Page 100 of Under the Lies

I’m not one to believe in divinity, but even I don’t know what the future holds, every day brings a challenge and for me, another threat, but you can’t stop it from coming, you can only be ready to face it.

And if I knew who was after her, I wouldn’t be spending my nights sleeplessly trying to find them. As for her sister…her punishment has yet to be determined.

We’re still standing in front of the window and I’m all too aware of voyeur assholes with a photo-taking complex. I pull her away and into the kitchen, far enough away that if anyone is watching us this early morning, they won’t be able to see us from the shadows.

With my hands on Sayer’s waist, I pick her up and set her on the counter as I settle between her legs. My fingers brush against hers as we both rest them on her thighs. “I came back to feel at home because the only place I’ve ever felt at home was my granddad’s, but I don’t have that anymore.”

There’s still a dazed look in her face, even as I move my palms up and down her bare skin. The last time she was like this was the night she found the note in her apartment. And I remember wishing I knew how to comfort her in the way she needed. I didn’t think I could then and I’m not sure I can now, but the other night, when she threw the party, I recognized something in her that has always lived inside me.

Sayer Brooks is lonely.

And I have an idea on how to make her feel a little less.

“Go get dressed. We’re taking a little trip.”

The familiar high rise brings a wave of memories to the forefront of my mind, assaulting me one by one. So many hours, days, months, and years I spent here. A place I haven’t visited in a year, but one I know better than all the apps on my phone.

Noah parks the car and I turn toward him. “What are we doing here?”

“You said you only felt at home at your grandpa’s.” He rubs the back of his neck, tugs at the beanie on his head, not exactly meeting my eyes.

“So you brought me to his apartment?” My eyes are wide as they rove over the familiar architecture. Just the sight fills me to the brim. Elation, hope. Only for them to quickly vanish. Replaced with images I can no longer touch.

My memories are ghosts stalking the halls.

As I open the door and step onto the cold sidewalk, my nostrils flare at the intoxicating smell of pastries wafting from the bakery a few buildings down.

I walk toward the building and run my hand along the brick, over the burn marks Harlow made when she threw a flaming newspaper at me. It’s not a noticeable mark unless you know what to look for. And there it is. Faded charring over reddish brown bricks.

I feel Noah watching me as I take in how my life has changed while the building hasn’t. I’ve been broken and empty while the building remains strong and constant.

I guess some things just withstand time better.

Twisting around, I look at the man responsible for bringing me here. “Want to go to the roof?” There’s something I want to see. To check if it’s still there.

Without waiting for his response, I walk to the side of the building and reach for the fire escape. My fingers wrap around the iron bars and I pull myself up with a soft huff of breath.

As I climb the short distance, I hear the old metal creak behind me, knowing he followed. A small smile touches my lips.

When we get to the roof, I see string lights stretching across the sky above us. The small bodega owned by Helga, this woman a few years younger than my granddad who loves to garden, is still here which fills me with hope.

“Why’d we come up here?” Noah sounds annoyed and I find him glaring at the freshly ripped hole in his jacket.

“You didn’t have to follow.”

“You invited me.”

“And since when do you listen to me?”

“I brought you here, didn’t I?”

Touché.

“It’s weird,” he says.

“What is?”

“Being back.”

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