Page 163 of Ice Me Out

“You got something to say?” he challenged.

“No.”

“Don’t give me another reason to kick your ass.” My head jerked back when he jabbed a finger toward my face. “This is your first and final warning. If you fuck over my sister, I’m throwing your ass off the side of that mountain.” His finger drifted to the window and rested on the craggy, snow-covered mountain in the background.

“Understood.”

“Good,” he replied, zipping up his coat. “Also, this conversation never happened.”

He sauntered off, leaving me with more questions than answers. I jolted in my seat when someone pounded on the window. It was Snoh. He pointed at his eyes with two fingers, then turned those fingers on me.

“I get it, motherfucker. Geez.”

Her Story

Hart

I’d been knocking for a few minutes and was afraid no one would answer when Monica opened the door. She was flustered, and I could tell from her damp shirt that she had just gotten out of the shower.

“Hey, Monica. Sorry to just show up. I tried calling and texting Vera, but she hasn’t been answering since last night.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, stepping aside and letting me in. “I’m glad you’re here. Maybe seeing you will cheer her up.”

“How is she?” I asked hesitantly, removing my hat and quickly scanning the common area. Cardboard boxes with Vera’s handwriting scrawled on the side with black permanent marker crowded the living room.

“Not great, if I’m honest. She made it to school this week… barely, but when she comes home, she climbs into bed and calls it a night. I bring her dinner, but she barely eats. I’d gotten her to eat more last night because I threatened to call you.”

I grimaced. “Maybe you should’ve threatened her sooner.”

Monica’s face fell. “I was hoping she would snap out of it.”

I nodded. “I hear you. I’m gonna check on her.”

“Alright. I’ll be out tonight, and I probably won’t return until tomorrow afternoon. You guys have the place to yourselves.”

“Thanks for looking after her,” I said to her retreating form.

She threw up a dismissive wave. “You don’t have to thank me for taking care of my girl,” she said before closing her bedroom door behind her.

I crossed the apartment, gripping the clear plastic container. I stopped at her door, pressed my ear to it, and listened. It was silent—no TV in the background or the white noise I was used to hearing when she studied—silence.

I raised my hand and knocked gently.

“Sugar?”

Nothing.

I waited a few seconds, then knocked a little louder.

“Vera? It’s Hart.”

I waited, listening for the slightest indication that she’d heard me. Nothing.

“Sugar? I’m coming in.”

I twisted the knob and pushed the door open, but it stopped after a few inches. I gave it another shove, and heard something scrape against the floor on the other side.

“Vera, what the hell do you have behind your door?”