Chapter 6

“Did Scarlett put you up to this?” I asked, this being the only explanation that would remotely make sense as to why two guys would be sitting in my living room, insisting that one of my customers had killed a bunch of women.

I got up and went to the kitchen to get some Advil and another bottle of water. My mouth was suddenly dry. When I came back, the two agents hadn’t moved from their spots, but were watching me carefully.

“I can’t believe she’d go this far just to try to get my part…” I muttered and then knocked back the pills with a swig of water.

“I can assure you, Miss Bryant, nobody put us up to this,” Agent Landon said. It was like he was used to this kind of reaction. “We’re here investigating a serial murderer. You were named in his personal diary. We need to find out what you know and what your involvement might be with our suspect.”

Serial Murderer.

Suspect.

He was so matter-of-fact about the things he was saying, that it was getting hard for me to cling to the theory that they were just actors playing a childish prank on behalf of an immature teen with a vendetta against me. If what they were saying was true, that meant…

Well, I didn’t want to think about that.

“How many times did Grafton visit your home?” Agent Walker continued. I’d zoned out for a second, almost forgetting he was there. The sound of his voice startled me and I nearly dropped my water.

“Uh…like, three times I think?” I answered, my head feeling fuzzy.

Could this be real? Were people really dead? And why were they acting like I had something to do with it?

“He wrote about me?” I asked them, in a whisper. “What did he say?”

The two looked at each other again, trying to decide what to tell me. When neither of them answered, I sat up straighter and said it again.

“What. Did. He. Say?” I asked, more forcefully this time.

Agent Walker swallowed and then grabbed at one of his fingers, fiddling with it absently before answering.

“Most of it’s too…um, graphic to share with you,” he said. “And of course, this is an open case…”

“But if he wrote about me, I have a right to know what he said,” I argued, not knowing if legally this was true, but thinking it sounded right. It at least seemed fair to me.

Agent Landon sighed as he opened up his brown file, this time keeping the contents to himself. “Grafton talked about a particularly special night he spent with you, how you two made love,” he said in that scratchy voice of his. I felt nauseous as he said the words. “He wrote about how happy he was in his relationship with you. That he was in love with you. And that you loved him, too.”

Hearing him repeating what Kyle had supposedly written made me feel dirty, like he was accusing me of doing something wrong. And the fact that he was my Grandparent’s age made it even creepier. Those kinds of words weren’t supposed to come out of the mouth of a sweet, old, Grandfather-type.

Not that I’d describe the agent in front of me as sweet.

“None of that’s true,” I said, my voice a few octaves higher than usual. I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks in embarrassment. “Things weren’t like that between us.”

“Why would he lie in his own diary?” Agent Walker asked evenly.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, starting to feel hysterical. “Wishful thinking, maybe?”

He began to respond, but must have recognized that I was about to go off the deep end, and closed his mouth again. His lips pressed together tightly like he was physically having trouble keeping them shut.

Good. I didn’t like what he was saying anyway.

Something popped into my mind then and I shot up with a start.

“What date was this supposed…” my voice caught, “…magical night?” I asked them. “Can you at least tell me that?”

Agent Landon didn’t need to look down at the paper to recall the information. Somehow he’d already committed all the details of the file to memory. And it was thick. About an inch. How had he had enough time to do that if they’d only arrested Kyle a few days before?

“October 7th,” he responded.

“Wait here,” I said and then hurried back to my room, ignoring the painful protests from my feet. I came back out a few seconds later, holding a blue- and gold-trimmed book of my own, closed shut with a tiny lock. “Kyle’s not the only one with a diary.”

I threw the pages open and shuffled through the entries, looking for the date Agent Landon had mentioned.

“Ha! See!” I said, feeling vindicated and practically shoving the book in his face so he could see. Then I started to read. “Yadda, yadda, yadda…stuff you don’t need to know…and, here we go.”

_____________

October 7th,

Went into San Fran today to go shopping for new ballet gear. I’m out of tights and needed new toe pads—you know how it is. I pulled a few double-shifts this month and had some extra cash, so I was looking forward to doing some shopping. There’s this skirt I’d seen in a catalog that actually gives you the appearance of longer legs, and considering I’m the third shortest dancer at RBC, I can use all the help I can get. I also needed a new pair of leg warmers because the studio’s been sort of cold in the mornings lately…

Anyways, Miss Monica asked me to take Scarlett too, since she wasn’t allowed to travel into the city on her own.. (Apparently even her parents know she’s a troublemaker.) I wanted to say no—but of course, it wasn’t really a request. So I (very reluctantly) said okay..

I tried to bribe Zhara into coming with us, but he said he had a date and that I’d have to find another sucker to be the buffer between me and the little hellion.. I told him maybe he should find himself a new partner…

Anyway, we had to take the bus into the city, since my car still isn’t working.. Which meant the trip took even longer than usual. It was total torture. I should’ve taken Kyle up on his offer to drive us when he spotted us at the bus stop. Hindsight’s 20/20 I suppose. But I didn’t feel like being stuck in a car with him for a half hour, either. Kyle’s always talking about his daughter, and the truth is…I don’t really like kids. And unless his daughter’s into ballet, I have nothing to really offer.

So, I said “no thanks,” because at least with Scarlett, I don’t have to be polite.

I had to spend the whole day with her, and most of my night, too. It was miserable. We didn’t get home until after 9pm, and I barely had time to put away my new things before I had to go to sleep.

Early morning tomorrow. I think I’ll wear my new skirt…

<3,

Emmy

____________

“See?” I repeated. “He may have lied in his diary, but why would I lie in mine?”

“We’ll have to ask your friend about those dates,” was all Agent Landon said in response.

I was incredulous. They still weren’t totally convinced. Who were these people, that they were so jaded that they wouldn’t believe a 17-year-old ballerina? Like I had the time to mess with their investigation.

“She’s not my friend, but do whatever you want,” I said, exasperated. At this point I just wanted them out of my apartment. Out of my life. “And since this doesn’t really involve me anymore…well, I really have stuff I need to get back to.”

I started to get up, but Agent Walker put his hand on my arm to stop me. His palm was warm on my cold skin, and for a second, I wanted him to keep it there. I was always cold and it was like having a personal heater.

“Just because Kyle may have made up the entries, doesn’t mean this doesn’t involve you,” he said. This time he was the one who seemed incredulous.

“Do you know what this is?” Agent Landon asked, flashing me another picture.

I let out a sigh as I reluctantly glanced at it. I didn’t want to look at any more pictures. I didn’t want to answer any more questions. I didn’t want to think about murders or stalkers or investigations. I wanted to take a bath. Work on my 8-counts for class and then go to bed.

But I did as he requested and stared at the paper. At first, I thought it was a tool, some sort of a screwdriver. Only, there were no grooves at the end. Instead, the metal came to a smooth point. How was I supposed to know what it was if I didn’t even own a toolbox?

I shook my head.

“It’s an icepick, Miss Bryant,” he responded, keeping it held up in the air in front of me.

“Okay,” I said blankly. “Why are you showing it to me?”

As the silence crept through the room again, a chill ran down my spine.

Don’t ask the question, Emmy. Let it go. If you just ignore it, it will go away.

But I could feel it. They wanted me to ask them. They wanted me to know. I just didn’t get why. And then it was like I couldn’t stop myself. They’d opened the box and I had to look in, because not doing so seemed so much worse.

“What did he do with it?” I whispered, terrified of the answer.

“Believe me, Miss Bryant, you don’t want to know,” Agent Landon said grimly, finally putting the picture away.

“I don’t believe this,” I said, looking down at my bloody toes. Surprisingly, I could no longer feel them.

“I know it’s hard to understand…” Agent Walker began.

“You’re right. I don’t understand,” I said, forcing myself to look up again. “I mean, I really can’t believe this is happening. Things like this just don’t happen in real life. It happens in movies. In books. But people like me don’t know murderers. Kyle’s weird, but he wouldn’t do what you think he’s done. Let me talk to him. He knows me, he’ll talk to me. I can find out what really happened. This has to be a mistake.”

“What fantasy world do you live in, little girl?” Agent Landon growled now, making me flinch from the harshness in his voice. “Bad things happen to good people every single day. Especially to young, naïve kids like you, who think they’re invincible. Miss Bryant, you are lucky to be alive. Others haven’t been so lucky.”

“Landon,” Agent Walker cut in quietly. It was a warning, but there was still respect behind his tone. “Lay off a bit, she’s just a kid.”

“So are you, and you don’t do half the stupid things she’s done,” he muttered, getting up and pacing the room.

I was scared now, and I wanted them to leave. But there was something that was nagging at me. Something I hadn’t thought of until Agent Landon had gone all “You can’t handle the truth!” on me.

“Why didn’t he kill me?” I asked finally. “If I’m so stupid…if I made so many mistakes…then why aren’t I dead now? I mean, he was here, in my home. You say he stalked me. He had all the chances in the world to do something. If he was as obsessed with me as you say he was, then why wasn’t I one of his victims? Why not me?”

Agent Landon began to calm down and eventually found his way back to his seat on the couch. Placing a hand on his forehead, he let out a deep breath as he dragged his leathery palm down the front of his face. I could hear his whiskers catch on the grooves of his hands. It sounded like sandpaper.

“We don’t know,” he said, sounding defeated for the first time since we’d met. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out. As far as we know, you’re the only one he’s encountered that he chose not to kill.”

“Could be that you weren’t scared of him,” Agent Walker suggested calmly with a shrug. “Could be he felt comfortable around you. Or it might’ve even been something as simple as you didn’t fit his MO.”

“Or,” Agent Landon said. “It could just be that we caught him before he could finish the job.”