Lost Boy

“Okay.” I pull at the sleeves of my top, covering my hands and folding them under my armpits so I don’t pick at the scabs on my palms.

Clark pushes open the gate with his foot and goes inside. He cups his hands, trying to look through the front window. Moving to the door, he knocks, then opens the letterbox and calls out, “Hello?”

Nothing.

Looking back at me, he shrugs, scratching his head. “I’m going to go look around the back. Wait there. Don’t move.” It’s a command, not a request, and strangely sends my heart stampeding.

“Yes, sir.” I raise a brow.

“Please,” he adds, placing his palms together. I nod, and he disappears from view. Anxiety eats through my stomach. I nibble my thumbnail, looking around the street, debating if it’s worth asking the neighbors if they’ve seen her. Minutes pass, excruciatingly slow. God, what if he managed to get inside and she’s dead in there? A lock unbolting sends a flurry of apprehension through my blood. The door opens, and I hold my breath. Clark’s beautiful frame fills the space, and then Gaby slips past him, waving her hand. Oh, thank god. She gestures for me to come inside, and I almost cry at the sight of her.

Once inside, she hugs me, beaming from ear to ear. “I’m sorry. I was napping.”

“Where have you been?” I exclaim. Looking around the old-fashioned décor, you can practically taste the dust in the air.

“It’s a long story. Well,…not that long. I met someone.” She beams.

I look at Clark. His shoulders are stiff as he looks to the shaggy carpet at our feet, then back to her. “Really?”

“I’m moving. It’s fast, I know, but I’m running out of baby-making years, so I decided what the hell?” She’s animated, slapping her hands together, nudging farther inside the house.

“Lizzy thought you’d been killed by a serial killer,” Clark mumbles. I nudge him with my hip when Gaby’s face falls. Hitching a shoulder, he mouths, “What?”

“He’s joking,” I lie, “but you could have called one of us.”

“Oh.” She giggles, copper ringlets bouncing around her face. “I was going to call. It just happened so fast.” She cringes.

“Well, Jeff has given your position away, so I guess it’s meant to be. Good luck. Call us once you settle?” I give her a brief hug.

“I will. Again, I’m sorry for not calling. I was going to.”

“We’re just glad you’re alive,” Clark states, patting her shoulder and exiting through the front door. Gaby follows his departure, her mouth agape.

“See you,” I say again, waving as I follow Clark.

When we’re back on the street, Clark places a hand to his chest. “I really thought I was going to find her in a bathtub or something.”

“I’m sorry.” I grimace. “I honestly didn’t know what to expect. Everything has been so grim lately.”

Studying me, he says, “I heard about the guy falling in our apartment building, I saw you at the station.”

“I know.” I smile, but it drops when I think of Lee. He didn’t fall.

“Did you see anything that night? Someone in the building or looking suspicious outside?”

Scratching the back of his neck, he shakes his head. “I was just getting home and saw the commotion. Did you know the man?”

“No, not really. He lived in the building next to ours. I think this killer is coming for me.” My honesty shocks us both. Clasping my wrist, he pulls me into him, strong arms engulfing my body. Placing my palms against his chest, I breathe him in, unable to tear myself away. He strokes down my hair, then guides me to part from him, his finger cupping my chin so tenderly, my heart stutters. “Let them come. I’ll keep you safe.” The words caress like a touch, and then he’s walking again. It takes me a couple seconds to catch my breath before I jog to keep up.

“Thanks again for coming with me. Can I get you a coffee on the house?” I jerk a thumb to the shop we’ve made it back to without any bodies to report. Shaking his head, he says, “I was just coming in to check on you. I have some things to do, but maybe we could get dinner sometime?”

“Dinner—like a date?” Embarrassed, I turn from his gaze, hiding beneath the veil of hair hanging loose.

“Like a date.” Amusement coats his words, making me blush.

“Sure. I’d like that.” I kick at nothing, biting my lip until it’s painful.

Before we can say anything else, Charlotte walks through the door. “Well?” She exclaims.

Well indeed.SixteenLaying, looking up at the ceiling, thinking about Clark, is driving me into a frenzy. I jump up, rummaging through my dresser looking for the dildo Charlotte bought me two Christmases ago, but come up empty. I bet she stole it back. Frustrated, I take a cold shower like a teenage boy in heat. The smell has gotten worse. It’s vile like a rat has crawled in the pipes and died. Drying off, thankful for the mood killer, I find Charlotte watching a Drew Barrymore flick in the living room.