Speaking of deaths, the man… he’ll die quietly. Will probably grasp his chest and say something poetic in his final moments. I spend the next ten minutes of their search trying to figure out who he reminds me of and I think it’s Denzel Washington. But a softer, sweeter Denzel… like that guy who played the president in 24. TheOtherOne would make a good president, seems fair and honest, two good qualities to have when tossing my apartment.

The other guy in the mix is someone I’ve never seen before. He shook my hand when he came in, introduced himself as Mark. Hasn’t looked in my direction since, but blushed bright red as he went through my camming bedroom. The woman finally pulled him out, said she’d tackle that, and sent him to the bathroom. He’s probably going through my tampon wrappers in the trash now. How embarrassing. Thank God I flushed the applicators, but still. Would super absorbency wrappers be lined up in a photo at my trial? Deanna Madden, members of the jury, obviously likes blood. I stifle a smile and look to my feet. I can smell the bleach. I hope they can’t. They haven’t reached for the luminol yet, but I can see it on their cart, alongside evidence baggies and Tupperware containers holding who knows what. Thank God Chelsea walked in empty-handed. I don’t trust her with a cartful of things, don’t trust that the vest she’s wearing isn’t packed with incriminating evidence she plans to plant. I switch my gaze to her, watching her shift through my fridge, and think of Jeremy. It’s now Tuesday and my hope for our relationship is draining fast. I didn’t sleep last night, my mind ticking through the hundreds of possibilities for his silence, his absence from work, his phone going straight to voice mail. None of the possibilities are good, and the knot in my stomach has reached ulcer proportions. After these assholes leave, I will go to his house. See if he answers, sick with a dead cell phone battery—that is my most hopeful scenario right now.

I slide down the wall and sit, kicking out my feet. Watch the foursome closely and try to keep track of what is going into the evidence bags. They’ve taken both of my cells, my cam line and my personal one. Packed up all three of my laptops, taping them shut and wrapping them in bubble paper. Without them, without my phones… I feel lost. Floating. How will I survive in here without a line to the outside world? When EyelinerCop reaches for FtypeBaby’s keys, I almost sob. They can’t take my car, surely they wouldn’t do that. Aren’t there laws? Restrictions? They’ve barely asked me anything, and nothing I’ve said would incriminate me in my crimes. What do they have? I clamp my hands over my head and try to muffle the shouts of my thoughts. Try not to think about these invaders in my space, Chelsea touching my things, Jeremy’s disappearance. A hundred stresses on an already frail ecosystem. I almost miss the movement of the female detective, her step into the center of the room, her slow stop, facing away from me. But I hear her, through my hand headphones, through the screams of my mind. I hear her call the man, and I lift my head in time to see him join her in the center of the room.

They are looking at my window. I stare at them, confused, and watch them step toward it, the man, at one point, crouching then standing, the woman pointing as if that accomplishes something. I strain to hear their words but can’t, their low mumble facing away from me. The woman turns suddenly and catches me watching. Stares at me, and I raise my shoulders, stare back as if to say So what? I mean, seriously. It’s a fucking window. She turns back, tilts her head toward the man, then steps forward and tugs on the frame. Tugs harder.

I smile. It’s a bitch to get that thing open. For one, it’s a tall window, the builders overcompensating for the fact that it’s the only one this apartment gets. For another, it’s got four years of me being wishy-washy, bits of dried paint all along its tracks. She finally gets it open, then she and the man kneel before it. Smart move. You look out of that bitch standing and you’re one awkward skip away from falling. Though, how awesome would it be if they fell? If this whole situation disappeared in one easy moment, with the added bonus of me getting to hear screams, the crunch of bones, maybe a few agonizing last shrieks. EyelinerCop would cooperate. Give me a few bloodcurdling ones. TheOtherOne… Like I said earlier, he’d be a massive disappointment. They’d fall, MarkyMark and Chelsea would come rushing over, and I’d plant a big foot in their backs. I could kick that high, definitely. Or, should my flexibility not cooperate, I could be unimaginative and just push. Hold on to the window frame and watch them fall. Enjoy the landing, then go and get my cell phone back. Computers back. Whatever they took out of my bathroom back.

Unfortunately, their secure post on their knees puts my fantasy securely in that realm: a fantasy. I let out a long sigh and lament my limited hearing.

Did they think I snuck out? Simon locked me in, so I took the window as an escape? This isn’t a fire-escape-stairwell-type building. This is a you-step-out-that-window-you-die-type building. I’m not scaling the side of that thing with a catsuit on. The woman glances back at me a second time and I shoot her my best “you’re a dumbass” look. She doesn’t look affected. I’ll give you this, the woman has balls. May be stupid when it comes to window escapades, but she has balls. She breaks eye contact, dials a number on her phone, and lifts it to her ear, her stare returning to me. I break eye contact and attempt to read her lips. Fail horribly.

She hangs up the phone and they heft to their feet. “Mark’s gonna dust the window,” the woman says, reaching for my keys, Chelsea following closely, like she plans on coming along. “We’re going to head downstairs, knock out the search of your car.”

My car. I dig my nails into the top of my thigh. Try to smile and nod, like the thought of their paws on my baby doesn’t make me want to rip out their throats. They step closer and I push to standing, unwilling to let them dominate the space. They open the door and he steps through, holding the door open. “You coming?”

I hesitate, torn between protecting my space from Marky-Mark or defending FtypeBaby’s honor. It’s a long thought process, one that, around the forty-five-second mark, elicits an irritated huff from the woman. Finally, I reach for my shoes. “I’m coming.”

Stepping outside. For them, it’s nothing. For me, like always, it is a test.

CHAPTER 51

Present

MIKE SITS IN the living room and stares at the box. His house is silent, Jamie sent home, a goodbye laced with tension and irritation. They’d had plans. A new Family Guy episode to watch, lasagna to eat, weed to smoke. All gone the moment he opened that box.

Cops visiting Deanna. And now, a box of liability delivered to his house. What if cops show up here next? Ask questions, produce a warrant? How many years of jail time sit in this box? How many deaths crow at him from those blades?

He sits, adjusting his hips out of habit when he gets sore, and stares at the box. Stares at it as night falls outside and the room darkens. Finally, he leans forward, pulling the box into his lap, and moves to the dining room. Hefts it onto the table and wheels around, raising his chair until he has a better view into it. Pulls back the flaps and reaches his hand inside.

She had smiled into the camera, her eyes focused on the lens, giving her full attention. That, in itself, was rare. Most of the girls had their phones out, music on, hands flicking through their hair as they stared at their image on-screen. But she had just smiled, then blushed, pulling down on the front of her shirt. JessRiley19, her screen name said. “Hours Cammed” was sitting at the ridiculously low number of three. Her first day, and he had been there to witness it. To click on her name and take her private. She’d been so nervous. Her hands shook when she’d pulled on the straps of her shirt. He’d told her to keep it on and she blushed. He’d told her to never do anything she didn’t feel comfortable doing and she smiled. He’d felt like her guardian angel and had vowed to himself that no one would ever hurt her, would never take advantage of her, would never make her cry. He’d had no idea, his fingers quick on his keyboard that day, what she was capable of.