Chapter Twenty-One
Lexi always loved curried chicken. It was one of her favorite entrees at the Indian restaurant downtown. Wedged between a movie theater and a pizzeria, it was a cornerstone of a perfect night out for the Robinson family. They ate before a double feature time and time again. It was a ritual, a tradition.
Lexi could fondly recall memories sitting in that same restaurant, laughing and talking around the table as they ate. They frequently ordered the same meals, enjoying their time together. The back booth sat the whole family, glowing under the bulb that danced over their heads as the AC moved the lamp.
All the elements remained unchanged. Except for one pivotal detail.
There were three Robinsons, not four.
A line of condensation spilled down the side of Lexi's glass. She traced it down to the moment it splashed against the table. It looked like a tear, as if the water she was drinking had absorbed some of her sadness.
Her father was flicking through the menu. Pointlessly, Lexi might add. They all ordered the same meals when they came here, and that wasn't going to change after a decade of routine.
"They added a new special," Dad was saying. "See?"
He gestured to an animated picture alongside the entree options. Her mom pretended to care. Lexi gave nothing away.
"It looks delicious," Dad continued. "I think I'll try it out."
He and Quinton split the chicken tandoori and lamb without fail. It was a tradition too, like the meal, like the place. She was stunned to hear he wanted to break the trend. It spurred something in her. The numbness she'd felt was fading quickly. Anger fed into her instead.
Lexi pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.
Don't say anything. Don't say anything. Don't.
"But you love the tandoori," Mom protested.
"Sometimes we have to try something new," he replied. "Variety is the—"
"Spice of life," Lexi snapped. "You say that a lot. We get it. But if you want variety so much, why are we here? Why not change this up too?"
Surprised, her father's eyebrows raised. "I thought we could use a night out in a place we all enjoy."
"I enjoyed it more with Q," Lexi growled, growing hostile.
"Lexington," Mom chastised.
"What? Are you scared to hear his name?" Lexi challenged. "Quinton. My brother's name is Quinton, and he's dead. This place was his favorite restaurant in all of Texas. We don't go here without him. Ever."
"I didn't mean to upset you, Lexi," Dad murmured. "I thought maybe..."
"You should have asked," she cut him off. "I don't want to be back here. Not without Q. Never again."
She pushed up from the table, grabbing her purse as hastily as she could.
"Lexi," Mom called after her. "Honey, wait."
Lexi pointedly ignored the pleading of her parents. She walked across the restaurant, weaving through tables and waitstaff until she reached the front door and pushed her way into the night. It was warm when she stepped out, and humid, too. Despite the sun being down, she was overwhelmed with the remnants of summer.
A few people were waiting for a table, their conversation excited and optimistic. Lexi muttered an excuse me under her breath and ducked into the alleyway next to them. It was a hiding place, her way to keep out of sight and be alone. Her parents might come looking, even though she hoped they wouldn't.
She called a cab on her phone but didn't enter a destination. She had the money to go anywhere, God willing, but didn't know where she might find herself. The car was five minutes out, and the wait was agonizing.
Lexi wanted to be far away. She needed to put some distance between herself and her family. Or, more specifically, the people who reminded her of Quinton. She could see the flashes of his smile in the reflections painted against the window. She could hear his voice in the restaurant chatter. She was haunted and angry, and it scared her to think there was no limit to the places her head could go.
She climbed into the back of the taxi as soon as it arrived, shrinking against the seat. The driver looked at her in the mirror. "Where are we going?"
"Fort Worth," Lexi blurted, startling herself.
"Gotcha," the driver said, plugging the address into the GPS. "That's quite a drive. You live out there?"
She didn't answer.
His voice was raspy, presumably from smoking. He drove with the window cracked, a cigarette between his teeth.
Lexi wanted to ask for one, but she decided not to. She didn't trust herself to speak without breaking. It was a common theme lately, a thread that ran through her everyday life. Tragedy after tragedy was set to take her down.
The cabbie deposited her on the curb outside an apartment building. She hadn't been there in a few years, but she didn't have another place to go, and she hoped this could be a safe haven.
She headed up to the second floor of the apartment complex. Cal's condo was up there and knew he hadn't moved because Quinton visited from time to time. He was one of the only people she could consider a friend. Or at least, as close as she could get to one.
She knocked, waiting for a response on the other side.
She got one a moment later.
"I didn't think I'd be seeing you anytime soon."
She glanced up at the familiar face of Calvin Maguire. He pushed his long, black hair out of his eyes and assessed her. His face was scruffy, bearing the signs of the same exhaustion and heartbreak that ailed her. He smelled faintly of weed, a dying joint pinched between his thumb and index finger.
"You know how it is," she said. "Life. It happens."
He stepped back, allowing her space to enter. "Come in."
His bachelor pad hadn't changed much in the time between her last visit and the present. It was still messy, albeit a little more so. The TV was on. A newscast. He was obsessed too.
"Q's been on a couple of times," said Cal. "Well, not him, but... you know what I mean."
"Yeah." She sat down in an armchair, wringing the fabric of her purse out in her fists.
"So why are you here?" he asked. "Not that I'm kicking you out or anything, but you never talk to me. We haven't talked in forever."
"I don't talk to anyone," Lexi admitted. "It's not you."
He offered her what was left of his joint. "Want a hit?"
"No," she whispered.
"You were always one of the good ones," Cal said, putting it out in a tray at the table.
Q never shied away from a good time. Her doctor warned her of the risks of putting too much of any substance in her system. Getting drunk could exacerbate her symptoms, and so could getting high. She couldn't resort to the ease other people found. She was built differently, wired to face her problems sober. One drink couldn't kill her, but too many could be her downfall.
She was Quinton's designated driver when they visited Cal. It's not that she minded it, but she stopped coming when the group started asking too many questions. Her history was off-limits, and she liked to avoid it as much as possible.
"How'd you find out?" she asked him.
Cal's jaw twitched, a muscle winding up. "The news. I thought I deserved a phone call, but I guess I was wrong about that."
"It's been hard—"
"I know that, but it's been hard for everyone who loved Quinton. I was his best friend, Lexi. That means something, doesn't it?" he demanded.
"It does," she said, her voice cracking. "It does."
Cal changed the subject. "Where's your mom?"
"I don't know," said Lexi. "We were at dinner. I needed space, so I left. I couldn't deal with it, I guess."
"I've been skipping class," he told her. "Pretty sure I haven't come down from a high since it happened."
She wished she could say the same.
"Did you see him?" he prompted her. "Like that. All bloody. Did you see him?"
"Calvin—" she started.
"Did you?" he pressed.
She grimaced, ashamed. "I found him."
"Christ," Cal hissed. "Oh, Lexi, I'm so sorry. Is it true, what they're saying on the news? It's the same chick, right?"
"Yeah," she confirmed. "I don't know what she would want with him. I don't know why she would pick Q. It doesn't make any sense."
"She's fucked in the head. I doubt anything she does will ever make sense to anyone. Even the feds. If they could figure her out, they would've found her by now," Cal remarked. He fell into the couch and changed the channel, his movements forced and aggressive.
"They're trying," Lexi said.
"They've been trying for a while, and it didn't save Q," he shot back. Realizing his tone, he softened. "Sorry. You're not a cop. It's not like I can be mad at you."
He came back from the kitchen with two cans of Coke. She cracked hers open, using it to ease the lump in her throat.
"How much do you know about the case?" he wondered aloud.
She went to war with herself, wondering what to tell him. She'd been a suspect, up close and personal with the intimate details of the investigation. If she were bolder, she would tell him about the photos and mutilations. She might mention what her brother looked like, carved up and left to rot in his own home.
"Not much," she lied. "They brought us in to ask the standard questions. It's pretty closed up. They only tell the public what they need to."
"I saw the profile they gave to the news," said Cal.
"If only they had a suspect to go with it," Lexi muttered.
"I'll say. Aren't the feds supposed to be good at their jobs?"
She knew they were doing their best. She'd met most of the team working the case, and even forged some relationships with each of them. It still wasn't much to go off of. She couldn't make a statement for or against them. Not really, not when so much went unanswered. What she needed to accept was that she was on the outside looking in. They all were.
"They're better than the cops," she replied. "That's why they called them in, right?"
There was an awkward pause. Lexi did her best to move past it, rather than allowing herself to overthink.
"We'll probably have his funeral soon if you want to be there," she said.
"I do," he assured her. "How could I not?"
"I'm not sure I want to go," she confessed. "I mean, it's depressing. There's gonna be all of this crying and Bible hymns and everyone will be all sad and stuff. Quinton would hate it."
"Definitely, but he also would guilt the hell out of me for missing out," Cal joked.
She left her family to escape the ghost and found herself locked in a cage with another. The earthy smell that followed Cal mixed in with his cologne dragged up all sorts of complicated feelings. They had a history, one that was pressing.
"Can we talk about something else?" she said suddenly. "Please? Anything else is fine. I just can't think about Q right now."
"I'm good with that," he said, and swiftly moved on. "I settled on a major recently."
She relaxed a little. "Oh really? Which one?"
"Sports medicine," he answered. "I think being a physical therapist will be a good fit."
It was a career Quinton was considering. He mentioned it to Lexi a few times, and it reminded her that his plans for the future would be unfulfilled. He didn't have more time, and her lifespan was wasted on a broken girl. He was the one who could have gone places. She wouldn't achieve anything.
It should have been her. She should've been the victim, even though she didn't fit the type. If anyone should have died in her family, it was her. Her death was the one that should have played out.
"You'll be great," Lexi said.
"Glad someone thinks so. My mom says I should be a real doctor instead," Cal replied, his expression self-deprecating.
"Too much school," Lex commented.
"I agree. I don't have the money or time for that," he said. "Plus, I'm pretty sure they don't take stoners at Johns Hopkins."
"You're not a stoner."
He shrugged. "Aren't I?"
Lexi looked down at her lap, her thumbs crossed over one another. "If you're a stoner, then I'm a failure."
Calvin shook his head. "Oh, Lex. You know that's not true. You're not... You never were a failure."
Her phone began to ring. Her mom was calling, and Lexi wasn't going to answer. Instead, she shut it off and tossed it away.
"She's probably worried," he said.
"Let her worry," Lexi grumbled. "I need space. I need peace of mind and she's suffocating me. I don't want to go home. I can't go home and face the place where he—"
He stopped her, placing a hand over her mouth.
She held her breath.
"Stay as long as you want," Calvin told her. "The guest room is yours if you want it. Whatever you need, I can get behind it. Quinton was my brother, and I guess that makes you my sister. By association, or whatever."
She wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. When she closed her eyes, squeezing them shut as firmly as she could muster, she could pretend it was Q she was holding onto.
As promised, Cal tucked her into the extra bed. She buried her face in the unfamiliar sheets and inhaled the detergent left on the blankets. Under the comforter, she shivered, trying to get comfortable. She was several miles from the house but still felt the pull from inside her, like she was attached to a place of endless pain.
In a strange room, a strange apartment, Lexi came to accept the state of her life. It was all she could do to hold onto her sanity and comfort. Denial wasn't working in her favor, so she had to switch gears. Changing tactics was part of a basic survival instinct.
Lexi didn't know if she would be able to sleep. She wanted to shut her mind off and get a vacation from her own agony. It seemed like that may not be possible, but despite that, she was willing to try.
She tried every trick, from counting to forcing herself to relax. The world wasn't willing to give her a break, but that was part of her everyday life.
She missed Q desperately. It ate at her insides, twisting her up and shaking her to the core.
There was something so terrible about goodbyes. A finality came with them, even if it didn't seem like there would be an end. No one ever realizes when an end might present itself. Lexi never knew her family members could be subjected to the same mortality that loomed over everyone. She wasn't an exception, and a wrench had been thrown into the inner workings of her solar system.
She was off course.
She was lost.
She was going crazy.