A Flicker in the Dark(55)

“Look, Aaron, I’m sorry,” I say, pinching my nose between my fingers. “I didn’t mean it like that. I know you’re trying to help. You’re right, I’m involved in this, whether or not I want to be. My dad made sure of that.”

He’s silent, but I can feel the tension evaporating on the other side of the line.

“All I’m saying is I’m not ready for the police to start digging around in my life just yet,” I continue. “If I bring this to them, if I tell them who I am, I can’t turn back from that. I’ll be picked apart and scrutinized all over again. This is my home, Aaron. My life. I’m normal here … or as normal as I can get, anyway. I like it like that.”

“Okay,” he says at last. “Okay, I understand. I’m sorry for pushing it.”

“It’s fine. If we find any more proof, I’ll tell them everything. I swear.”

I hear the slam of a car door outside and turn to see the silhouette of a man walking up my driveway, approaching my home.

“But hey, I need to go. I think Daniel’s home. I’ll call you later.”

I hang up and toss my phone on the couch before walking toward the front door. I can hear the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and before Daniel can come inside, I swing open the door and place a hand on my hip.

“You just couldn’t stay away, could you?”

My eyes register the man before me, and my smile fades, my playful expression replaced with one of horror. This man isn’t Daniel. My hand drops to my side as I look him up and down, his husky frame and dirty clothes, his wrinkled skin and dark, dead eyes. They’re even darker than they were in his picture, still pulled up on my laptop screen. My heart starts to accelerate, and for one terrifying second, I grasp the doorframe to stop myself from passing out.

Bert Rhodes is standing on my doorstep.





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR




We stare at each other for what seems like forever, each one silently daring the other to speak first. Even if I had something to say, I wouldn’t be able to say it. My lips are frozen in place, the sheer terror of Bert Rhodes in the flesh rendering me immobile. I can’t move, I can’t speak. All I can do is stare. My gaze travels down from his eyes to his hands, callused and dirty. They’re large. I imagine them gripping my neck easily, squeezing gently at first before increasing the pressure with every gag. My nails clawing at his grasp, my eyes bulging as they stare into his, searching for a hint of life in the darkness. His cracked lips snaking into a smile. The finger-shaped bruises Detective Thomas would find on my skin.

He clears this throat.

“Is this the residence of Daniel Briggs?”

I stare at him for another second, blinking a few times, as if my mind is trying to shake itself from a stupor. I don’t know if I heard him correctly—he’s looking for Daniel? When I don’t answer, he speaks again.

“We got a call from Daniel Briggs ’bout thirty minutes ago asking to install a security system at this address.” He looks down at his clipboard before glancing at the street sign behind him, as if checking to make sure he’s at the right place. “Said it was urgent.”

I glance behind him at the car parked in my driveway, the Alarm Security Systems logo printed across the side. Daniel must have called the company himself as soon as he got in the car—it was a sweet gesture, well intentioned, but one that also lured Bert Rhodes directly to me. Daniel has no idea of the danger he’s just put me in. I look back at this man from my past, lingering on my doorstep, waiting politely to be invited inside. The realization dawns on me slowly.

He doesn’t recognize me. He doesn’t know who I am.

I hadn’t noticed it before, but I’m breathing rapidly, my chest rising and falling violently with each desperate inhale. Bert seems to notice at the same moment I do; he’s eying me suspiciously, rightfully curious as to why his presence is making a stranger hyperventilate. I know I need to calm myself down.

Chloe, breathe. Can you breathe for me? Breathe in through your nose.

I imagine my mother and close my lips, inhaling deep through my nostrils and letting my chest fill with air.

Now out through your mouth.

I purse my lips and push out the stale air slowly, feeling my heartbeat slow. I clench my hands to stop them from shaking.

“Yes,” I say, stepping to the side and gesturing for him to come in. I watch as his foot crosses the threshold of my home, my sanctuary. My safe haven and my escape, carefully crafted to exude normalcy and control, an illusion that instantly shatters the moment this presence from my past steps inside. There’s an atmospheric shift in the air, a buzzing of particles that makes my arm hair bristle. Standing closer to me now, inches from my face, he seems even larger than I remembered, despite the fact that the last time I was in a room with this man, I was twelve years old. But he doesn’t seem to know that. He doesn’t seem to have any idea that I am the twelve-year-old girl who shares blood with the man who murdered his daughter; I am the girl who screamed when the rock he threw came crashing through my mother’s window. I am the girl who hid beneath my bed when he showed up on our doorstep stinking of whiskey and sweat and tears.

He doesn’t seem to have any idea of the history we share. And now, with him standing in my home, I wonder if I can use this to my advantage.