It wasn’t hard to find Alex’s house once I drove down Cherryhill Boulevard—the yellow tape around the house, coupled with the three police cruisers out front was evidence enough. A crowd had gathered along the edges of the property, each person craning their neck and standing on their toes to get a look at what had happened.
Trying not to draw attention to myself, I drove past as casually as possible and turned the corner, coming to a stop behind a huge pine tree. As I turned my car off I heard an engine roar up behind me, my mirror showing me the reflection of an old Dodge Charger pull up against my bumper. Perturbed, I ignored my instinct to keep driving and stepped out of the car.
When I arrived at the house I scanned the area for Officer Harley, or even the man that had hauled Luke away. I couldn’t see either of them through the number of people blocking the way, but I saw two body bags being loaded into a coroner’s van. A middle-aged woman near me gasped loudly when she saw them, placing a hand over her heart. Was I supposed to react like that? Probably. Maybe I was even supposed to be more distraught since I saw one of them only a few hours ago. Maybe I would be if I weren’t on a mission.
I poked and prodded my way through the crowd until I made it to the front. One small policeman stood on the other side of the barrier, making sure to keep people out. I wondered, would he answer any questions?
“What happened?” The sudden boom of a deep voice made me startle. I glanced up at the dark-haired man, his eyebrows high on his head and lips upturned. Far too much glee considered two bodies were just rolled out the front door.
The officer’s walkie-talkie buzzed before he could answer. He held up a hand.
“We’re all done back here,” the voice buzzed. “We’re heading back.”
“Copy,” said the officer. I backed away just as he began telling the crowd to take a step back.
Walking back to my car I spotted the blonde television reporter that had told the world of Rosa Navarro’s kidnapping and death. She didn’t have any cameras with her but she did have a small recording device in her hand held up to an elderly couple.
Hands in my pockets, I wandered past them at a slow pace.
“Can you tell me what you saw?” the reporter asked, the same gleam in her eyes as before.
“We saw the killer leave,” said the man, “a young boy, no older than my son.” The man described Luke perfectly, for what he must have seen in the dark at least. They were awfully sure he was the killer.
“He was just a boy,” his wife commented, “why would he do such a thing? He must be one of those…things.” The disgust in her voice was apparent but I was too far away to hear the reporters reply.
Anger burned through my body at her comment about the Eidolon’s. Typical humans. So they were the ones that had seen Luke, but how did the cops find him so fast? It wasn’t like they knew exactly who he was, it just wasn’t possible in such a short time—Luke had no connection to them other than Charlie. I needed to see this crime scene for myself, and I knew just the way.
The officers said that they were done in the back and headed somewhere else; that must have meant they were done checking the backyard and the house. I passed my car and the Charger, engine still running, trying to see if anyone was inside. The windows were too dark to see through, but when I looked back through the windshield I caught a glimpse of dark hair and sunglasses. Continuing past, I rounded the block until I found the bike path that would lead back to Alex’s house. Checking behind me to make sure nobody was watching, I kept going, thinking about what a stupid idea this was.
I was lucky Alex lived where he did. Cherryhill Boulevard was on the edge of a minuscule conservation area, filled with pathways and trees. The dirt road was empty with everyone in the street out front, giving me the perfect opportunity to get in on my own.
The house itself was obscured by trees and bushes forcing me to inch my way forward just to get a look. If any cops saw me I could simply lie and say I was curious. No strict repercussions until they found out I was Luke’s roommate, which probably wouldn’t take too long. Staying behind a tree I scanned the backyard.
It was simple, no flowers, just trees and leafy green plants that wouldn’t need much attention. There was a large cobblestone patio with sliding glass doors where a man and woman in black suits stood. Detectives, I surmised. An officer walked through the open patio doors, drawing everyone’s attention.
“There’s nothing here,” said the woman, “he left through the front after bringing her home from the club.”
Officer Harley came out from the open patio door.
“Did you want us to check the rest of the back again?” the first officer asked, making a small hand motion to the back yard and I hunkered down lower behind a bush. I didn’t risk peeking out for another look, only then realising how stupid an idea this was. But what other way did I have?
“No,” she responded, “there’s no point, we have the killer in custody and we’ve found all we can here.” Poking my head just over the top of the bush I saw them walk towards the side of the house. “Let’s head back with the others and get the kid into interrogation.”
Kid, I scoffed. Luke was twenty and being called a kid by a thirty-something cop. It was a little stereotypical really. The three disappeared around the corner, but I remained motionless for a few more minutes. I heard cars drive away and the crowd began to quiet. Once it was nearly silent I stood and stumbled, my legs asleep. I rubbed life back into them, hobbling my way forward through the brush.
The police tape only extended over the patio, though I spotted some sticky residue on a skinny tree I passed. After checking the area and finding nothing, they seemed to have all their eggs in Luke’s basket. Won’t they feel foolish when the next murder happens? By the time I made it to the patio I could feel my legs again, though the ache of squatting for so long lingered; I’d have to take Luke up on his offer to go to the gym with him when he’s out of jail.
“Tch,” I muttered, finding the patio door open. I listened for movement inside, but was met with silence. For a long few seconds all I could hear was the pounding of my own heart, and once that became too much to bear I stepped over the threshold.
I had entered into a living room and if it wasn’t for the very obvious murder that occurred here, it would be quite welcoming. The white couch had red splattered over it and when I moved closer I saw there was a drying pool on the floor. The glass table could have been where someone had hit their head, the corner coated in a dark liquid I assumed was more blood.
The loveseat that sat kiddy-corner to the couch was pristine, not a mark on it. I walked over to observe it, why was there nothing there? In the back of the cushion I saw something tucked away, nearly invisible in a matching white—the only reason I’d spotted it was the sheen it had. Taking a quick look over my shoulder I pulled at the string between the cushions to reveal a green stone necklace. I didn’t recognize it from the previous night, but it could still belong to Alice. I took a picture of it with my cell phone and placed it back where I had found it, moving on.
Across the room was a yellow sign with the number one on it sitting atop a cabinet. I saw a small white card in front and knew what it was before I stepped up. As I got closer I could clearly see Luke’s face on it; his college ID card.
“Idiot,” I mumbled to myself. That was how they had found Luke so easily; his ID had been left with his name and student number on it. As much as I wanted to run to Luke and call him stupid to his face, I didn’t have time. Heavy footsteps stomped towards me. Just before I saw a shadow of someone turn down the hall I dashed inside the closet next to the cabinet.
“Get the card,” an officer said in a high pitched tone, “how could you forget the card?” I pushed myself against the right of the closet, steadying the swaying jackets with one hand. He grumbled, “I already filmed everything, not my job to do this.”
I waited until I heard the front door shut to poke my head out.
Seeing the living room empty again made me let out a sigh of relief. As I climbed out of the closet, I noticed a tiny yellow butterfly sitting on the drops of blood by the back doors. The temperature seemed to drop as I watched it flutter its wings before taking off down the opposite hallway, following the blood trail.
I trailed after it, avoiding any evidence on the floor, or anything that looked like it could be evidence. Each drop of blood had a yellow sign and a number to go with it, making it a little difficult to navigate the thin hall. I watched my feet as I walked. The signs ended when they reached the next room.
What first caught my attention was the black tape outline of a person.
Alice, I thought. A pang of guilt hit me, thinking of how she’d tried to get me to dance with her last night.
I shook those thoughts away. I couldn’t help Alice, but I could help Luke.
Something about the room bothered me—it was too clean. The gray carpeting was freshly cleaned and the bed was made. Matching lamps sat on either side of it atop mahogany nightstands. Absolutely no blood, despite the outline of Alice’s body on the floor. Taking another step inside my eye caught movement.
The butterfly sat at my feet, small and shimmering, flapping its wings as it sat on a television remote, just out of reach of Alice’s outlines hand. I looked around but didn’t see a TV, so was the remote for the one in the living room? Why would it be all the way over here, unless Alice carried it with her in a panic?
The butterfly flew into the air, this time floating over the bed and landing on the tall bookshelf. Below it were fallen books. They didn’t fit with the rest of the room; no blood whatsoever, everything else in its place, but not these books.
I bent down next to them, reaching a hand out to touch them but quickly drawing back. These books weren’t familiar to me; all of them lying open to be read. They were paperback, so to get them to stay open on their own meant they had to be crushed down, the spine nearly broken. All of them appeared to be different genre’s, different writers.
The only thing they had in common was they were open to page four and five. Was Alice or her boyfriend trying to tell the world something with this? I took a photo with my phone, making sure to get one of the outline and remote as well. I watched as the butterfly flew back into the living room. Taking one last look around, I decided it was time for me to go as well.
Once I cleared the property and walked the dirt path, I could breathe again. There was a tight squeeze to my chest, but getting to work would stop that. Right?
I combed through the photos on my phone; Luke really was in trouble. Not only was he seen entering and leaving the house, he had somehow left his ID there. I was hoping that the fact he wasn’t coated in blood would help, but after seeing where Alice had died and how clean it was that hope was gone. I stopped at the end of the bike path as I came to the picture of the necklace.
It was out of place. If it was on a table, or even the bed, I would have brushed it off as nothing. But it was hidden in the back of the loveseat; placed there by someone. It was a clue; I just didn’t know what kind of clue it was.
I shoved my phone back in my pocket, anger and a touch of despair starting to take over. For now, the cops had nothing but Luke’s ID and a couple of witnesses. Soon they would find time of death, maybe that would save him; I told them everything, being very specific about times and places. Maybe Alice and Alex died after we had gotten home, after Luke had gone to bed. Somehow I knew that wasn’t going to be the case.
As I pulled my keys out of my pocket I heard a shuffling behind me. I flinched, turning my head to see the source of the noise and found nothing. I stared around; nothing out of the ordinary. I hurried to my car, locking the doors the second I was inside.
I took a deep breath and weighed my options. There was no way I would be able to visit Luke in jail, so what should I do? Charlie was the first thing that came to my mind. She deserved to know about Alice and the cops might not have talked to her yet. I dialled her number and this time she picked up right away.
“Hey,” I said, “are you busy?”
“Nah,” she answered, “I’ve got the day off. What’s up?” My hope that she already knew what happened dropped at the tone of her voice—the same cheery Charlie.
“I’m coming over; I should be there in about fifteen minutes. We need to talk.”
“About what?” Her voice was filled with concern now. I hated it.
“I’ll tell you when I get there,” I said and hung up. It wasn’t going to be easy telling her, and it didn’t help that I had zero experience delivering bad news. As I drove back to Luke’s I tried to think of the right words to use. By the time I pulled up to the apartment I still hadn’t found them.
Comments (0)
See all