Page 73 of Crawl
Maybe I’m stupid, but Itrusthim not to do anything. Besides, I haven’t sent her the picture messages yet. I’m not sure if it’s because I don’t trust Cash, or if I don’t want to test him anymore. But I have to let it go for now.
I’m supposed to be with him in that parking lot. But I’m not.
The doorbell rings, startling me out of my daze. The black lace dress that I wore on the double date clings to my skin, and now, I can’t remember why I chose it. Maybe I thought that if I pretended like nothing happened, like we were still that couple from the double date, that we would be okay. Sometimes love is volatile, and you can’t explain why you do the things you do, even if you kill everyone in your path. You accept each other for every wrong and fucked up thing inside of your souls, and you hold on tight, knowing you may kill each other too.
The doorbell rings again, and this time, I check the security hub; it’s Peter, his hands tapping his sides in impatience. He knocks hard on the door. Each thud lands in my chest like a hammer.
I open the front door. “He’s not here,” I say.
“Good. I was hoping it was just you,” Peter says, his shoulders relaxing. He tilts his head, his eyes glimpsing at my dress, then gives a small smile. “Can I come in this time? I promise I won’t take long.”
I hold my breath, but I automatically nod. I have to let him in, don’t I? I pour us glasses of sweet tea and bring him to the long dining table to the side of the kitchen. The more accommodating I seem, the better Cash and I will look. Like we’re normal people. Even if I’m pissed at him, I have to protect both of us.
Peter gazes through the windows to the pebbled side yard. Though there’s a small white fence around the property line, the trees create a natural barrier, giving the estate privacy as if it’snotinside one of the biggest tourist destinations in the state. But Peter’s eyes are ruminating. Something is eating away at him. Dread fills my stomach. What can he possibly say now to make everything worse? His eyes skim the room, searching for something.
“You have a laptop?” he asks, pointing to my computer. “Can I check something? My service has been down and I’ve gotta check my next appointment.”
I shrug, waving him forward; whatever gets him out of here quicker, right? I sip my tea as he slides around the table, settling into the seat across from me. He types for a few minutes. His eyes race across the screen, but at this angle, I can’t see what he’s doing. He must be trying to keep his appointment private. It must be a cop thing. I clear my throat and he finally closes the laptop.
“Thanks,” he says. “Got it.”
“What’s going on?” I ask, gnawing the inside of my lip. “What are you doing here?”
He sighs deeply, then straightens his chest and locks eyes with me.
“Dean is dead.”
Those words rock through me. My fingertips scale the sides of the glass of sweet tea, the condensation rushing to the bottom of the glass like tears. I just saw Dean. Dean is young. Too young to die.
How did he die?
Guilt presses into my shoulders. Iknowhow he died, but I have to ask. I have to make sure.
“What happened?” I whisper, my voice trembling.
“We found his body in the crawl space of his house, same as the other Crawler victims. His head was found in the woods behind the college. We think the killer is someone who knew him.” He rubs his brows. “When was the last time you spoke to Dean?”
My mind buzzes as I try to make sense of it. “A few weeks ago. I don’t know.”
“Did he say anything odd?”
I shake my head. “He was fine.”
“You may have been one the last people to speak to him.”
I lean back, away from the table, then touch my clammy cheek. “I don’t understand,” I say.
“I spoke with your neighbor. She said that Dean visited your rental house right before he died. Said you two were arguing. Also mentioned that another man in a button-up shirt with dark eyes visited too.” Peter posts his elbow on the table. “Any idea if Winstone and Dean have any altercations? A reason to consider each other enemies?”
My mind flashes to that day, when Cash showed up unannounced, his eyes burning like he could push Dean six feet underground with his sheer force of will.
Had Cash killed Dean because of me?
For me?
What am I even thinking? Dean doesn’t deserve this.
“Found your stepbrother and his ex dead in the motel off of King Street.”
