Page 9 of Cruel Cravings

I wake to a fist pounding on the front door of my apartment. I’m twisted up in the sheets, hiding from the sunlight that seeps into the room.

The person at the door refuses to leave. They knock so many times it sounds like a drumbeat.

Loud noises I don’t need immediately after waking up.

I rub my eyes and groan at how achy and sore I feel. Last night ran longer than I expected. It’s what I get for not listening to Dr. Wolford and Nurse Big Bird.

They said staying out after dark could only lead to trouble. I had a plan outlined for me. The blue folder’s my guide. The calendar with my appointments.

I drag myself out of bed realizing I don’t have anything on. I must’ve collapsed in bed after my shower.

Last night’s sparkly dress is on the floor by the bed. I step over it and open the closet to tug on some sweatpants and a t-shirt.

The person’s still pounding their fist seconds later when I finally go to answer.

Who could it be? Is it my sister coming to see me? Is she not gone after all?

I reach for the doorknob and tug, finding myself face to face with a tall Black woman with knotless braids and a fancy-looking blazer. She’s sporting a bandage on the side of her neck that’s distracting and large.

“Jael Hendrix?”

“Why are you asking?”

She flashes a gold badge. “Detective Sloan Laurent. I was wondering if we could have a word about your sister, Lyra.”

3.Jael

I Don’t Like My Mind - Mitski

“Would you like more sugar?”

Detective Laurent barely contains the grimace making its way onto her face. “No thank you. I’d like to get started if you don’t mind.”

“Oh. Um. Sure. I’m not the best host. But I always try to keep in mind what my mother told me—always offer guests a beverage and bite to eat. Are you sure you’re alright? That’s a big bandage you have on. It must be covering a nasty scrape.”

The detective’s hand shoots up to her neck, running her fingers over the edges of the bandage. “My throat was slit. I would’ve died if I’d bled out anymore and the emergency responders hadn’t reached me in time.”

“That sounds traumatizing.”

“It has to do with what I’d like to talk to you about today. Please have a seat so we can go over my questions.”

I wipe my hands on the kitchen towel and rush over to join her at the table. “Sorry, I don’t mean to drag this out. I’d love to answer your questions. You said they were about my sister?”

“Yes, Lyra Hendrix.” Detective Laurent narrows her eyes, her brows squished together. “You mean you haven’t heard the news?”

“Not really. I don’t keep up. But who can, you know? I’ve been very busy with school and my friends. I’m applying to law school at the end of this semester.”

“What about your family?”

“We’re a small but busy family. Lyra most of all. You know she plays at the Opera House. She was hired by Fyodor Kreed himself.”

Detective Laurent pauses as if unsure how to broach the topic. “Well… I’m sorry to say… Ms. Hendrix, your sister has passed away. She was… she was murdered by Kaden Raskova, the Cleaver. Here’s a few copies of recent newspapers from the Times if you’d like to read for yourself. They’ve been reporting on the investigation nonstop.”

My gaze drops to the sensationalized headlines on the front page of theEaston Times. Not unlike the copies of the papers I have. Headlines like:

The Cleaver Claims His Final Victim in 24-year-old Lyra Hendrix

What Made Him Do It? Childhood Friend Weighs In

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