Page 91 of David's Love

Her footsteps follow me before I notice they shuffle in the opposite direction.

“Wait,” she says, and I turn to her, not knowing why she stopped me again.

“Here,” she says, reaching for the ziplock bag on the table.

She snatches it up and offers it to me with a trembling hand.

“Take it,” she says, unable to hide her nerves.

Now I see why it has taken her so long. The ongoing battle lights her eyes, making her doubt herself.

She shoves the bag into my hand.

“She’s dead, and I haven’t seen him in years, so it’s the same to me. Maybe you can put this information to good use. Maybe it makes a difference for you. It surely doesn’t do anything for me. Eleanor wanted me to keep it. But even she didn’t know why she felt that way.”

I close my fist around the edge of the bag, unable to move.

“Anna…” I murmur. “What happened to Anna?” I say so quietly that the evening breeze is louder than my words.

Her face turns to ashes.

“Anna is dead,” she murmurs, her eyes dissolving into pools of apprehension.

She motions to the bag.

“There is stuff in there. Stuff I never wanted to read, so I didn’t. It wasn’t addressed to me. I was only the keeper.”

With that, we say goodbye to each other.

I don’t have much recollection of the next few moments.

I exit her place and make a beeline for my car, walking like a shell, not knowing what I’ve gotten myself into.

Mechanically, I slip behind the steering wheel and roll my car away. Nothing catches my attention, my brain blank, unwilling to mull over what happened.

The voice inside my head is nowhere to be found.

It’s like she’s vanished or gone on strike.

The next half an hour passes in a blur, my eyes vacant, pinned on the road in front of me.

My phone pings with several notifications.

I don’t bother to reach inside my backpack, pull my phone out, and check the messages.

Eventually, I make it home, and the first thing I do after stopping and exiting my ride and entering my place is take the ziplock bag to my bedroom.

I peek under my bed, slide out my improvised safety box, lift the lid, and drop it inside, having no intent to check what’s inside.

Not for a while, at least.

18

DAVID

The same day

It snows slowly.

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