Page 133 of Finding Our Reality

She knows I had a bad day. She doesn’t have to ask. She knows. When a man doesn’t come home from work for thirty-one hours, it’s a bad day.

Her whisper is sweet, like candy. “You’ll tell me about it later? You’ll talk to me?”

“Yes.”

She doesn’t press. She knows I’m telling the truth.

Sleep is about to drag me under when she asks me one last thing. “Tell me something. Something no one else knows.”

My brain is fogged, completely frazzled and sleep deprived. “What if I’m a bad father? What if I can’t protect our child from this shitty world? I couldn’t protect you. I couldn’t protect Reality.”

I’m not playing by the rules. I basically had the same conversation with Marcum just a few minutes ago. So, technically, someone elsedoesknow those thoughts.

Oh well.

I always do what I shouldn’t do.

Breaking the rules isn’t a first for me.

If she answers, I don’t hear her as I fall into a troubled sleep.

***

My throat is dry and thick when my eyes finally squint open. Lulu’s still beside me, except she isn’t sleeping. Wearing an oldHarlan’sT-shirt, she’s propped against the headboard, working on her computer. I open my mouth to talk, but only a squeak comes out. Giggling, she grabs a glass of water from her nightstand and hands it to me. I drink two-thirds of it in one swallow. She grabs it back from me and finishes it off.

I stretch my body, grunting, “What time is it?”

“A little after three.” Closing her laptop, she sets it down on the floor and snuggles into bed, facing me. “You snored.”

“I do not snore.”

She smirks. “You most definitely snore.”

I stare at her beautiful face. I’m mesmerized by the small freckle above the right side of her mouth. I noticed that freckle the very first night I met her—that very first night on the porch.

“Go ahead and ask me. I know you want to.”

She smiles gently, playing our game. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t beat around the bush, Lulu. I like you when you get to the point.”

Her smile fades, and she reaches out, softly tracing my furrowed eyebrows with her fingertips. “What happened on your call?”

Night before last, we were woken up from a dead sleep by my ringing phone. It was two in the morning, and a six-year-old boy was just reported as missing. That’s all Lulu knows. I pick up from there, giving her the highlights of the case.

“A neighbor in a duplex downtown heard screaming and yelling a little before two in the morning. She called the police. When patrol units arrived, they found a deceased woman in the kitchen. She’d been stabbed multiple times in the neck with a pair of scissors. It didn’t take long for them to figure out she was a single mother with a child. And the boy was nowhere to be found.”

Lulu knows where this conversation is heading. Her eyes widen and she bites her lip. I reach across and tug the bedsheet higher around her body, planting my hand on her hip in the process.

“Fortunately, her phone was at the scene and it wasn’t locked. We found a series of threatening texts and social media messages from a guy. We talked to the neighbor and found out that the victim and this guy had gone out on a couple of casual dates. She broke it off, but he wasn’t taking no for an answer. He showed up at the house a couple of times. The vic and theneighbor both threatened to call the cops. He went away. Or so they thought.”

Lulu traces the vein in my arm, running her fingers from my elbow to my wrist. She’s been in the business long enough, she’s not shocked, she’s heard it all. She’s even interviewed victims like this, once they’ve become grown adults, I mean. That’s the sad thing. Shit like this happens all the time. To everyone, everywhere. No one is immune.

Just look at Carrie.

“It wasn’t long after we landed on him as a suspect that we were able to get the security camera feed from the landlord. Fortunately, he had cameras installed in the parking area because of some car theft that’s been going on downtown. We caught them on video. His car—after murdering the mom, he tossed the little boy in the trunk and took off.”

Her eyes flicker with activity. She’s thinking. My Lulu’s one damn smart woman. “You got his home address from the tag registration? Or his license? Or public records?”