Page 5 of Malevolent Secrets

Jeremy never went to college.

Chapter Two

Daniella

Days slip by in a haze of condolences and unanswered questions, each moment weighed down by the heavy silence of Jeremy's absence.

The encounter with Massimo Ranieri and his mysterious companion still gnaws at my thoughts like a persistent ache.

Their claim that they knew Jeremy from college continues to haunt me, though I know it can't possibly be true. But I do know that his life before we met was a closed book, marked by scars he rarely spoke of.

In his study, I sift through the remnants of his life—papers, books, and a worn leather journal tucked away in a drawer. I hesitate, knowing Jeremy was a private man, guarding his past with unwavering secrecy. Driven by an insatiable need for answers, I open the journal.

The pages reveal fragments of a life I never knew—the hardships of his childhood, the resilience that carried him through years of foster care, and the determination that led him to forge a new path when others had failed him.

But amidst the stories of survival, there are hints of darkness—a debt owed here and there, a shadowy figure from the past that Jeremy feared would one day resurface. No names were mentioned though, and I know he was probably referring to one of the foster parents, or maybe someone else he met during that time.

That night, restless and consumed by uncertainty, I find myself staring out the window, the city lights shimmering in the distance.

Jeremy loved this view, finding solace in its quiet beauty. Now, it serves as a stark reminder of the void he has left behind.

Days blur together in a haze of grief and unanswered questions. Each morning brings the same routine: wake, shower, dress, eat—mechanical actions to fill the emptiness left by Jeremy's absence.

His shirt, still clutched in my arms some mornings, offers a fleeting comfort, its fabric worn and familiar against my skin.

But the scent of sandalwood and cologne that once brought solace, now just served as a painful reminder of what I have lost.

Renee doesn't wait for me to call her. She sounds cheery and for a moment, I try to remember what happiness used to feel like for me.

“How are you holding up?”

“Good, I guess. I was going through his belongings and it made me feel a little closer to him.”

“Do you want some company? I know a place that makes the best coffee. The owners are Italian, so they know their stuff. Or we could just sit at home and watch a movie or even sit in silence, whatever you want.”

I want to ask her why she’s trying so hard to be my friend. We’ve worked together for a while now and she’s never been like this.

Don’t get me wrong, she’s always been friendly, kind, and funny, but she's that way to everyone.

“Thanks, but I think I just need some more time by myself. But it's very kind of you to offer.” A silence hangs between us and it’s heavy. Maybe she’ll hang up now. Maybe she's tired of my moodiness.

“I wonder what Jeremy’s doing right now,” she muses, her voice a gentle murmur that cut through the heavy silence between us. She goes on without waiting for me to say anything back.

“He’s probably looking down at you and wondering why the hell you’re refusing to go out for the best coffee of your life. He’s probably wondering what on earth you’re going to do with yourself now.”

It’s such an unexpected thing to hear her say, that I laugh a little and manage a weak smile, grateful for her attempt to lighten the weight pressing down on me.

“I promise to say yes the next time you invite me out just…not today.”

“Okay. I get it. Take your time.”

Restlessness is a living, breathing thing clawing at my soul one evening, like a persistent itch that refuses to be ignored. Jeremy's car is still parked in the garage like a silent sentinel. The police say that the brakes had malfunctioned and led to his death. The coroner's report stated that he had driven the car into the water with no sign of slowing down.

Jeremy had loved that car with everything that he had. It was a classic car. He had spent hours working on it each week, keeping it in tip-top shape.

It seems like such a waste to just let it sit in the garage in its current, abysmal state. I needed to fix it and I knew just who to call.

Mike Willow had been my dad’s friend when he was still alive. My dad and I would spend Sunday evenings with Mike and his big family. We enjoyed cookouts and barbecues and holidays with them.

---