I woke up to a text message from Patty urging me to check the news. The least expected way to start my Saturday morning, I'd say. I read the text message over a few times, struggling to register it through my sleep-driven haze as I staggered out of my room. The stench of my mother's cooking engulfed my nose as I inhaled, trailing from the kitchen to the upstairs hallway.
I followed it downstairs where I could see her moving around the kitchen when I stopped near the living room entrance. Junior was sprawled out on the couch, the remote lying at his feet, and the morning cartoons he watched ritually playing on the TV. He didn't notice me approaching until the TV flicked to the daily news channel.
"Hey!" Junior sat up, glaring at me.
"I'm sorry bud, I just need to see something. I'll give it back in a second," I said, wincing as he fought me for the remote while I held him back.
"You have your own TV!" he argued.
"So do you," I scoffed.
"Boys, do I need to separate you two?" my mother yelled.
"No!" I covered Junior's mouth and restrained him. But my face scrunched in disgust when he ran his tongue over my palm. A wicked smile clung to his face when I released him and scowled. Then, he was off.
"Mommy, Tyler's bothering me!" That little snitch.
"Today, the first arrest has been made in the Emerald Lynn case. Cecilia Ramirez was picked up from her home early this morning after police found reason to believe Cecilia was stalking the victim and the victim's mother." The news anchor's voice distracted me from Junior.
"Cecilia?" I didn't realize I gasped until her name left my mouth. Stalking? I thought back to the figure dressed in dark clothing watching Emerald and Iris argue on the porch, from the vision her bracelet gave me. Was that her? No, it couldn't be. Why would she want to stalk them?
"The suspect is in police custody and charges have not yet been made—"
"Tyler, give the TV back to your brother."
I groaned and turned my head. My mother blocked the living room entrance, her hands on her hips, and a stern look on her face. She raised an eyebrow at the TV expectedly, then me.
"I said I was going to give it back!"
"Now," she said, leaving no room for complaints. Junior stuck his tongue out when I reluctantly threw the remote to him. I pounded my fist into my palm, indicating he'd get a serious beating later when we were alone. That didn't faze him, however, since our mother was still in the room. He should've known she wouldn't be there to protect him all day though.
My mother nodded to me. "Breakfast is almost ready. Come help me set the table."
"Actually, I—" She narrowed her eyes, warning me there'd be no negotiation or back talk. So, I shut my mouth as fast as it opened.
"It's too early for you and your brother's shenanigans," it sounded like she muttered under her breath, whilst retreating back into the kitchen. I was hot on her trail, dragging my feet behind me.
"Is something special going on today that I don't know of?" I grabbed a few plates, cups, and silverware from the cabinets, gesturing to the buffet-styled breakfast on the stove. There were biscuits, waffles, eggs, sausages, grits, and fruit. Damn, she went all out.
"No. I just felt like cooking for you guys." She shrugged. "It's been a while since I cooked a big breakfast on the weekends. That's not a crime, is it?"
"No, I was just asking. . ." I said, clearing my throat. She nodded and hummed a tune to herself. She was in a good mood. For what, I was afraid to ask. It could've had to do with us, our father, or the custody battle, but I didn't want to press on and sour the mood. So, I let her be.
Focusing on the task at hand proved to be more difficult than it should have been. I mean, seriously, I was only setting up the table. But my thoughts drifted back to Cecilia's arrest. I needed to talk to Patty, and fast. A sneak peek at my mother, and she was moving her hips to the song playing from her mouth. I glanced at the table, then back at her, biting my lip.
"Hey uh, I finished setting the table. Can I go upstairs for a minute?"
She paused and wiggled her nose at me. "What for?"
"I forgot my phone in my room."
"Hmm okay, go ahead. But hurry back! I'm fixing plates."
By the time she finished her sentence, I was running into my room, and closing the door behind me. As soon as I dialed Patty's number, she answered. I didn't give her much time to talk though, rather I led the conversation. Well, more like I took control of the conversation.
"Patty, can I ask you something?"
"Hello to you too, Loftman," responded Patty.
"Sorry, hey. I hope I'm not disturbing you or anything."
"No, not at all. You may continue now," she said, her tone smug.
"Do you really think Cecilia could've been involved in Emerald's death?"
"So, you saw the news! Great. I mean, we've talked about this before, haven't we? I thought we agreed Cecilia was a very possible suspect."
"Sure, but something . . . doesn't feel right."
"Uh, I'm not sure I'm following. . ."
Clutching the phone in my hand, I stuck my head out of my room to make sure Junior was nowhere in sight, and listened for the sound of my mother's footsteps. I knew if I took too long, one of them would charge up here to retrieve me. I then plopped down on the edge of my bed.
"I guess I just"—I lowered my voice and sighed—"normally, I'm able to feel some sort of relief when the victim's death has been resolved, especially when there's murder involved."
"Relief? What do you mean like when their soul has been set free?"
"Sure, that's one way of putting it," I said, shaking my head, "it's like the victim has found peace, or better yet, I've found peace and have made amends with what happened to them."
"How does that work?" Patty asked, treading with caution.
"I don't know, I can't really explain it. I've told you before, there's a lot of things I still don't quite understand about . . . whatever this is. It's all a bit tricky to figure out on my own."
"Hmm, so what are you thinking then?"
"I don't know if Cecilia's involved somehow . . . but I do know if I can learn more about why she was watching Emerald and Iris, I might be able to figure out how she's connected."
"And that means?" Patty's voice lingered with doubt, as if she knew whatever I was getting at wasn't in our best interest, but couldn't quite come to terms with it.
"I think . . . I'm going to do something incredibly stupid tonight, Patty. Chances are, they have enough evidence to keep Cecilia in a holding cell for up to twenty-four hours. Maybe longer."
"Loftman, please tell me you're not thinking what I think you're thinking. . ."
I kept talking, "If that's the case then that gives me enough time to investigate myself. Tonight, I'll head over to Cecilia's house. I'm sure I can find her address somewhere online."
"What if you're wrong? What if she's released earlier than expected?"
I didn't have an answer.
"Tyler, I don't think this is a good idea—"
"It's not," I said, beating her to the punch.
"But you're going to do it anyway."
"Guess you know me well now." I smiled, though she couldn't see it. Patty's mouth rested while her brain was hard at work to fill in all the gaps I left open. If I didn't know any better, I'd bet that she was considering joining me in my shenanigans again. Only this time, I didn't want her to. Mostly because this was more risky than everything else we'd done thus far.
"Okay Loftman, I'm coming with you then." And just like that, I was right.
"No Patty, I think you should sit this one out."
"Oh no, don't even think about going there. You're going to need my help. There's no way you can do this alone," she hissed. I stroked the bottom of my chin, sucking my teeth. Even if she was right, I didn't have any plans on giving in that easily.
* * *
Patty's boots against the floorboards were like nails against a chalkboard. I flinched every time she walked across the floor. That, on top of hoping any of Cecilia's neighbors didn't catch us breaking and entering into her apartment, had my anxiety sky-rocketing. So high, I could feel my nerves pinching themselves inside, from my legs to my stomach.
Cecilia's living area was more like a run-down, low-income condo than anything. The tight-knit, cheap apartment complex was on the North end of Lake Bellinor, close to the library. All of the apartment doors were outside, attached to gray house-like structures (the apartments, I assumed), with black balconies. Her apartment door was one of the first doors on the bottom floor. The good thing was, it was at the start of the complex. Very convenient for us to run away.
"Are you sure this is her apartment?" That was the first thing I asked Patty when we arrived, and she lended me a bobby pin to pick the lock on the stale green apartment door. As I went to work, she kept an eye out for any bypassers lurking the area.
The neighborhood was quiet—exactly what I hoped for at this time of night—but that didn't mean no one was watching. Anyone could be looking down on us from their windows or behind the curtains. It was always when you least expected it, from who you least expected it to be.
"That's what it looked like in the pictures on the news. They didn't do a good job of blurring her address and apartment number out," Patty had responded. It didn't take long for the inside of Cecilia's apartment to confirm her answer when we ventured inside.
A set of sheer white curtains hung in the windows, matching the gray wall scheme, and a few pieces of white furniture were perfectly arranged in the living room. There wasn't a scratch on the floors or the walls, maybe a few stains, but nothing beyond repair. I swung my flashlight around, shining it up and down the hallway.
By the looks of it, Cecilia lived alone. There was no sign of Mrs. Carol, a spouse, another relative, or even a friend, for that matter. I'd say there was no sign of a pet either, but the litter box down the hallway squashed that thought. Though, whoever the litter box belonged to wasn't here to claim it. Most likely a cat lurking around somewhere or insistent on hiding from us.
"I'm going to take a look in her bedroom. You take a look around the living room and check if we missed anything, okay?" I instructed Patty. She nodded without another word.
I walked down the hallway until I made it to one of the closed doors. I twisted the knob, pulling the door open with enough force that a gush of wind aired out.
"A storage closet. . ." I eyed the supplies in the small space. There was a broom, a mop, and a few other cleaning products stored deep inside. But of course, nothing I was searching for.
I approached another door at the end of the hall, the door squeaking open when I grabbed the knob and pushed it in. A sea of black swallowed me minus the single path of moonlight that peeked through the gap in her curtains. I maneuvered through the darkness using my flashlight to guide me. There was a full-size bed in front of me, a closet to my left, a dresser to my right, and the same decor from the rest of the house spread throughout Cecilia's bedroom.
The dresser was my first stop.
Socks, bras, and underwear. The list went on. As expected, there was nothing useful hiding in her dresser. Hell, this was a massive invasion of privacy too. No information and no visions. Time to move the heck on from here. Next, was her bed. The bed was unmade. That task had probably been abandoned in the midst of her arrest.
I bent down, shining the flashlight under her bed—nothing of use there either. Damn. I trudged back to the door and stuck my head out the room, whispering into the void, "How's it going out there, Patty?"
"Nothing yet!" she replied.
I sighed, shuffling to the closet. I made note of every item my flashlight flicked over, ranging from clothes, to hangers, to bags. Though, there was one particular item that caught my attention. I spotted a pale yellow shoe box stuffed in the farthest corner of the top shelf of the closet. My grunts echoed in the room as I reached for it.
"Shit!" The box hit the floor with a loud thud, the contents of it spilling all over the floor. It took a moment for me to process that it wasn't me who swore. Only did I realize it when I saw a figure in front of me bending over to pick the pictures up. Cecilia.
"God dammit," she seethed.
Within her distressed moans, I unmistakably heard the sound of croaks. The kind of croaks I heard when my mother cried. Cecilia's hands mopped the floor, gathering all of what looked like pictures into one bunch. I was able to make out the dark spots across the wood beneath her, that I soon noticed had been dripping from her chin. They were her tears splashing on the floor.
How long ago was this? Cecilia's hair was a few inches longer—my only indication that this might have taken place a while ago. Something was off though. Most of the pictures that I could see consisted of Iris. If that had any weight in Cecilia's motive, I wasn't so sure Emerald was the target. Why Iris though? Sure, there was extreme distaste on both ends but I didn't understand.
In the next moment, nearly all of the pictures were back in the box. All except one. Cecilia picked up the last picture, rotating it in between her fingers. The picture was of Iris walking towards her house. Creepy as hell. And for some odd reason, Cecilia's eyes shifted between that picture and another picture in a small brown frame on her dresser.
It was a picture of a man. The man, unknown. But the glare she was sending him told me she knew him well enough. Well, that picture wasn't there when I walked in her bedroom. If it was there then, where the hell was it now?
Suddenly, she tossed the picture of Iris into the shoe box, followed by the slamming of the lid on top. I then watched her rush to the dresser, turning the picture of the man face down, with so much might I thought it cracked. The anger radiating off of her was hard to keep at bay. Her bedroom walls rattled as she left, forcing the door shut behind her.
Darkness swallowed me once again, joined by the emptiness in Cecilia's bedroom.
"Hey Tyler, I think it's about time we start heading back before our parents realize we snuck out. I don't think we're going to find anything unless you try to get one of those—"
"There's another man," I said, interrupting Patty.
"What?" She stopped in her tracks, watching me from the bedroom entrance. I picked up the scattered pictures from the shoe box, placing them back into their rightful spot.
"I had a vision"—I backed up, pointing to the dresser and Patty's eyes followed—"there was a picture frame of a man right here. Cecilia looked angry. At both the man and . . . Iris."
"Iris? What does Iris have to do with this?"
I shook my head. "If only I knew. . . Look, that shoe box up there is full of pictures of Iris. Emerald's in a few of them but I think Cecilia was watching Iris. Not Emerald."
"None of this makes sense," Patty muttered.
"Trust me, I know. Anyways, come on, I think you're right. We're done here. Let's get going before anything else weird happens." I turned my flashlight off, stuffing it into my bookbag, and slipping past Patty. She was hot on my trail until we reached the apartment door.
"I'm surprised you're leaving the pictures—" Patty rested her hand on my shoulder.
"Hey! What are you two doing over there? Do you two belong here?" My blood froze over as I stiffened under Patty's grip, eyeing the police officer waving his light at us. I could feel Patty tense up beside me, her breathing shallow and unresponsive.
"Tyler," she squeaked.
"It's alright, Patty. Just relax and do what the officer says. Don't say a word and follow my lead, okay?" Even in my attempt to take charge of the situation, my heart was threatening to lurch out of my chest. The officers' eyes were focused on us as if we had committed the ultimate sin. And I guess, in a way, we had. On cue, my Adams apple bobbed.
Shit. This was going to be a long night.