Chapter 8

Maybe he just hadn‘t gotten around to killing me. I ran the possible explanation over and over in my mind. If Agent Landon thought this was at all comforting, he was sorely mistaken. In fact, it did nothing to settle my darkening thoughts.

And of course, it was at this exact moment that they decided to leave my apartment. I’d wanted them to go practically from the start, yet here they were, ditching me only after they’d delivered this terrifying theory.

“We’ll be in touch if we have any additional questions, Miss Bryant,” Agent Landon said suddenly, scooping up his classified files and heading toward the door.

“But—”

He was gone before I could get the rest out.

I turned to the younger agent. He seemed less anxious to leave, and as he reached the entryway, he turned back around to study me. Then, as if by magic, he produced a rectangular business card with his name and number on it, and slipped it into my hand. Again, I welcomed the heat from his fingertips.

“If you need anything, feel free to contact me,” he said. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “Start locking your doors, okay?”

And with one last grim smile, he followed his partner out into the courtyard.

I fixed on the back of their suits as they walked away. Once they’d disappeared, I closed my door, leaning back against the wood exhausted. Then, doing as Agent Walker suggested, I locked myself inside.

*          *          *          *

I was already at the barre stretching when Zhara showed up to class the next morning. Kicking off his shoes and dropping his dance bag onto the floor near our bench, he rushed over and stood right in front of me until I acknowledged his presence.

“Well, aren’t you unusually peppy for having had a night out,” I said, as I pointed and flexed my toes to an unheard beat.

“And you’re here early despite having company over last night,” he retorted, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “So, I guess we’re both acting a little out of character, aren’t we?”

Turning away from him, I lifted my other leg and set it down gracefully onto the barre before continuing my warm-ups. The truth was, I’d been stretched out for ages now. Since dawn actually, when I’d finally admitted to myself that I wasn’t going to get any sleep, and had gotten up for the day.

But right now I was looking for any excuse not to be reminded of the night before. I just wanted to get back to my regularly scheduled life. The one where I wasn’t a part of a murder investigation.

Zhara, it seemed, had other plans.

“Uh-uh,” he said, gliding around to my other side. “Don’t even try to play me like that, girl. Spill. Now.”

I groaned as I looked around the room. Half the class was already there and the closest dancer was only feet away. I had no desire to get into this here and even less desire to have the others listening in. What would people think if they knew?

“Can we talk about this later?” I asked, hopefully.

“If you’re worried about the others finding out, it’s too late. The hens already be squawking,” he replied. Crossing his arms over his puffed-up chest, he managed to pout even as he folded his body at the waist to stretch. Just because Zhara wanted to talk, it didn’t mean he wanted to get in trouble with our teachers over it. “Look, I’m not mad at you for pulling some game. But I am mad that I had to find out from Scarlett the Harlot.”

“Is that what they’re saying?” I asked, rolling my eyes. “I’m not pulling game, Zhara. In fact, that’s so far from what happened…”

“So you didn’t have two fine-looking men come by your place after class yesterday?” he asked. “And you weren’t half-naked when they left?”

I paused a beat. “I’m a dancer. I’m always half-naked,” I retorted. Then I shook my head. “Like I said, it’s not what it looked like. Those guys were…look, I’m not sure if I’m supposed to tell anyone about this and honestly, I just want to forget about it all.”

Ignoring my protests, Zhara grabbed ahold of my hand and led me over to the corner of the room, to a space right underneath the old metal heating unit. It was about three feet wide and made an incredible amount of noise for a machine that created very little heat. However, it was good for masking conversations. It had been our secret talking spot for years.

Plopping himself down on the ground in a way that was still impossibly graceful, Zhara patted the floor in front of him. I sat down too, and we simultaneously threw our legs into the splits, linking arms in the middle until our chests were flat on the floor. With our faces just inches apart, I could smell the orange juice on his breath from the screwdrivers he’d consumed the night before. Not the vodka. Just the sweetness of the juice.

“Tell Madame Zhara everything,” he said, playfully. “Anything you say is confidential under Partner/Partner privilege, you know.”

“I don’t think it works that way,” I said, forcing a laugh, even though nothing about what I’d discovered the evening before was remotely funny.

“It does between us,” he said, suddenly serious. “For real, Ems. You can tell me anything.”

I knew that Zhara wouldn’t tell anyone if I asked him not to. But that wasn’t what I was worried about.

What was holding me back was this: If I told him what the agents had said, revealed the darkness that had almost crept its way into my life, I would be admitting that it had actually happened. That the awful things they’d described were real. That normal people died and truly evil people existed in my world. That I was actually in danger all along…

And then I’d have to deal with it. Which was the opposite of what I needed to be doing if ballet was my number one priority. Acknowledging this whole situation would disrupt my life and put everything I’d worked for in jeopardy.

And I wasn’t willing to do that.

After all, I’d constructed my world very carefully over the years. Maybe I hadn’t always recognized that I was doing it, but I had controlled my life until now. I’d chosen to avoid high school and all its trappings of drama and petty rivalry. I’d surrounded myself around other talented, type-A personalities who all had similar goals. My inner circle was small by choice, because it meant I was less likely to get hurt or distracted. I didn’t have a TV or read the newspaper, so I couldn’t be sent into a fit of anxiety over the state of the world outside my walls. If I didn’t see it, if it didn’t touch me, it didn’t exist.

I’d been in control of my world for 17 years now, and I didn’t know what would happen if I opened myself up to the one outside of mine.

“Come on, Emmy,” Zhara pleaded, still looking at me. Then he said the magic words. “You can’t hold this shit in or it’ll affect your craft.”

Ugh. He was right. I’d seen ballerinas in the company go through things in their personal lives, and the more they held onto them, the worse they performed. As dancers, we needed to act as the vessels through which stories were told. And if we were clogged up by our emotions, then our dancing would suffer.

And then everything I’ve worked for would be gone anyway.

Better to just tell Zhara about it, get it out and then let it go for good.

“Fine,” I conceded, taking one more look around. Convinced that nobody could hear us, I began to talk. “The guys that came by last night…they were FBI. And they were at my place because they’re investigating a string of murders by this guy I sort of know.”

Zhara’s eyes grew wide. “That’s so not what I was expecting to come out of your mouth,” he said. “I thought you were finally getting some!”

I gave him a look that said, “Yeah, right.”

“They wanted to talk to you about a serial killer?” he asked as he tried to wrap his head around my confession. “Why?”

That was the million-dollar question now, wasn’t it?

“They wanted to talk to me, because he sort of…uh, wrote about me in his diary?” I said, still uncomfortable with the way it sounded.

“Are you kidding me!” he yelled, bolting up from the ground. A few of the other dancers turned our way, giving us curious looks. When Zhara noticed them watching, he put one hand on his hip and the other in the air. “Go on. Mind your business, girls,” he said, waving them off until they’d gone back to ignoring us.

I placed my face in my hands, and then pushed through my splits until I was stretched out on my stomach, with my legs straight behind me. When I finally looked up, Zhara was there.

“What did he write?” he asked excitedly, like we weren’t talking about a murderer, but instead, some cute eligible bachelor of mine.

I wanted the conversation to be over. For Zhara not to keep asking me questions. But I knew my partner well enough to know he wouldn’t stop asking until he was satisfied. So the sooner I fessed up, the sooner we could move on.

“A bunch of lies. About me. About us,” I said, shaking my head. “But there wasn’t an us. Anyways, the agents didn’t really give me many details.”

I thought about the picture of the ice pick and shuddered.

“This is wild,” he said. Then he brought his voice down to a whisper, which was a difficult thing for Zhara since he only had one setting: loud. I was forever reminding him to use his “inside voice.” “I’ve never told you this, Emmy, but I’m sort of obsessed with true crime. I watch all of those shows: Law & Order, Criminal Minds, the I.D. channel with all those murder mystery reenactments.”

“Why would you watch that stuff?” I asked, making a face.

“I don’t know,” he said, a sparkle in his eye. “It’s like, a rush, trying to figure out who the bad guy is and why they did it. I mean, what’s inside of them that makes them think that murder is a good idea?”

“I don’t want to know,” I said.

“Did they tell you who it was? Was it the Blackout Bludgeoner? The Garbage Man? The Beach Bruiser? The Sleeping Beauty Killers?”

“It’s really unnerving that you know all of that,” I said, looking at him sideways. “And I already know his name. It’s Kyle.”

“That’s his real name, but if he’s a serial killer then the media’s probably given him a moniker. A nickname that describes how he kills. Like the Son of Sam or the Happy Face Killer or the Toolbox Murderers…”

“Omigod, please stop,” I said, feeling sick to my stomach. He was making it more and more difficult for me to ignore that killers actually existed. I was beginning to regret telling Zhara about Kyle at all.

“They really didn’t tell you anything?” he asked, not noticing how uncomfortable I was. Either that or he was too gleeful over the subject to stop his line of questioning.

“They showed me an ice pick,” I admitted, getting up and stretching out my arms. Nearly all the dancers had arrived by now and we were about ten minutes away from starting class. Which was all I really wanted to do. Dancing was a sure-fire way to get my mind off of everything.

“The Ice-Pick Killer stalked you?” he hissed at me. Zhara started walking around in a circle as he fanned himself dramatically. When he finally stopped, he placed his hand on his chest and gave me a serious look. “Em, that guy was up to some messed-up shit. He’s like, the worst serial killer since Ted Bundy.”

“Wait, you’ve heard about him?” I asked, surprised.

“Duh,” Zhara said. “Everybody’s heard about him. The news has been covering the murders for months now. Where’ve you been?”

“Um, not watching TV,” I reminded him.

“Another reason to start,” he said sarcastically. “Maybe then you would’ve known you were being stalked by a serial killer!”

“I don’t want to know that stuff!” I said, growing weary of our conversation. “It’s all a…”

“A distraction. I know,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You’re like a freaking broken record.”

“Don’t get bitchy with me, Zhara. I’m not in the mood,” I said. “Can we just forget this? Rewind back to our quiet existences from a few days ago?”

“Can you?” he asked, growing serious. “I mean really, Emmy…aren’t you even a little bit worried here? This isn’t like idle gossip that you can shoo away. This is life and death.”

I shrugged. “Not anymore. They have him in custody. What’s to worry about?”

I knew it sounded a bit cavalier, but those were the facts. And since I’d made it clear to agents Landon and Walker that I’d had nothing to do with Kyle, my involvement with the case should be over. Case closed.

A hand tickled my shoulder then, pulling me out of my own thoughts and back to the present. I turned to see who’d been touching me but found the space behind me empty. Perplexed, I whipped my head back around to give Zhara a questioning look and then gasped loudly.

“Geez!” I started as I recognized the guy that had suddenly appeared in front of me.

“Now Em, am I really that scary to look at?” Preston asked, a smirk appearing on his face. He reached up and rubbed his head absently, causing his shirt to ride up and reveal a sliver of his perfect abs. I told myself not to look, but I couldn’t help it. They were just…out there for everyone to see. And I was, after all, human. “I’ve never gotten complaints before, but then again, there’s a first time for everything. And there would be worse things than having you be my first.”

The fact that he’d been able to say this line without laughing was impressive, but I was too embarrassed to acknowledge it. Instead, I fought to keep the heat that was suddenly rushing to my face at bay. But it was no use. I felt myself lighting up like a Glo-Worm. Where had Preston developed the balls to strut around like he was God’s gift to women?

Then it dawned on me: Maybe nobody had told him otherwise.

“You shouldn’t jump out at people like that,” I said, ignoring his bad line and the exposed skin.

“Just keeping you on your toes, Em,” he said, playfully. “Get it? On your toes?” He gestured to my toe shoes and then winked at me.

This made my breath nearly catch and then I felt like my body was betraying me.

Pull it together, Emmy. He’s just a stupid boy, playing stupid games. Preston is not worth it.

Right then, two loud claps rang out through the room and we all turned to see Miss Diane breeze inside. As she made her way over to the music equipment, she surveyed the class and gave us a nod.

“I trust you’re all warmed up?” she asked. It wasn’t a question, it was a warning. She expected all of her students to be ready by the time class started. And we all knew that meant getting to the studio early to stretch out.

Suddenly aware that Preston was still standing close to me, I’d never been more excited to see Miss Diane before. It meant I had an excuse to slink away without having to talk to him.

It meant I’d be able to focus again.

I started to walk to the middle of the room to wait for class to begin, but to my dismay Preston followed. Watching his reflection in the mirrors in front of us, I frowned as he settled into a spot just behind me.

I swallowed nervously and then busied myself by pulling at my tights and adjusting my leotard. Truth was, my clothes were perfectly fine where they were, but I needed something to occupy myself with. Something that wasn’t the class flirt.

I was still primping when I felt a warmth spread unexpectedly across the back of my neck.

“What are you doing after class?” Preston asked quietly enough so that only I could hear.

I nearly jumped again, but settled for taking an awkward hop away from him before glancing at him sideways.

What was he doing? Class was about to start and I was clearly trying to get into the zone. And what about our last interaction had welcomed more of the same?

“Why?” I asked, the question catching me off guard.

Preston smiled at me and then took another step toward me, once again invading my personal space. I looked over at Zhara uncomfortably, but all he did was raise his eyebrow curiously. No help there.

“Because I was thinking maybe we could do something. Grab a coffee. Take a walk,” he said, letting his eyes roam across the naked skin around my neck. “You know—hang out.”

His gaze finally rested on my clavicle. Instinctively, I reached up and placed my fingers on the bone that protruded right above my chest. Did he know it was my favorite spot on my body? The moment suddenly felt oddly intimate.

And it needed to stop.

“Um…” I racked my brain to come up with a suitable list of plans that would prove to him that I was too busy for him. But my mind had conveniently gone blank.

Damn you, mind!

Finally I blurted out the first thing I could think of. “I don’t drink coffee,” I said.

Preston’s eyebrows raised and then knitted in confusion.

“And I don’t have sunscreen on, so I can’t really go outside. Also, I’ve got a lot of stuff to do at home. Laundry…and other things,” I muttered, searching around frantically for Miss Diane. She was still fiddling with the playlist that she kept on her computer, so I wouldn’t be able to count on her to end this painful conversation.

So I just said, “Sorry,” and shrugged before going back to preening in private.

After a few moments, I sensed him walk away. When I was sure he was gone, I took a deep breath and finally faced Zhara who was standing nearby and staring at me dumbfounded.

“That was like watching a car wreck. You know it’s gonna be ugly, but you just keep looking,” he said, shaking his head. “What’s your problem with the kid, anyway? A yummy treat like that is practically begging for you to eat him up, and you keep turning him down?”

With a big sigh, I surveyed the room to make sure Preston was out of earshot. Luckily, he’d wandered back to where Scarlett and her flock-erazzi’s were chattering quietly before we started.

A twinge of annoyance filled me as I saw him circle around Scarlett and then place his hands on her shoulders. Without turning to confirm it was even him, the blond leaned back into his body like they were a couple.

I turned away, sticking my chin higher in the air and refusing to care about the public display of affection.

The gesture wasn’t unusual. They were partners, after all. I’m sure plenty of people could misread the closeness that Zhara and I shared, too. But just because we trusted each other on the floor, it didn’t mean we were dancing outside the studio, if you know what I mean.

Still, for some reason it was annoying to watch Scarlett and Preston together.

“My problem with Preston is that he’s a shameless flirt. He thinks he’s so charming, and so good-looking, and he doesn’t seem to respect that this is a studio, not Tinder,” I said, feeling myself getting worked up. “And it’s not like he’s really even interested in me. He’d hit on a sock puppet if he thought it would show him some attention.”

“He is hot though, and you know it,” Zhara said, admiring Preston over my shoulder. “Don’t think I don’t notice how red your face gets whenever he comes around. Or how you suddenly get tongue-tied and flustered. You may say you’re not into him, but girl, somebody needs to tell the rest of your body.”

I felt myself blush again and then scowled at my partner. Sometimes I hated how well he knew me.

“Fine. He’s hot,” I admitted, the words feeling like acid on my tongue. “But I’m not going to be a slave to my emotions. I control what is worth my time and energy. And it’s certainly not going to be Preston Vale.”

I turned on my heel—my equivalent of slamming a door—and nearly ran smack into someone.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” Scarlett said with a sneer.

When had she crept up behind me? Jesus, the girl should wear a bell.

“But did you really think you had a chance with him anyway?” Scarlett continued, placing her hands on her hips and giving me a look. “I mean, let’s be realistic.”

My body bristled like an animal’s when danger was near.

“What do you want, Scarlett?” I asked, refusing to acknowledge her earlier comment. She wasn’t worth my energy.

“Just wanted to see how your night was,” she said, a predatory smile spreading across her perfectly porcelain face. Scarlett appeared to assess the dancers around us. Only once she was satisfied with her potential audience, did she continue. “I was just talking to Preston about how cozy you looked with your gentlemen callers. They were in your place for a while…I didn’t realize you were into older guys. Makes sense though. You already act like a golden oldie. Might as well date someone in your league.”

I gritted my teeth and told myself not to react. It was obvious that Scarlett was just trying to get a rise out of me. And hey, if she could humiliate me in the process, that would simply be a bonus for her.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, not flinching as I stared straight at her.

“Don’t I, though? Well then, enlighten me,” she challenged, enjoying our little game of cat and mouse.

I had no idea how someone so young could be so manipulative. All I wanted to do was concentrate on dance. I didn’t want to participate in any of this high-school, mean girl bullshit. But could I really just ignore her when she kept pulling me into it? If the instructors found out there was petty drama going on, it could reflect poorly on me, and ultimately influence my standing in the company. Scarlett’s extreme dislike of me could prove more detrimental to my goals than I’d originally thought.

I knew we all secretly wished each other would fail so we could step up and take our place in the spotlight, but was she really willing to do anything to take me down? And more importantly, how far would I go to stay on top?

“Not that I owe you an explanation, but what you saw was a business meeting,” I lied. The surprised look on her face was exactly what I’d been hoping for. “Maybe if you took your own career as seriously, you’d be more of a contender for Giselle.”

It immediately dawned on me that this was definitely not the thing to say if I wanted to end this feud here and now. In fact, as Scarlett narrowed her eyes at me, I realized I’d only fueled the fire.

Scarlett took a step toward me. Apparently she was no longer interested in broadcasting our convo to everyone at RBC, because she said the next words loudly enough for only me to hear.

“You think you’re so great,” she hissed at me angrily. “Well guess what, you’re not the only person in the studio with talent. I’m here now, and I want this. And you’re not going to stand in my way.”

Then she jerked her head around and began to walk away from me.

“Is that a threat?” I asked before I could rein it in.

Scarlett twirled around easily, as if she’d choreographed the move, and then stepped gracefully backward while still fixing her gaze on me.

“It’s a promise,” she said finally, her expression back to that of a good-natured teenager. She shrugged and then almost as an afterthought added, “Gotta get rid of the old to let in the new!”

Classical music filled our ears as Miss Diane glided to the front of the room, calling us to attention. But I just watched as Scarlett rejoined Preston and her other minions, as if nothing had ever happened.

“Girl is cray-cray,” Zhara said, coming up beside me.

“Certifiable,” I nodded.

Out of nowhere Zhara started laughing, causing me to switch my attention back to him.

“What are you laughing at?” I asked, confused.

“You might have to worry more about being sabotaged by a 15-year-old brat than the serial killer who’s stalking you,” he said, shaking his head. “I just think it’s funny. I mean, not in a ha-ha kind of way, but in a….well, morbidly ha-ha way.”

“Gee, thanks for your insight. I thought wisdom came with age,” I said sarcastically.

“Hey, I can’t be everything to everyone,” he answered without missing a beat.

Miss Diane called out a sequence and we began to perform on command. I tried to clear my mind and only think about the steps I was doing. But I couldn’t stop ruminating about what Zhara had said.

Because he might’ve been right.

The biggest threat wasn’t always the obvious one.