Page 2 of The Devil We Know

“No, but there’s another phone beside the sofa.”

“Do you need to disconnect this call and call again from the other phone?”

“No. I’ll put you on hold and then pick the call back up.”

“Okay,” I respond calmly, doing my best to keep my tone level. “You do that now. Put this call on hold, then focus on the steps I gave you. I’ll be right here waiting. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” I whisper. “Then, go.”

The call cuts to silence, and I wait patiently, keeping an eye on the road and the clock as time seems to drag on.What feels like hours later, the line clicks and I hear her shivering breaths on the other line.

“I’ll be there soon,” I whisper.

She makes an affirmative noise but says nothing, and by the time I make it to her office, she’s borderline unresponsive, the shock taking its toll on her.

She manages to give me access to the building, and from where she falls short, I manage to get myself access to the floor her office is on.

I walk into her office to find her lying on the sofa just as instructed, a bloody, motionless body a few short feet away from her. She’s curled inward, appearing small beneath the large blanket she wrapped around herself, her hair gleaming a burnt copper even in the dim light.

At first, she doesn’t move or acknowledge I’d entered the room but then after a beat, her upper body twists, bright green eyes locking with mine, as a choked sob falls from her lips.

I raise my hands in front of me, my voice calm and even as I say, “It’s me. It’s Matt.”

She flinches ever-so-slightly, the corner of her eyes wrinkling minutely as she squints. Her lips then press together tightly, and she swallows slowly.

She says nothing, so I slowly move closer until I’m standing next to her, and then I kneel in front of her. “Are you okay?”

At first, she stares at me, then frowns and shakes her head. I nod in acknowledgment of what she’s not saying and then reply, “You stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Not waiting for a response, I rise and walk over to the obviously dead body, pulling out my phone and texting my clean-up crew. Their reply is instantaneous, confirming the vague orders and the quick turnaround for completion.

I retrieve the man’s phone, wallet, and other personal effects, securing them in the inside pocket of my jacket to be disposed of secondary to the body.

If I had more time, I’d remove his head and hands, but since I’m leaving the disposal of the body to a third party, I’ll just have to let them do whatever they think is best.

I walk back across the room to where Jessica is still lying on the sofa, kneeling in front of her and catching her eyes as I say, “We need to get out of here.”

She blinks at me a few times and opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. I pull the blanket off of her, wadding it into a ball and tossing it over onto the body.

Grasping both of her hands in mine, I grimace at the blood stains on them. I grab a bottle of water from the table next to the sofa, snagging the small bar towel, pouring the cool liquid onto it before turning back to her. I gently pick up one of her hands, resting it on the wet towel and dribbling water from the bottle onto her palm.

She doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink; she just lies there, staring off into the void as I work methodically to rid her of as much blood spatter as I can. When I’m satisfied she’s as clean as she’s going to get, I toss the bottle of water and soiled towel toward the body, knowing the cleanup crew will take care of it.

I kneel in front of her again, grasping her hands and giving a little tug, but she doesn’t move. She just stares at me with a decidedly pained expression on her face and then she shivers.

I move my hands up to her forearms, pulling on her firmly to urge her into an upright position, and eventually, she manages to sit up on her own.

“I’m going to remove your top,” I whisper. “There’s blood on it.”

She nods, and I remove my jacket, unbuttoning the necessary buttons on my dress shirt and then pulling that and my undershirt over my head. I put my button-down and jacket back on and then quickly unbutton her blouse, helping her free her arms, then tossing it away.

I pull my undershirt over her head, and she manages to push her arms through the sleeves as I pull it down her torso. She just sits there stonily, but when she blinks at me, she appears to focus a bit more. Then she says, “I want to go home.”

“Good,” I reply softly. “Can you tell me where that is?”

She blinks a few more times and swallows before she gasps out, “Yes.”

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