It was a bold statement telling Cormac that I didn’t care whether he killed me after this or not, because I do care. I don’t want to die. My life might not be perfect, or even satisfactory at this rate, but it’s still my life.
I’m instantly reminded of just exactly how shitty it is when I open the disconnected fire door at the back of the Sunrise Motel and ease myself inside. Glancing behind me, I catch sight of Cormac’s car parked just at the mouth of the alley where he and Hank sit waiting for me. This is the last thing I need to do for them.
Then I will be free. Or dead.
The candy bar and water Cormac provided have significantly calmed the churning tightness in my gut. It never crossed my mind that I was feeling so nauseous because of hunger, and in any other situation, I would be embarrassed that I fainted. Here, though, there isn’t time to be embarrassed.
Inside the motel, the familiar stench of stale piss and old smoke clogs my nose as I walk down the corridor toward the maintenance stairs at the back of the building. From there, it should be pretty easy to get up to the room cordoned off by crime scene tape. I just hope that Cormac will find the answers he’s looking for.
The motel is silent, with most guests likely keeping to their rooms while the cops roam the place. I can’t imagine how pissed off Gerald must be at having the police walking his halls, knocking on his doors and scaring off all the sleazy clientele he’s spent so long building up. That man offers a space for people to do whatever the hell they want, and nothing burns his reputation faster than a heavy police presence.
I focus on him as a distraction from my trembling fingers and racing heart as I climb the stairs two at a time. I know this place like the back of my hand, so sneaking in was never going to be the problem. It’s sneaking out that will be hard since the maintenance door at the top of the stairwell only opens one way. I complained to Gerald about it a few times, but in his opinion, it was necessary to stop people from sneaking past the cameras when they wanted to leave without paying.
I just hope I remember exactly where the cameras are to avoid them on my way out.
Reaching the top floor, I slowly open the door and peer through the crack. The corridor is empty. With my heart in my mouth, I step through and ease the door shut behind me. Metal creaks and wood clunks, sending a flash of fear crawling over my shoulders and arms. Luckily, no one is around to hear it, and I force myself to breathe slowly.
“Just pretend you’re cleaning,” I say to myself and then instantly regret it when my voice echoes too loudly in the silence around me. While walking toward the door sealed off with bright yellow tape, I pull my phone from my pocket and briefly mourn the cracked screen. When Cormac gave my phone back to me, he apologized and said the screen broke when it fell from my hand the night they kidnapped me. If we were on better terms, I’d demand that he pay for the repairs, but I can’t get a read on him.
One moment, he’s the scariest fucker I’ve ever seen and the next, he’s feeding me chocolate and telling me all the secret good his family does for this city.
Maybe he’s just one hell of a bullshitter to get what he wants.
Once outside the door, I dial the number Cormac gave me. It rings thrice, and each time my heart gives a more powerful beat in anticipation. Then Cormac’s face fills the screen. The dark shadows in the car make the angular structure of his face all the more intimidating against the light from the call, but his eyes sparkle in an oddly distracting way.
“You get in okay?” Cormac demands. He doesn’t sound as intimidating through the phone. I nod and turn the camera so he can see the door.
“You ready?” I ask softly, sinking my teeth into the inside of my cheek. My hands won’t stop trembling, and the more I will them to calm, the worse it gets. In the end, I have to grip the phone with both hands.
“Ready,” comes Cormac’s reply.
I don’t move.
Suddenly, I’m rooted to the floor and the prospect of going back into that room is terrifying. Logically, I know the body isn’t in there anymore, but there’s a scared voice in the back of my mind that wonders if it is.
Or what if there is something worse?
“Evelyn?” Cormac’s confusion is audible.
“Sorry,” I gasp. “I just…” I can’t find the words because I know he won’t care about my emotional turmoil. I know this because he’s made it painfully clear how important his brother was to him and how he will go to any lengths to get answers. None of that compares to what I might be feeling.
“I just need a sec,” is all I can manage, and I point the phone at the floor as the knots in my gut tighten.
I’d better have abs of steel after this shit is over.
“Take your time,” Cormac replies.
“We don’t have time,” comes a quieter voice, likely Hank.
Silence falls while I stare at the door, mapping out the letters of the DO NOT CROSS words decorating the tape. I force myself to breathe in as I read each word and then breathe out at the end of each sentence, and it works to an extent.
“Alright,” I say, and heat warms the back of my neck when my voice cracks. “I’m ready.”
“At your own pace,” Cormac replies, which is oddly understanding for a man who had a gun to my face about twelve hours ago.
Balancing the phone in one hand, I quickly rip the tape from the door and rush inside before my fear locks me in place again. Immediately, I gag as the coppery stink of old blood hits me like a slap in the face. Pressing the back of my wrist to my nose, I close the door and flick on the light.
“Show me,” Cormac demands. “Show me the room.”
I oblige, lifting the phone to show the motel room. It’s mostly as clean as I remember, only now every surface is dusted in black powder from the cops collecting fingerprints. It’s everywhere, even on the walls and around the plug sockets.
“Are there any vents? Or a ceiling fan?” Cormac asks. His voice is tight, like each word is being forced through a very narrow gap.
“No ceiling fan,” I reply. “But there is a vent behind the bed and one in the—” I swallow thickly as my tongue weighs heavily in my mouth.
“In the bathroom?” Cormac prompts.
“Yeah.” I glance at the closed door leading to the scene of the crime and coldness settles across my shoulders. I shiver sharply and turn toward the bed. “Is that what Brenden would do? Hide things in the vents?”
“Not exactly,” Cormac explains as I get down on my hands and knees. “Something like that is too obvious, but if he had hidden something somewhere, he’d leave a clue in an obvious place that I could follow.”
“Did you guys talk about this kind of stuff?” Reaching behind the bed, I use all my strength to start shunting it away from the wall enough that I can get behind it. “Like, what to do if you ever get caught by the cops or something?”
“Sort of. My mom had this kind of stuff drilled into us from a young age because you never know what’s going to happen.”
“Damn,” I mutter, panting heavily by the time I’ve shoved the bed a few feet. “Must be nice to have a parent who gave a shit even when you were little.”
“Doesn’t every parent?”
I roll my eyes. How is a criminal a better parent than my Ivy League, honor student mother? All she cares about is how quickly I can start churning out babies with a man she approves of. Never once has she given me a talk about personal safety.
Maybe that’s why I’m in this mess.
Behind the bed, I turn on the phone’s flashlight and shine it at the vent. The surrounding screws are covered in the same black powder as the rest of the surfaces and luckily, whoever put this vent back together didn’t do it properly. It takes only a few seconds to work the cover off the wall.
“What am I looking for?” I ask, coughing slightly as the dust from the vent clouds around me.
“Smears,” Cormac replies. “It’ll look like oil smears or some kind of lubricant. Something that looks like it should be there, regardless.”
Shining the light into the vent, we come up empty. There’s nothing but dust, a few dead bugs, and a balled-up piece of paper that’s a receipt from two decades ago.
“Sorry,” I murmur as I shove the vent cover back on. “I was really hoping there would be something there.”
“Why?” Cormac asks.
“So you can focus on something other than me,” I mutter. “Wouldn’t that be better for both of us?”
Cormac makes a sound that almost sounds like laughter. “I just want a reason.”
“A reason I don’t want to die?” Does he really care?
“No, a reason Brenden died. I have nothing, so I need something, a clue or an idea of where to start.”
I kick myself as a wave of foolishness washes over me. Of course Cormac wasn’t referring to me.
After the bed is back in place, I puff out my cheeks and wipe some sweat from my forehead. If I get caught here, I’ll have one hell of a struggle explaining why I’m helping this man. Twice, he’s given me enough freedom that I could just tell the truth or run away, and both times, I’ve chosen to help him.
I don’t even fully understand why. Maybe it’s because he was tender with me back in the laundromat, or maybe it’s because I sympathize with the loss of his brother.
Or maybe it’s because I’ve seen more love in his family than I’ve ever experienced in my own life. I can’t think of anyone, past or present, who would go to these lengths if I were found murdered in a motel.
“Where did you find the body?” Cormac’s voice cuts through my thoughts and I turn toward the bathroom.
“In there.”
“Show me.”
Oddly, my heart begins to slow as I approach the bathroom. The frantic patters fade into slow, powerful beats that rattle my ribcage and make my head throb.
There’s no body in there, not anymore. It’s okay. It’s okay.
Gripping the handle, I take a deep breath and hold it as I open the door.
No dead body. Thank God.
As I breathe out in a rush and step inside, the stink of copper and iron assaults my nose and I gasp painfully, then turn on the light.
In a second, the bathroom lights up and my heart breaks for the sight before me. When I discovered the body, I didn’t register much about the place other than the body, but now it’s hard to miss anything. Dried blood stains the tub, the floor, and the walls. There are splatters on the mirror and up the bowl of the toilet. It’s horrific for me, and I can’t imagine how painful it must be for Cormac.
He remains silent.
I want to turn the phone around and take a look at his face, but I can’t.
“He was there,” I say softly, and the urge to comfort him rises. “In the tub.” A tremor shoots down my hand, and I wrestle with my own thoughts as the memory of his rigid fingers and that gaping wound burst into my mind.
Cormac still doesn’t speak, and then Hank’s voice comes across the call. “Check the vent.”
I do as commanded, searching for the same clues that Cormac mentioned before, but again, there is nothing. With Hank’s guidance, I search the room from top to bottom. We check the lining of the wallpaper for any disturbances, check for loose ceiling or floor tiles, pull apart the pillowcases, and even unthread some of the towels, but there is nothing.
The place is empty.
“Alright,” Cormac says eventually, and my heart lifts unexpectedly to hear his voice again. “That’s enough. Get out of there.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Meet us back at the car.”
The call ends before I can turn the camera back around, and I’m suddenly left in the silence of the room. I’d really hoped we would find something that would give Cormac answers or a direction on how to get them, but instead, all I’ve given him is a first-hand look at where his brother was murdered.
Maybe he’ll kill me just for that.
Defeat sits heavily on my shoulders as I slip out of the room and head down the corridor. It’s not until I get to the second stairwell that I realize I feel oddly calm. The fear from before has simply faded away, replaced with the heavy sensation that I’ve let Cormac down in some way.
Why? I barely know the guy, yet I want to help him so badly, and not just to secure my own freedom.
Is it because he’s attractive?
I immediately roll my eyes at the thought. It doesn’t matter that he’s attractive. What matters are his actions.
So caught up in my thoughts as I hurry through the motel, I don’t notice that someone is standing in the side entrance to the parking lot until I hurry past them with my head down.
“Evelyn?”
I don’t hear him at first, making a beeline across the parking lot while mapping out in my mind how to get back to Cormac’s car. Suddenly, a hand grabs my arm and jerks me to a stop so sharply that a squeak of surprise escapes my throat.
“Evelyn!”
I spin around, trying to pull my arm free, and my eyes widen when I lock eyes with the culprit.
“Dillon?”
