The Lancaster Murderer

Luxury Suites, 12:00 PM

Finally. "How much do I owe you?" I pose, remembering I put my wallet on his nightstand.

"You'll see," he eerily croons, half his mouth curling into a sneer.

"Do I have to watch you eat until then?" I growl.

"You can eat now, as long as you accept the price."

"Sounds risky," I hum. As if these past few days haven't been risky enough. But if I can handle this week, I can handle a request from Izayah. "Count me in."

Luxury Suites, 8:00 PM

The rest of the day was considerably calm. We talked about everything besides murders, death, and Izayah's complicated past. I was surprised at how easy it was to converse with him – not as some investigative cohort, or acquaintance with ties to suspects – but as a friend. Conversation flowed and things never got awkward. If anything, things got too comfortable, and I found myself wishing I could erase all the red flags about Izayah Parker – make the letters disappear, burn his criminal record, repair the scars on his knuckles. That way it would make me less daunted to see what would happen if I leaned in too close, if I let my hand brush his, if my eyes lingered on his mouth just a second longer than necessary.

We half-heartedly binged on Thai food until the sun set, and because we slept in today, we were both wide awake.

At least, I was. Izayah has bags under his eyes, but he seems alert. Still, I ask, "Did you not sleep well on the couch?"

Waving me off as he makes his way to the entertainment stand and rifles through movies, he calls back, "I'm used to sleeping in far worse places. I was just...worried last night."

"Worried?" I echo, wondering if he remembered putting me in the room with his hidden letters and it ate away at him.

"Yeah," he sighs, sounding lethargic. He pauses skimming the spines of movie cases and heaves a breath, shoulders sagging. "I was worried that, maybe because we saved you, we disturbed the killer's routine. And last time we did that..." he lets the sentence drift away, more for my sake than his. I know he has absolutely no qualms about recalling morbid activity, but we both know that gore is the last thing I want to revisit after being locked in with a dead body. "I stayed up for a while, making sure nobody was going to come and try anything."

Frowning, I imagine him huddled on the couch, eyes plastered to the door, scared that someone would come after him for helping me. "You should've just taken your room," I insist. "You shouldn't be scared to sleep in your own home."

Tossing me a perplexed expression, Izayah shakes his head. "I didn't think someone was going to attack me. I was nervous they'd come back and finish the job."

Flushed at the immense consideration, I force a grateful smile on my face. He won't hurt me. We stare at each other for too long, our gazes eating away at each other, trying to say the things our mouths won't. Realizing and being discomforted with it first, Izayah turns away and busies himself with inserting a disc into the player. He won't hurt me, but he'll hide from me. He'll hide his secrets, his past, and his thoughts. How can I get him to open up to me?

Turning off the lights, Izayah snags a warm, woolly blanket from the second couch and flops down at the opposite end of me. "What movie did you put in?" I question, shoving away my inner interrogation and keeping myself in the moment of being a casual friend.

"'Tis the year of Keanu Reeves, so I thought a little bit of old school 'Point Break' would be a good start. Is that good with you?"

"Of course," I exclaim, trying not to sound too excited. Keanu Reeves will always be a classic favorite, and anyone who disagrees can fight me.