Page 21 of Corrupting Ivy

It was odd. But having her blood off of my body brought a semblance of peace, almost as though I became numb to the moment.

A deep, gratifying sigh escaped my lips as I turned off the water, and listened to the silence, then stepped out. I stood utterly still as the water dripped off my drenched hair, down my body, tickling the tiny hairs on my back as they made their way to the floor. But it wasn’t truly silent. Murmurs from the voices below rose from the floorboards. Water tapped on to the faucet from the showerhead. But the one person I couldn’t hear was Randall. This was the second time I’d lost my mind and trusted him, and left him in my home while I discarded my clothes.

I slapped my hand against my forehead. My clean clothes were out there… and so was he.

Wrapping the towel around my body, I stepped out and faced my stranger, Remy’s friend. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen me naked before. Hell, we’d barely known each other’s names and had already seen each other in our birthday suits. I gripped the towel a little tighter and tip-toed towards my dresser.

Randall sat on the chair, his phone in hand, texting. He glanced up at my body, raking my skin with his intense gaze until it collided with mine, blindsiding me with lust.

“I thought maybe you had left,” I whispered.

“You keep thinking that, yet, here I am.”

He rose, then stalked towards me. Even if I wanted to move away from him, my body had other plans. My feet refused to adhere to the commands I gave them.

“Why is that?” My tongue darted across my lips, wetting them as he came and stood before me, our bodies so close to one another.

“I don’t know.” He put his palm up to my face, his touch a whisper on my skin, torturing me with need.

“I like that you are.” I bit my lip and looked away, wishing I could retract, rewind, and record over it. But my confession was out there now, and it made my mouth dry.

Randall closed his eyes and released a heavy breath as he clenched his fists, then stepped away. “You shouldn’t.” The void he left sucked the heat from my body like an ice bath as he strode out the door, leaving me bewildered once again.

The AC kicked on, and the cool breeze it produced chilled my damp body like a slap in the face. I’d told him, in nothing but a towel after a woman died in my arms, that I enjoyed his company, and he’d walked out the door, leaving me stuck inside my head of dark thoughts and self-doubt.

I toweled off my body once I regained control of my extremities, then dressed in clean clothes and bagged the others. I’m sure the police department, maybe even the FBI, would need these for evidence. I bade farewell to my favorite pair of jeans and closed up the bag.

When I’d fled Greenville, I left with a backpack full of clothes, a wad of cash that made up one-hundred dollars, and a bus ticket I’d printed out. I now had one pair of jeans, the ones I was currently wearing, and my yoga pants.

I slipped my shoes on. A speck of blood I hadn’t noticed before captured my attention. After washing it off with a paper towel and a little soap, I put them back on, took the bag downstairs, and looked for the sheriff. I hadn’t been upstairs long, but the diner was empty aside from the three FBI agents, crime scene investigators snapping pictures, and yellow crime scene tape blocking spectators from getting too close.

Somehow, the investigators from the other town were already working on preserving the scene.

“This is undoubtedly him.”

“Why do you think that?”

The sheriff’s hunched frame leaned against the wall, his back towards me with one hand resting on the butt of his gun, the other holding a smoke. “Sheriff Kennedy,” I said, touching his shoulder.

He turned, acknowledging me, revealing Randall, standing much the same, his stance wide, his forearms tense across his chest.

Randall pressed his lips together as his intense gaze bore into me.

“These, um… these are my clothes,” I said, tearing my sight from him to the Sheriff. “I wasn’t sure if you needed them. They have her blood…” I blinked away the violent memory. “They have her blood on them.”

“Oh, thank you,” he said, taking the bag from my hands. “We’ve been looking for you to take your statement. You’re the only one that had contact with her.”

“I pulled her away from the scene, Sheriff,” Randall said, answering for me.

“Hmm. Well, we always recommend you stay at the scene of a crime. It’s a crime itself to leave. Just so you know for next time.”

“Next time?”

“Lord willing and the creek don’t rise, Mrs. Baker, but death seems to follow you.”

I hung my head and picked at my cuticle. It wasn’t as if I intended for any of this to happen. It wasn’t my fault I unearthed a serial killer’s victims or had a woman die in my arms.

“Sorry.”

---