One of Those Faces (72)

“Did he kill Holly? What about Jeremy? You said—”

“It’s too early to know for sure. We got all the photos and videos you told us about.” He avoided my eyes. He had already seen what was on them. “We should know more after reviewing everything.”

I thought about the videos. “I can’t believe all of this. How long was he watching me?”

He shrugged and leaned back in the chair. “That’s the part we have yet to figure out. From what I saw, there were videos dating years before you moved in. Looked like he might have had a thing for a previous tenant’s girlfriend too.”

My stomach turned. “Does Iann know about everything?”

He pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “Your boyfriend? No, it’s up to you to tell him what you want.” He surveyed me. “I’m glad you’re okay. You put up one hell of a fight. When I got there, it didn’t look too good for you. You lost a lot of blood.”

I raised a hand to my head. Stiff gauze ran from the front and wrapped around my skull. It was tender to the touch. I remembered the way my head rammed against the nightstand. The way Bug had bashed my skull against the floor over and over again.

“You’re going to be all right,” he repeated. His expression had softened. “I’ll be in touch as we learn more. Focus on getting better for now.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE


“I’m sorry you’re missing work again. I can do this alone.”

Iann set my bag on the floor, and my hand rested on his arm as I sat on the bed. “No,” he said. “I’m not leaving you alone like this.”

I observed the room. My broken lamp was gone, and all the blood from the floor had been scrubbed out.

“So what do you want to bring with you?”

I rested forward on my knees and cradled my head in my hands.

He kneeled on the floor in front of me. “I can bring you to my place and come back here on my own if you want.”

My head throbbed. “No, it’s fine.” I let my hands fall into his. “I’m going to grab some more clothes.” I stood up and walked into the closet. My eyes drifted over to Woodstock’s food bowl, and I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. Leaving felt like I was giving up on finding him, but we’d searched everywhere.

I sank onto the closet floor and began grabbing whatever clothes were nearby and draping them over my arm.

Iann appeared in the doorway. “Do you have a suitcase?”

I motioned to a duffel bag in the closet corner.

He grabbed it and brought it over to me, and I poured my bundle into it.

My skin itched and crawled as I thought about the cameras. There was no evidence of them now, but Wilder had pointed out where they’d been planted around my apartment. I could feel Bug over my shoulder in the dark of that night. In the hospital, I’d thought about that night before the attack happened. The night I’d thought Iann had slipped beside me in bed. The moment I’d convinced myself was a dream.

“Are you okay?” Iann rested his hand on my shoulder.

I looked down, my hands blurring with my tears. “I can’t come back here.”

He sank down beside me and pulled me into his chest. “You don’t have to,” he said, softly. “Move in with me.”



I stood on the sidewalk outside the station, my hands shaking. I regretted telling Iann not to come with me to give my statement. Recounting that night had torn through me like knives ripping their way out. I saw Bug’s eyes glowing in the darkness as he went limp on top of me. I saw the blood every time I blinked.

Wilder came out through the front door beside me. “Hey, are you okay?” He pinched an unlit cigarette between his index finger and thumb.

I clutched at my stomach. “Yeah,” I managed through a choked voice.

He lit the cigarette and leaned back against the wall beside me. “You did a good job in there.”

I gulped air, trying to keep from vomiting. “So.” I struggled. “What happens now?”

He took a drag, glancing at me. “Now?” He puffed the smoke out in a long line. “You move on from this.”



I doubled up on the anxiety meds from the hospital and slept on and off for days. Giving my statement had made it worse. Iann had theorized that I’d feel better after talking about it, but it only cemented everything in the forefront of my mind.

I passed out in a dreamless sleep only to wake in a sweat, paralyzed in the middle of the night. Once I could move again, I’d shakily pop another two pills in my mouth, lying beside Iann until I fell into another stupor.

When he left in the mornings for school or work, I’d crawl right back under the covers, reliving the sensations of that night.

Pressure. My throat still didn’t feel the same when I swallowed, even a week after.

Slice. The shreds of skin breaking from under the ceramic shard.

Crack. My skull against the wood.

Drip. The gush of blood pouring from Bug onto the floor.

I jumped as my phone rang. I rolled over under the blankets to grab it from the nightstand. “Danny?”

“Hey, where have you been? I tried texting and calling you earlier this week.”

I looked at the half-unpacked boxes in the corner of the bedroom. This wasn’t an update to be shared over the phone. “I’m sorry,” I answered simply. “I—”