CHAPTER 10

Present

I’VE HAD A grand total of five visitors into my apartment. One was Jeremy, his surprise at my setup interrupted by my promptly launched attack. Then there was Marcus. The other three have been a variety of maintenance workers, whose presence was necessary at some point or other in the last four years. Their visits were short and sweet, but the reactions were all the same. I’m sure, to an unsuspecting individual crossing over my threshold, my apartment’s setup would be a bit of a shock. The right side is relatively normal, a bed, some books. If you look further right it starts to get odd, five stacked rows holding over a hundred cardboard boxes, arranged by size and contents, all of the items that an enterprising recluse might need. But it’s the left side of the apartment that really gives someone pause, when their eyes slide back, past the kitchen that divides the two spaces, past the small round table, past the large lone window that tests my sanity. The left side is pink. Pink walls, pink bed frame, pink bedspread, pink dresser and side tables. Posters break up the space and bring in more colors, pillows plump up the bed and make it inviting, the ensemble another level of WTF when you see the giant steel framework that surrounds the entire bedroom set. The framework supports eight high-def cameras, over 10,000 watts of lighting, sex toy attachments, laptops, extension cords, and ethernet cables.

I hold the door for the detectives and wait for a reaction.

The woman stops first, an unexpected halt that causes the man to collide into her. He apologizes, she sidesteps, and then he stops. I lean against the door frame and wait, wondering how long this entire production is going to take.

“Wow.” The woman speaks first. She holds out a weak finger in the direction of the pink bed. “What’s… what’s up with all this?”

“My work.” I shut the door and walk to the round table. Perch on the edge of it and cross my arms.

TheOtherOne steps to the left and crouches, lifting the edge of the pink bedspread. Like I’d have hidden something there. Give me a little credit.

“Step away from that please,” I snap. He looks up and hoists himself back to standing.

“Just looking around, Ms. Madden.”

“Look all you want with a warrant in hand.”

“What kind of work do you do?” EyelinerCop raises a thinly plucked brow and I wonder how she’d take to constructive criticism. Pluck that brow any more and she’ll have to find a new way to spend her free time.

“I work online. Webcamming.” I expect a blank look and am rewarded; the majority of people having no clue about the webcam business. The woman rubs her forearm and I notice the chill bumps. Smile to myself. Stay in my seat, leave the thermostat where it is. Sixty-four degrees should keep this visit short. I am dressed for success in my sweatshirt.

“Webcamming…?” She raises her eyebrows and I say nothing. She wants to ask a question, she can go right ahead.

The man coughs. Of course he knows what it is. I keep my eyes on her and see, in the peripheral, him lean forward. “It’s in the adult industry.”

If her eyebrows get any higher, they’ll hit her hairline. She looks down and shifts her purse higher on her shoulder. Oh… so it makes her uncomfortable. Interesting. I’ve seen so few reactions to my work. The man turns, and it catches my attention, his feet moving the wrong way, toward my real bed and the library of cardboard boxes. “What’s in the boxes?”

I lift a shoulder. “Stuff. Supplies.”

“Supplies?” This woman really needs to learn how to ask a fucking question. I take the bait this time, no real reason not to.

“Food and toiletries. Lightbulbs for my cam lights, laundry detergent…” I stand and step around to the back of the table and hope they follow me. “That kind of stuff.”

“Why so much of it?” The man tilts his head, reading a label, carefully written in Sharpie on the side of a box. “You’ve got to have a year’s worth of stuff here.”

I swallow. Open the fridge and pull out a few waters. Search my future words and look for pitfalls. “I don’t get out much. I prefer to do any shopping online. That means I have to buy in bulk.”

Now EyelinerCop is looking at the boxes, and the pit in my stomach grows. “Even floss? You buy floss online? Isn’t that a bit… excessive?” She turns to me.

I set their water bottles on the table. “Did you have something to ask me? Because I need to get back to work.”

“Is that a safe?” The man’s voice is sharper, and the water bottle crackles from my squeeze. “What’s in the safe?”

CHAPTER 11

Present

I DIDN’T SKIMP when it came to the safe. It’s big, not big enough to hold a body, but possibly could, if the person was chopped into parts. It currently holds two guns, twenty-one knives, my gas mask, leftover fentanyl, and an assortment of other weapons. It also holds a small scrapbook, one that used to sit on our family’s coffee table. I’m pretty sure the detectives will have no interest in that and an overwhelming interest in the rest.

I shrug. “Family scrapbooks, my passport. Those sorts of things.”

“Can we take a look inside?” He smiles, a friendly smile.

I return the gesture. So much cordiality bouncing around. “Not without a warrant.”

The woman clears her throat. “Can we get to the questions?”

Oh yes, the questions. This should be interesting. I pull out a chair from the table and sit.

The woman follows suit; the man fidgets in a familiar way. “Got a bathroom?”

I point, my eyes following his steps, purposeful and direct. I listen to the door close and thank God I never killed anyone in the bathroom. I hear the drizzle of urine and move my eyes to the woman. EyelinerCop’s eyes are suspicious, they crawl over my face as if they can dig the truth from my skin. I relax against the seat’s back and wait.

I should be nervous but I only feel excitement.

“Where were you last night, Ms. Madden?”

An unexpected question. I bring my eyes up from the water bottle and into the woman’s eyes, wonder if all criminal investigations start with that question or if last night is of particular consequence. Think of my wake on the concrete floor, my crawl to the bed. “I was here. In my apartment.”

The woman’s eyes dart¸ from left to right, like a Pong paddle. “All night?”

“Yes.”

“Can anyone verify that?”

When she speaks, her eyebrows pinch together in a sharp V of distrust. I watch their narrow exclamations and wonder what they have on me. Anything? Is this a fishing expedition or a sharpening of the nails that will seal my coffin?

“Umm… yes. My neighbor. Simon.” I try to push into last night’s vault of recollection, try to move earlier than my pounding headache, but find nothing. Strange. Then again, I was locked in. How much trouble could I have possibly caused?

“Simon was with you?” From the bathroom, the door opens and TheOtherOne walks out.

I feel the upward curl of my lip. “No. But he locked me into the apartment. From nine till sometime this morning.”

That surprises them. I feel the shift of air, the rigid tilt of the woman as she fights against turning her head to the man. Ha. My alibi is unbreakable. He pulls out a chair, sits, and speaks. “I don’t understand.”