Page 10 of Requiem & Reverie

“What? Did he hurt you?”

“I … don’t …. No.”

“You don’t know? Did Voss do something to you?”

“No, I mean … no, he didn’t hurt me. Oh, God, Jonah. I think … I ...” I didn’t even know how to word it without sounding ridiculous. “I saw something … weird.”

“Is he in the house with you now?” There’s rustling and movement through the phone, and fast breathing, as though Jonah’s running.

“No. He’s in the apartment.”

“Good. Lock the doors. Don’t let him in.”

Lock the doors. His words echo inside my head, prompting my feet to move on command, and I check the lock on the front and back doors, while my head spins out of control.

“Jonah … he had a picture … of a woman. I think …” I can’t even say the words that feel stuck at the back of my throat. “I think he might be that killer. The one who puts sand in the eyes. I think he might be The Sandman.”

3

Voss

The only good thing about growing up in a house full of psychopaths is the keen sense I’ve developed to know when shit just isn’t adding up. Watching Nola skate out of the apartment, shaking and pale, like she saw a ghost, was enough to trip my bullshit sensors.

Low on sugar, my ass.

I kneel down to the floor, and my hand drags over a photograph that must’ve fallen out of my briefcase. I slide it from beneath the coffee table.

Fuck.

Nabbing a lighter from the kitchen drawer, I set the image aflame and rinse the black fallen ashes down the drain. Next, I gather up the two files I have—one on Nola, the other on Carl, and set those smoking inside the basin, as well. As a small fire swallows the pages, at the distant sound of a vehicle coming up the drive, my muscles ball into knots of tension. Another thing this shithole apartment doesn’t have is a smoke detector. “C’mon. Burn, baby.”

Really don’t need the cops on my ass. Not at this stage of the game, anyway.

Once the pages are burned to small enough pieces, I flush them down the garbage disposal. Doesn’t matter that they’re gone. I’ve already studied the shit out of them, and I can always get Jackson to send me the digital copies, if I need them.

At a knock on the door, I throw it open, and I’m greeted by Jonah’s pissed-off face, his eyes carrying all the venom of a big brother about to whoop someone’s ass. “Can I help you?” The urge to smile tugs at my lip, but I bite it back.

“Hello, Voss. Mind if I come in?” He looks past me, presumably searching for whatever Nola undoubtedly called him about.

“I’d prefer to talk out here, if you don’t mind.” I step toward him, closing the door to the apartment behind me.

Hands on his hips, he stares back at me, probably studying me as much as I’m studying him right now. “I’ve no doubt you know why I’m here, Voss. Nola saw something. I’m not saying it’s yours, necessarily, but I’d like to put her mind at ease.”

“I’m fairly certain whatever Nola claims she saw doesn’t make for probable cause. And even if it did, I believe you’d need a search warrant to go through my things, isn’t that correct, Jonah?”

He tips his chin back and sniffs the air. “What smells like it’s burning in here?”

“I’m a shitty cook. Tried to fry an egg earlier and failed miserably.”

“Don’t fuck with me, Voss. Your little act might fool my sister, but I’ve had a gut feeling about you.”

“And what exactly are your guts telling you, Jonah?”

“That you’re not who you say you are.”

“Who am I?”

“That’s what I’m here to find out.”