Page 26 of Unwrapping Deviance

I glance at Daniel. His silence has been a suffocating blanket. It unspools through the cabin in hot tendrils of simmering rage I can almost feel coiling off him.

I don’t try to break it. Not out of fear of his reaction, but Daniel rarely gets angry. He never loses his patience. To witness his white knuckled choke around the wheel, the hard knot flexing at his jaw feels like such a private moment, I leave him lost in his thoughts.

But because I know he would for me, I reach over the console and lightly skim the tense muscles of his forearm with my fingertips. The veins rising beneath taut flesh ripple as he unfurls his grip to take my hand. My captured digits are liftedto his lips. A feather light kiss is brushed over the skin of my knuckles, releasing a flock of butterflies in my belly.

The Sheriff’s office is a squat, unimpressive building squeezed between a bait and tackle shop and a juice bar at the heart of a town cut straight from some cozy, daytime soap.

Children have to scoot their hockey nets off the street to let our truck through before resuming their game. Pedestrians wave at other pedestrians in passing. Some stop to chat. Others continue on to the assortment of cute shops lining the stubbornly clean streets; there isn’t a stray leaf. Not a pothole. Not even a grease stain. Every window gleams. Every tree is trimmed. Every fire hydrant is painted a vibrant red. There’s even an elderly couple huddled together on a bench in the middle of the cul-de-sac, tossing seeds to a small army of pigeons. The only thing missing is the camera crew.

“You grew up here?” I ask the silent man next to me.

Daniel makes a grunting noise as he unlatches his belt and turns to face me. “Stay in the car, okay?”

That is the last thing I want. I’m dying to explore this place that can’t possibly be real.

“Can I just—?”

“No!” he snaps. He presses his eyes closed when I flinch. “Fuck, I’m sorry, baby, but no. Stay here. Keep the door locked.”

I scan the smiling faces of men and women of all races and ages, normal looking people going about their business. Not a single one looks dangerous or even mildly threatening. Even the dogs tied to trees and posts seem happy.

“But why—?”

Daniel captures my fingers and gives them a squeeze. “Please, Mira.”

I search his beautiful face and relent because Daniel wouldn’t ask me to do something unless it was important. If he’s telling me to stay in the truck, there has to be a good reason.

He kisses my fingers when I give him a nod. “I won’t be long.”

With that, he pushes open his door and hops out. It’s closed promptly behind him, and I hear the locks engage with a resounding click.

I watch him stalk with dominating strides up the sidewalk, looking at no one or anything when shoving open the glass doors to the Sheriff’s office and disappearing inside.

No one pays me any mind as they continue on with their day, but I watch them. I study each person, searching for a hint that they might be up to no good. The only outrageous thing I can find is how aggressively normal everything seems.

“Definitely weird,” I grumble to myself.

I can’t help wondering if this place isn’t run by a cult. It made sense why Daniel would warn me to stay in a locked vehicle in front of the Sheriff’s office in broad daylight with this many people wearing khakis.

Cult. Had to be.

Certain in my theory, I reach for my purse, pull out my phone. I turn it on, prepared to search ways to recognize a cult when three, sharp raps on my window scares the shit out of me.

I yelp and jump. My head snaps up and I blink at the trio standing outside my door.

All three men are dressed identical right down to the aviator sunglasses, beige Polo’s over beige khakis and beige, wide brim hats. If it weren’t for the differences in their height and build, they could have been triplets.

The one in front with the chunky, brown caterpillar living above his upper lip lifts a hand and motions for me to roll down my window. I’m about to tell him he can go fuck himself when his other hand comes up holding a shiny, silver star.

I dart a glance in the direction of the Sheriff’s office, wondering if they were looking for Daniel. Nevertheless, I reachover and poke the window button and roll the glass down just low enough for them to hear me.

“Morning, ma’am.”

I ignore the prickles of annoyance at being calledma’amby a guy who could have been the same age as my dad.

“Morning,” I murmur, not missing the apprehension in my own voice.

“Don’t mean to intrude on your day. We noticed you weren’t from around these parts and wanted to see if you needed any assistance.”

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