It’s late afternoon by the time I make it back home. When I enter the hallway, our new alarm system beeps twice, sending a jolt of panic through my chest at the sound. I immediately reengage it once I close the door behind me, increasing the sound to the highest setting. Then I look around my house, quiet and still. Despite my best efforts, Bert Rhodes’s presence is everywhere I look. The sound of his voice seems to echo across the empty halls, his dark eyes peering at me from behind every unturned corner. I can even smell him, that musky scent of sweat mixed with a hint of alcohol that trailed him around as he wandered through my home, touching my walls, inspecting my windows, injecting himself into my life once again.
I walk into the kitchen and take a seat at the island, placing my purse on the counter and fishing out the Xanax bottle I retrieved from my glove compartment. I twist it in my hands, shaking the bottle slightly and listening to the rattle of the pills as they tumble around inside. I’ve been craving a Xanax since the second I left the morgue this morning; that was only a matter of hours ago—sitting in my car, the mental image of Lacey’s blue body making my fingers shake as I held the pill in my palm—but given all that’s happened since, it feels like a lifetime ago. I twist open the cap and dump one in my hand, tossing it back and swallowing it dry before another phone call can interrupt me. Then I glance at the refrigerator, realizing that I’ve barely eaten all day.
I jump up from the island and walk over to the fridge, opening the door and leaning against the cool stainless steel. Already, I’m starting to feel better. I told the police about Bert Rhodes. Detective Thomas didn’t seem very convinced, but I did what I could. He’ll be looking into him now. Surely, he’ll be watching him, watching his movements, his patterns. He’ll be noting which houses he visits, and if another girl goes missing from one of those houses, then he’ll know. He’ll know I was right, and he’ll stop looking at me as if I’m the crazy one. As if I’m the one with something to hide.
My eyes land on the leftover salmon from last night, and I pull the Pyrex container out, removing the lid before placing it in the microwave, the kitchen quickly filling with the smell of spices mixing in the air. It’s too late for lunch, so I’ll call it an early dinner, which means it’s entirely within my rights to enjoy a glass of that cabernet that paired so well with it last night. I walk over to the wine cabinet and retrieve a glass, pouring the ruby red liquid to the brim and taking a long drink before dumping the rest of the bottle into the glass and then tossing it into the recycling bin.
Before I can pull out my barstool, there’s a knock at the door—a loud, closed-fist pounding that sends my hand to my chest—followed by a familiar voice.
“Chlo, it’s me. I’m comin’ in.”
I hear the sound of a key in the lock, a quiet clicking as the latch slips out of place. I watch the doorknob begin to turn when I remember the alarm.
“No, wait!” I yell, jogging to the door. “Coop, don’t come in. Hang on a second.”
I reach the keypad and punch in the code just before the door swings open; when it does, I turn to face the porch, my brother’s surprised eyes staring in my direction.
“You got an alarm?” he asks, his feet planted on the Welcome! mat, a bottle of wine clutched in his hand. “If you wanted your key back, you could have just asked.”
“Very funny.” I smile. “You’re going to have to start giving me a heads-up when you’re coming over. This thing will call the cops on you.”
I tap the keypad and gesture for him to come inside, walking back to the island and leaning against the cool marble.
“And if you try to break in, I’ll see you on my phone.”
I lift up my cell phone and wiggle it in the air before pointing at the camera in the corner.
“Is that actually recording?” he asks.
“Sure is.”
I open up the security app on my phone and turn it around so Cooper can see; he’s standing in the center of my cell phone screen.
“Huh,” he says, turning back around and waving into the camera. He looks back at me and grins.
“Besides,” I say. “As much as I love your visits, I’m not the only one who lives here now.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Cooper says, taking a seat on the edge of a stool. “Speaking of which, where is your fiancé?”
“Traveling,” I say. “For work.”
“Over the weekend?”
“He works a lot.”
“Hm,” Cooper says, twirling his bottle of merlot on the table. The liquid glistens under the kitchen lights, casting bloodred shadows across the wall.
“Cooper, don’t,” I say. “Not now.”
“I didn’t.”
“But you were about to.”
“Doesn’t it bother you?” he asks, the words pressed and urgent, like if he didn’t speak them now, they would come ripping out on their own. “How often he’s gone? I mean, I don’t know, Chlo. I always pictured you with someone who was around to keep you feeling safe. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve that. Someone present.”
“Daniel is present,” I say, reaching for my wineglass and taking a deep drink. “He keeps me feeling safe.”
“So, what’s the alarm for?”
I think about how to respond to that, my fingernails tapping against the grooved glass.
“It was his idea,” I say at last. “See? Keeping me safe, even when he’s not here.”
“All right, whatever,” Cooper says, standing from the barstool with a sigh. He walks over to the cabinet and grabs a corkscrew, twisting the cork from his own bottle. Even though I know it’s coming, the pop makes me jump. “Anyway, I was going to suggest we drink, but it looks like you’ve already gotten started.”
“Why are you here, Cooper? Are you here to argue with me again?”
“No, I’m here because you’re my sister,” he says. “I’m here because I’m worried about you. I wanted to make sure you’re doing okay.”
“Well, I’m fine,” I say, raising my arms in a shrug. “I don’t really know what to tell you.”
“How are you dealing with all this?”
“With what, Cooper?”
“Come on,” he says. “You know.”
I sigh, my eyes flickering over to the empty living room, to the couch that suddenly seems so comfortable, so inviting. I let my shoulders slouch a little; they’re so tight. I’m tight.
“It’s bringing back memories,” I say, taking another drink. “Obviously.”
“Yeah. For me, too.”
“Sometimes it’s hard for me to determine what’s real and what’s not.”
The words escape before I have a chance to reel them back in; I can still taste them on my tongue, that admission I had been trying so hard to just swallow down. Forget was ever there. I look down at my wineglass, suddenly half empty, then back up at Cooper.
“It’s just so familiar, I mean. There are so many similarities. Doesn’t it seem a little coincidental to you?”
Cooper eyes me, his lips parting gently.
“What kind of similarities, Chloe?”
“Forget it,” I say. “It’s nothing.”
“Chloe,” Cooper says, leaning toward me. “What are those?”
I follow his stare toward the bottle of Xanax still on the counter, that tiny orange bottle holding a mountain of pills inside. I look back down at my wineglass again, at the finger of liquid remaining.
“Have you been taking those?”
“What? No,” I say. “No, those aren’t mine—”
“Did Daniel give you those?”
“No, Daniel didn’t give me those. Why would you say that?”
“His name is on the bottle.”
“Because they’re his.”