Page 18 of The Trap

Carmine: I’m not talking about him.

My heart sinks. He’s referring to Colson.

Me: He’s no one.

Carmine: Good, keep it that way. I have Blair set to pick you up where we discussed.

Me: What about Delilah?

Carmine: Delilah’s working.

Carmine: Good work, Ramos

Me: Thanks.

I need to keep it moving since Blair’s on her way, but the pull I have to turn around and see him one more time is so strong. Though still, I don’t. It will only make what I need to do next that much more difficult.

I take a deep breath and swallow the thick lump in my throat. Reality sets in. This is myjob. Lying so much that I lose sight of who I am and what I want – and it’s what makes me excel at my job. And even though my lies are only used to take down those who hurt instead of help, it still takes a toll. Eventually, you begin to lie to yourself. Drowning in the very real consequences of what happens when you’re forced to lie to others,denying what you want, losing sight of who you are. Everything gets lost, when you sit down at the end of the day and peel the mask of deception from your face. It’s not freeing, it’s suffocating.

In an ideal world, I wouldn’t have to lie or deny the unfiltered, arguably unhinged chemistry that dwells between Colson and me, like a fuse begging to be lit. Though now as I round the corner past the long driveway and iron gates, waiting for Blair to pick me up so I can disappear, I feel that desperateflame diffusing, robbing us of the what if’s and what could have been’s.

After tonight, when they find the dingy CRV I stole at the bottom of Finkel Pond, the person he believes thinks I am will be dead, and I’ll continue living my never-ending lie…without him.

NINE

Slamming the door behind me, both my hands curl into tight fists.

She’s trouble. Unhinged with obvious baggage for days kind of trouble, yet I can’t get enough. No matter how crass or insulting or straight-up bratty she is, it makes me want to pursue her more. I don’t understand how someone so fucking beautiful can be so infuriating all in the same breath. Every time she walks into this house, it’s as if she’s on a mission to toy with me. If it isn’t spewing condescending jabs at me, it’s written all over her face. She and I both know it’s only a matter of time before she grows bored of my brother. I meant it when I told her that my room is always available for her, I just hope she takes me up on the offer sooner than later because the self-control I have to not take her from Brett’s room and into mine is dwindling by the day.

I turn around, trying to see if I can see her from the glass by the front door, but she’s gone. Frustration knocks at my temples, making me want to roll another joint and blow off some steam, but I don’t have the patience for that right now. She has me so fucked up that even my favorite stress reliever feels like itrequires more brain energy than I’m capable of at the moment. Whatever, I guess I’ll have another beer or two and call it a night.

As I pivot my steps, moving past the foyer towards the kitchen, a small orb of red-light flashes in my periphery. I pause, angling my head in the direction of the control panel in the hallway that houses the alarm and the surveillance systems for the interior and exterior of the house. Again, the red-light flashes, drawing my attention to the message on the screen of the control panel.

Interior cameras down.

“Of course,” I mutter to myself. Brett probably forgot to reset the cameras after the power outage we had the other day. My brother is nothing short of a moron. Before dad got arrested, knowing that jail time was on the horizon, he signed the company over to Brett, not wanting the family business to crumble in his absence. Despite Brett being the main name under the Cromwell Corp, he can barely tie his shoes without guidance, so of course a simple task like resetting the security system is too much for him. Dad was oddly adamant before he got arrested that we have surveillance on all parts of the house at all times, so I guess it’s up to me to make sure those wishes are fulfilled since Brett can’t.

I punch in the reset code so the cameras can go back online, which usually works, but seconds after the code is entered and I’m a few steps closer to the kitchen, the alarm beeps.

“System failure,” the robotic voice of the alarm spews.

Son of a bitch. All I wanted was a fucking beer and to relax and now this shit is acting up. I scoff, pivoting my feet yet again to the control panel, and try the code once more. This time there is no delay in beeping, it immediately spews out “system failure.”

Forgetting the beer, I move to the staircase so I can head up to the control room and see what’s going on with the security system. Moving past my and Brett’s bedrooms, I walk down thelong upstairs hall, rounding the corner by the library. I’m a few feet from the security room when I notice that the door is ajar, with something red wedged between the molding and the edge of the door.

Quickening my pace, I bend down to retrieve it and my skin is met with an eerie swarm of goosebumps as déjà vuassaults me. The red object in my hand transports me to the night when mom died, and I saw the person in the bushes wearing something red on their face. Something that–as I’m staring at the half devil’s mask clenched tight in my fist–looked a hell of a lot like this.

I debate calling Brett over, but first I need to see if I can pull up any of the backup footage to figure out if there’s an explanation for how this mask got here. Slipping the mask in the small back pocket of my sweatpants, I look over my shoulder before skating my palm to the waistband holster that I keep my pistol in when I’m home.

Fuck, I really could have used that second blunt right now, because my nerves feel shot. As if Sally didn’t already do a number on them from before. Pushing myself to work through the anxiousness that is suffocating my mind, making my limbs tingle and my body feel like it’s floating, I use the tip of the barrel to push open the door.

Anticipation mounts as the door swings open in what feels like slow motion. Ready for whoever is in the security room, I brace myself, but all I’m met with is the array of monitors, all on a continuous live stream loop, except for the one for this side of the house.

Pistol still in hand, I move to the chair centered amongst the sea of surveillance screens so I can reset the system. I move the toggle for the east wing surveillance and a loading icon appears on the monitor that was just blank, reading ‘backup data loading’.

I sit and wait for the backup data to generate, hoping it will have captured some footage before the cameras went down. A few minutes pass and a prompt for “syncing offline data” appears. I click on it, waiting with bated breath as the grainy footage loads.

It's time-stamped from about an hour ago, but nothing stands out. The hallway is empty, and all the doors are closed. I’m just about to fast forward when I pause it. My view is on Sally from earlier as she emerges from Brett’s room. Anger resurfaces thinking of the way she purposely sucked him off forcing me to watch. Even more anger surfaces when I think of how easily I fell into her trap, and how I pathetically stood there watching her tease me into oblivion. I hate seeing her with him or anyone for that matter that isn’t me. Which is fucking stupid because she’s given me nothing to hold onto and yet, I cling to every manipulating and immature thing she does, just so I can feel closer to her even if it’s all a lie.

---