”

“Oh,” I wave a hand awkwardly at Jack, “my neighbor, Clark.” She wouldn’t understand, yet. This takes a much more planned conversation.

“What’s with the bag?” I gently tap it with my foot.

“Groceries. I know you and Charlotte live on scraps,” she tuts, her eyes dropping to my trim stomach.

“That’s thoughtful. Thank you.”

“So, should we go up to your apartment or are you keeping me on the street for a reason?” Fuck.

“Actually…” I teeter, hoping an excuse pops into my head.

“I watch the damn news, Lizzy,” she fumes before I can come up with something. “Why the hell haven’t you called, come home? Another girl murdered?” She throws her hands up in the air.

It’s apparent she doesn’t know about the duffle or the store clerk. “I’m booked in at the hotel off Candace Lane. When you’re ready to talk to me about all this, you can find me there.” She huffs, slamming the bag into my chest and waltzing off.

“Is everyone pissed at me?” I groan, looking up at Jack.

“I’m not,” he says, a proactive smile hooking his lip as he takes the bag from my arms. “Come on.”

I follow him up to his apartment and text Charlotte.

Where are you?Kicking off my shoes, I go to the grocery bag and rummage through it. “What’s in it?” Jack muses, taking out a couple of glasses from the cupboard.

“Fruit,” I bitch. There’s some pasta and canned goods too, but nothing exciting to the palate. An incoming text from Charlotte gains my attention.

We’re allowed in our apartment. I’ll be by later to grab some things. Then I think I’m going to go stay with my parents for a bit.

Thud.

She’s found her limit and she’s leaving me after all.

“Liz?” Jack frowns, reading my face. He walks over to me. I can’t do this now. It will be safer for her to leave. This is a good thing.

“My apartment has been released.”

“So soon?” His shoulders drop. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he asks, “How would you feel about still staying here, just a night or two?”

A hint of a smile touches my lips. “I’d like that. Maybe you could come with me to grab some clothes?’

Pulling his hand from his pocket, he reaches out, and I clasp his palm, curling my small fingers between his large ones. “Let’s go.”

Coiling in my stomach aches as I push into my apartment, fragmented memories of the day we discovered the bag punishing me with each intake of breath.

“Do you want me to just go in?” Jack offers.

“No.” I smile tightly, walking farther inside. The trashcan is gone. Some cushions from the couch are missing. The knife block isn’t here. Can they just take whatever they want? Moving to my room, I don’t look at the bathroom, avoiding it altogether. My room has been searched—bedding tossed around, trinkets laying on their sides, drawers open with clothes hanging out. Assholes. Jack begins righting the order of things. This room must make him quiver in repulse.

The ringing of my cell fills the room. Smiling, I look over my shoulder to Jack and say, “I used to hear everything from your room in here.”

A dark allure resonates from his eyes, pulsing between my legs. “Ditto.” He raises an accusatory brow, making me blush. Looking down at my phone to hide my giddiness, a shiver rakes over my skin. All joy flees my body like the sun disappearing into the night.

“You going to answer that?” Jack questions, righting the perfume bottle on my dresser. Yes.Twenty-Eight“Detective?” I answer.

“We found Willis’s remains.”

Boom. Boom. Boom.

The room spins, the floor shifting, my world turning on its axis. I reach for the doorframe to steady myself. Jack messes with crap on the dresser, unaware of my turmoil. “What?”

“They’re old, Lizzy. But they have identifying markers from a surgery Langford had on his knee after a motorcycle accident when he was a teenager.”

“So…it’s him?” My voice is barely a whisper.