Page 11 of Aftermath
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My shift was over before I knew it, and I gathered my belongings from the small desk I claimed as my own in the back room. My work computer was still on, and I sent myself an email before shutting it down, my usual routine on days I was able to contribute to my personal research.
It was a busier than usual day at the museum, tourists flocking inside for a reprieve from the brutal heat or a break from the overcrowded beaches.
Visitors all gravitated toward the same three beaches, unaware of the hidden gems our town had to offer.
Some days, when I went home early—a rare occasion—I liked to take a dip in the water of the hidden stretches of beach close to my apartment.
The walk home was only a ten minute stroll. I walked along the sidewalk out front of a stretch of shops. The further I walked, the more I caught sight of the ocean, heading straight for it. The summer breeze carried the smell of the salty waves through the air, putting me at ease.
Shop owners cleaned their hanging racks and signs outside their little stores and brought them inside. Most of the tourists had fled to the most popular restaurants in town for dinner, leaving the streets open to the locals who knew better.
Three years ago, I never would’ve walked home when the sun was already dipping and I was alone. The police had made it all but mandatory to travel in groups and avoid being out after dark.
Many credited strict curfews and regulations as what drove the killer away. Maybe they moved on to a new town, or maybe they were already rotting in a prison cell for another crime.
Something in my gut, though, told me they were lying in wait for the right time to return. I never thought the Coastal Killer was done.
A hand on my shoulder had me tripping over my steps and my heart completely stopping in my chest.
“I thought that was you,” a deep voice said, wrapping an arm around my shoulder to steady me.
I was so deep in my thoughts, I hadn’t even heard the footsteps behind me. My heart raced, and I took a deep breath, recognizing the voice and turning to find my brother next to me.
“Off early?” he asked.
“Hey, Calvin,” I said with a sigh of relief. “Francis forced us all out because she had some fancy cleaning service coming. I think her exact words werethese exhibits better shine.”
I laughed remembering her frantically shoving us out the door promptly at closing.
“So, the workaholic had no choice but to go home and relax for once?” he asked, raising a brow, a grin spreading across his lips.
“I’m not a workaholic,” I said, pushing his arm off my shoulder and scowling.
“Perfect. So, you’ll stop by for dinner next Friday, right?”
Shit.
He had been trying to get me to come over for dinner with him and his wife for months. I’d only seen their new house once.
“I-” I tried.
“No excuses, Len,” he scolded. “Mom and Dad barely hear from you. We live in the same town, and I barely get to see you. You can do one dinner.”
My mouth hung open, searching for a reason. I appreciated my older brother looking after me and caring enough to keep inviting me over, but I had just received my promotion at work, and with Francis getting older, my only goal was to become the museum director when she retired someday.
I could never achieve that without putting the extra hours in and proving myself with my research.
My career was all I had left.
I loved my family, but my parents lived hours away, and we only saw them at the holidays. Ever since my brother had gotten married, I saw him less and less. It didn’t bother me; I loved Eloise. They were perfect together, but he had his own family to look out for now.
“Please, Len,” he said. “For me?”
I hated when he pulled the sad puppy dog eyes. He’d been doing it since we were children, and our parents always fell for it. I knew better, but how could I deny him when he was pleading so hard and laying on the guilt so thick?
“Fine,” I huffed out.
