Joel ran through a bunch of different exercises, ones I was sure he did every day. When our eyes met, I could see how much he wanted me to be proud of his physical capabilities. He didn’t so much teach me as he showed off, but I didn’t mind stroking his ego. I had to commend him for the work it probably took to achieve his Adonis-like physique.
“All right, all right. You’re just showing off at this point.”
“Honey, you ain’t seen nothing,” Joel said with an awkward twang that was about as forced as me trying to stick my size six ass in a size four dress.
“A buddy of mine down at the gym calls me ‘EJ Showtime.’ What can I say? I was born with great stamina.”
I missed the reference, but that was common, seeing as how I was usually too busy to keep up with pop-culture references. Joel continued his burpees, his body moving swiftly through the air.
The more I watched him, the more I tried to decipher what he said. It niggled at the back of my mind, taunting me to finally understand.
EJ.
“Is that a nickname—EJ?”
His face faltered, a look I’d seen on many guilty faces. A face I’d seen on someone who knew that their fate had been sealed.
“Yeah. Something like that. I go by my middle name. Not a lot of people call me EJ anymore.” There was a certain sadness in his words, but it didn’t wash away the memory of the expression I had seen not two minutes before.
I’d almost forgotten the music playing in the background when a series of beeps went off. The same beeps signaling an emergency broadcast.
Joel and I darted over to the desk. He beat me there, and with large, fumbling paws, he turned up the volume so we could hear the announcement. I checked the top, left corner of my phone to see if it was showing some kind of reception, and sure enough I had one measly bar. Not enough to make a phone call, but apparently enough to transmit the broadcast.
“This is a weather report for the following counties…” The automated voice carried on listing all of the counties in the surrounding area while Joel and I fidgeted until the announcement continued on. “The storm is abating. Some counties may find relief in a matter of hours, but all counties should be in the clear in a couple of days. Please do not open your windows or doors until an announcement is made for your county.” The phone signaled the end of the message, and Joel turned the phone back down before it repeated again.
“Looks like we won’t need to Shawshank our way out of here after all.”
I looked at him and smiled, but really my mind was elsewhere, still sifting through our conversation before the PSA rang out. I was looking for something. It was there on the tip of my tongue like a memory waiting to be recalled. Was it something he said? Something that resembled déjà vu?
“What are you getting into now?”
“Huh? Oh, I’ve got some more work to catch up on.”
There goes that look again.
He smiled nervously and said, “Don’t work too hard,” as he set my phone back on my desk and left the room. The door closed behind him, and I flew into my chair like a woman on a mission. Except, I wasn’t quite sure what I was looking for, just that the itch that had been gnawing at me for days had reached a fever-pitch, and I wasn’t letting one more day go by without getting to the bottom of it.
I wasn’t conscious of how long I sat in that chair, poring over papers until words became a blur. It was something I’d read, something I’d heard. I ripped through papers until my fingertips were slashed to ribbons by paper cuts.
And then, like a voice whispering in my ear, I heard the thing that had sent my head into a tailspin, careening into memories of something I’d read. When nothing turned up in the number of folders scattered across my desk, I turned to my laptop. A warning popped up reminding me of the 5% battery life that was evaporating with every key pressed and document opened, but it only drove me to type quicker, to look harder.
The lights in the room flickered on and died out, an impending sign that we were to be one of the first counties to emerge from the storm. The power flickered on and off like the flame of a candle resisting the wind. After minutes of back and forth, it looked like the power had finally made up its mind to stay on.
I could have run to the kitchen to grab my charger, buying myself the much-needed time to continue my pursuit, but I was close. Adrenaline coursed through my veins causing my fingers to skitter across the keys of my laptop. I was so close. All I had to do was keep looking.
Ms. Farrows’s recount of the fifteenth—the day she went to Mr. Trevaunt’s home.
I don’t know what guided me back to that file, but I clicked on it anyway. Saying to myself, if I’d read it a thousand times, I could read it one more just to be sure I’d looked in every door, pulled up every rug to find the elusive thing I’d been searching for.
My eyes skimmed across words, hoping one would stand out like a yellow raft in an ocean of blue.
I saw the words just as my computer made an exaggerated sighing sound and the screen flashed black. I saw them. It wasn’t a mistake, wasn’t a typo. They were there in black and white, visible to anyone with two eyes and the ability to read. Except my mind was still having trouble rectifying the words I’d read with what I knew in my mind, felt in my heart.
My legs lifted from the chair, carrying me through the door and to the living room where Joel sat on the couch with his phone in hand listening to another PSA. One I was sure that was signaling which counties were in the clear.
“Hey, your county was just cleared. Looks like I’ll finally be able to wear some clothes that actually fit,” Joel said with a smile that quickly soured upon meeting my face.
“Hey, what is it? What’s wrong?”
“EJ? EJ Trevaunt?”
The power in the house may have turned on, but the sparkle burning in Joel’s eyes petered out.
To Be Continued…
Coming November 23, 2015
Shut Out (Just This Once, Book 2)
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Also by Cee Smith
Just This Once Series
Shut Out (Just This Once, Book 2) releasing 11/23/15
Shut Off (Just This Once, Book 3) releasing 12/7/15
Stolen Series
Stolen Donor (Stolen Series, Book 1)
Stolen & Fractured (Stolen Series, Book 2)
About The Author
Cee Smith is a lover of the written word. Since first learning how to string a sentence together, she’s been putting pen to paper and hasn’t looked back. Though she’s no longer obsessed with blood and gore, the dark side still calls to her, often finding refuge in her current writings. Her addiction to reading is what finally inspired her to take a chance at publishing.
A California native, currently residing in North Carolina with her husband. She loves salacious stories, true love and forbidden romances—the more angst the better. Other than reading and writing, some of her other obsessions are peanut butter (don’t get her started), Michael Fassbender, and watching TV.