The Song of David

“Tag made Vince manager about three weeks ago, and Leo got promoted too. But Vince said Tag’s name isn’t anywhere on the bar schedule anymore. He thought it was just because Tag was tired of working so many hours. He was putting in a bunch with Morgan gone,” Axel added.

Cory let loose with a series of expletives that had the others pointing at a water jug already brimming with quarters labeled HENRY on Tag’s desk. It was the swear jar, obviously.

“Your whole paycheck is going in that thing, Mangum,” Mikey sighed, though I had the feeling no one was going to be making him pay up.

“So no one has actually talked to him or seen him for at least two weeks, and Millie saw him last?” Axel reiterated, running his hands through his hair. His blond crew cut didn’t budge.

“Looks to me like his lawyer saw him last,” I said, still reeling from the papers I clutched in my hands.

“How is Millie?” Mikey asked. “What does she say about all of this?”

“She’s a very composed mess,” I answered honestly. “She isn’t saying it, but I’m pretty sure she thinks she’s the reason he split.”

Cory repeated the same string of scalding words that he’s said a minute before.

“No,” Axel shook his head. “No. That doesn’t make any sense. I saw his face when Henry came into the bar that night. It was around closing, and I was keeping Tag company and having a few. Henry comes flying through the door, his feet bare, not wearing a coat. He’d run all the way there, and he was freaking out.”

“Why?” I asked. I hadn’t heard this story yet.

“We didn’t know. You know Henry. He speaks in sports trivia. It’s damn hard to communicate with him. But he kept saying something about Millie, and something had obviously set him off. I’ve never seen Tag look like that. He left Henry with me and was out the door in about ten seconds. You don’t leave a girl that inspires that kind of reaction. We all give Tag a bad time about his women. But Millie’s different.”

“Millie’s different,” Mikey agreed, nodding.

Cory just swore and pulled at his hair.

“What the feck is going on?” Andy asked again. But this time he didn’t sound angry. He just sounded as lost as Tag was.





“MILLIE!” THE HOUSE was pitch black. No light on the porch, no glow from the windows. I couldn’t get the damn gate to unlatch though I’d unlatched it without trouble before. I hurdled it and was up the walk in three flying steps, clearing the stairs in another one, bolting through the unlocked door, my heart playing a base drum, complete with bashing cymbals in my head.

It was so dark inside, and the darkness convinced me that when I found the light I would see something I didn’t want to see.

“Millie!”

I felt for the light, and my hand brushed against Millie’s stick, toppling it. If Millie’s stick was here, propped in its regular place, she was here too. I found the switch and light flooded the foyer, illuminating the drops of blood that tiptoed across the entryway and headed up the stairs, missing a step only to collect in a heavier pattern on another.

I was up the stairs and banging down the hall without knowing where I was going. I’d never been in this part of the house. I pushed doors open, flipping on lights until I found a room that had to be Millie’s. The walls were bare, the wooden floor neat—no strewn belongings or tossed clothing that Millie could trip over. There were drops of blood leading to a closed door across from her neatly made bed.

“Millie?” I said, but it came out a whisper. I couldn’t shout anymore. I was too afraid. I crossed the room and pushed open the door, bracing myself for the worst, only to find the bathroom dark, just like the rest of the house. Light from the bedroom spilled into the small space, and I found myself staring at Millie, perched on the edge of the tub in a tank top and shorts, her hair piled on her head like she was preparing to bathe and didn’t want to get it wet. Blood was smeared all over the sink and across the splash tiles in a macabre finger painting. I slid my hand along the wall beside the door and the light I switched on turned the burgundy blood into a cheery red.

Millie had ear buds stuck in her ears and her head bobbed like she was just chilling out instead of bleeding out. She had wrapped one set of fingers in a ratty washcloth and was gripping them tightly. Her eyes were opened, blankly staring, and she was completely unaware that I was there.

I yanked the earbuds from her ears and she yelped a little, clearly startled.

“Amelie,” I growled.

“David?” she cried, but her voice carried more surprise than pain.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“What the hell are YOU doing?” she shot back, immediately matching my angry tone.

“The house is dark, there’s a trail of blood up the stairs, this bathroom looks like you attempted suicide, and you’re sitting here zoning out to your iPod—”