Page 26 of You'll Never Know
“I have an envelope for you. Sign here, please.”
He raises his hand and presents his phone. I study the screen. There’s a company name printed next to a logo of a cartoon man running at a dead sprint wearing a red winged hat: QuickCourier. Beneath the words is a blank signature line.
“I don’t understand,” I say, confused.
“Look, man, I have a lot of deliveries to get to, so if you could just sign, I’ll be on my way.”
Instead of grabbing the phone, I take the envelope.
“Hey, you can’t do that,” he says. “You have to sign first.”
But I’m already tearing the package open and reaching inside. When my hand comes out again, it’s with a stack of photos. I stare at the first one and the world washes away. It’s a picture of Avery bound to a chair. A length of rope is lashed around her chest, and there are two more tied around her wrists. She’s naked except for her underwear. Streaks of grime trail across her collarbone and cover her breasts. And her face—dear god—is completely battered. Her eyes have been blackened. A dark band of purple runs over the bridge of her nose. The right side of her mouth is so swollen it’s pulling her lips into a Joker-like sneer.
They beat her,I think, numbly.They beat my wife.
I flip to the next picture. This one is an overhead shot of a pair of grease-lined knuckles yanking Avery’s face up toward the camera by the hair. Her eyelids hang at half-mast, revealing only the whites of her eyes. A gag winds around her jaw, looking tight enough to cut off her airway.
My stomach knots. I’m going to be sick. I can barely bring myself to shuffle to the next picture. It’s another shot of Avery sitting in the chair, but with her head slumped forward this time, her chin planted on her chest. The crown of her head glows through her matted red hair, and for a sliver of a second, I wonder if the photo is fake, a picture of another stand-in actor like Liz.
That’s when I spot the birthmark. It’s stamped on her abdomen, hovering right above her waist. The same pale-pink shape I’ve orbitedwith the tip of my finger a hundred times. A thousand. Not only that, but I recognize the spattering of freckles around it. This is Avery. I have no doubt.
The pictures slip from my hand, and I stride toward the man. He says something, but I don’t hear the words as I bunch my fingers into his polo and slam him hard against the car.
“Where is she?” I snarl.“Where?”
He sputters and chokes. Sputters again.
“Tell me! Where’s my wife?”
A palm brushes my back. “Hey,” Liz says. “Hey!Stop! Let him go!”
I loosen my grip, but only a little, just enough so he can speak.
“Shit, man, I don’t—” The guy grabs my wrists and tries to push me back, but I only lean into him harder in response. “I don’t know!” he finishes.
Liz grabs my arm. “Stop it! You’re going to kill him!”
“Goddammit!” I say, releasing him.
Liz stares at me like I’ve lost my mind, her eyes bulging.
“Fucking psycho!” the guy says. I turn back to him. He’s slithered away, is now standing on the other side of the car, trying to catch his breath. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Who sent you?” I ask. I don’t care that I’ve frightened this guy. I need answers, need to make sense of what’s happening and find out why this guy has all these awful pictures of my wife.
He smooths his shirt, which doesn’t do much to improve his frazzled appearance, not with his collar now ripped to mid chest. “No one. I was just trying to deliver a package.”
“Yeah, I get that. But why?” I ask. “Why way out here?”
His face transforms into a shotgun splatter of confusion. “Hey, I go where I’m told. And my boss said to be at the quarry at three o’clock. That some guy named Grant Wilson would meet me here. So that’s what I did.” He runs a hand through his hair, trying and failing to work it back into place. “Fucking sure wish I hadn’t now, though. Christ.”
I gawk at him. My brain feels like an egg yolk cracked into a frying pan. For a brief second, I’d thought this nightmare was over. But now I can’t shake the feeling it’s just getting started.
“Who’s your boss? Give me his address right now.”
His brow wrinkles. “You want to talk to Frank? He won’t know shit, either. He said this package came in via—”
“Oh my god,” Liz breathes behind me. When I look her way, she has a fist pressed to her mouth, holding the pictures I dropped. “Is this your wife?”
