Torture to Her Soul
Page 104

She hesitates. "I, uh… I don't know."
"Look, it's been a rough couple days. It's never easy finding out someone's ratting you out to the police. So I need to do this. I need to… make what happened worth it. I don't want any of this to go to waste."
"Okay." She still sounds hesitant, but it's not a denial, so I'll take it. "I guess I'll… I'll see you soon."
"Great."
I hang up, staring at the screen for a moment before setting it down on the desk. Reaching into the bottom desk drawer, I pull out a pair of black leather gloves and slip them on my hands.
Then I wait.
I wait a half hour, then forty-five minutes. An hour passes, and another, before I hear a car pull up in front of my house. I step outside, not at all surprised to find Kelvin behind the wheel, with Brandy climbing out of the passenger side.
Hands in my pockets, so not to alarm the man, I stroll toward the car, plastering a smile to my face. It unnerves him. I see it in his eyes.
"Go on inside," I tell Brandy. "Bedroom is upstairs to the right. I'm going to catch up with Kelvin."
Brandy heads right in. She wouldn't dare pass up an opportunity to snoop. No rat would.
I wait until she's gone before focusing on Kelvin.
"Go ahead home," I say. "I'll take her back later."
"But—"
"Leave," I tell him. "Brandy and I have some business to attend to, if you know what I mean."
"Oh, uh, sure," he says, nodding. "I get it."
He thinks he gets it, but he doesn't.
"And I'd appreciate your discretion," I say as he starts the car up. "I know Ray signs your paycheck, but I'm not one you want to cross. Got me?"
"Yeah, I got you," he grumbles, avoiding my eyes. "Have a good night, sir."
"Oh, I will," I say. "The best I've had in a while."
He speeds away, squealing tires, and I laugh to myself as I head inside. I shut the door behind me quietly, listening intently.
I hear the noise upstairs in the bedroom.
I creep up the stairs slowly, not making a sound as I head down the hall, pausing in the open doorway. I lean against the doorframe, crossing my arms over my chest, and watch as Brandy digs through the closet.
My closet.
She shifts through my clothes before focusing on the top shelf, zeroing in on the metal shoebox-sized container. She grabs it, and I cringe as she pulls it down, nearly dropping it, the contents clanking. She sets it on the bed, trying to pull the top off.
Through the darkness, I see her make a face when she realizes it's locked. "Damn it," she grumbles. "Where's the key?"
She turns around and freezes when she spots me standing there. Her eyes widen in horror as she inhales sharply, holding the breath. She looks like she's about to piss herself.
"Wrong closet."
She exhales shakily. "I, uh… I just, I thought… I mean…"
She continues to stammer as I push away from the doorframe, pulling my hands from my pockets. She starts trembling when I come closer, her eyes fixating on the gloves I'm wearing.
"You know, Karissa once asked me what was in this box," I say. "I told her nothing. Not true, of course, because there's obviously something in there, but it wasn't exactly a lie. It's nothing she needed to worry about."
"I didn't know," Brandy says right away. "I was just looking, and I saw it, and I didn't know."
She has no excuse. We both know it.
She's just hoping I'll let it slide.
"Ask me what's in it," I say. "Go ahead… ask."
"What's in it?"
"How about I show you."
She tenses when I reach past her to open the drawer on the bedside stand, pulling out one of Karissa's discarded bobby pins. I bend it, holding it up toward Brandy.
"You see, there is no key to this box… there was, once, long ago, but I got rid of it. The only way to get into it is to force your way in."
It takes a moment for me to break into it, finding the right combination of movements to get the lock to disengage. It pops open, and I pull the lid off, setting it aside. I watch Brandy as her eyes curiously shift toward it, her brow furrowing when she looks inside.
"It's my life," I tell her. I haven't opened the box in a long, long time, since I locked it years ago. "Or the life I used to have, anyway. After my wife died, I locked the little we shared in this box and tucked it away. The rest I burned. I buried the memories under a mound of rage, and I continued on, forgetting this man." I motion toward the box. "Because I became this one instead." I motion toward myself.
She eyes me warily.
I shift the papers around on the top of the box—marriage certificate, Maria's death certificate, the deed to the house we owned—to weed through the rest of the contents. Maria's something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue from the wedding, and a few of her prized possessions, pieces of her I wasn't yet ready to let go of back then. There's a rattle in here, the only thing we ever bought for the baby… the only thing Maria had a chance to pick out. Photos, lots and lots of photos, and finally, at the very bottom, I fish out our wedding bands. I hold her engagement ring up, the diamond shining as it hits the moonlight streaming through the window.
"You know what I did to buy this ring?" I ask. "Do you know what an eighteen-year-old kid does to afford a diamond this big?"