Page 34 of Promise of Destruction
Good thing there is no one here trying to murder me—I’d probably be dismembered in the bathtub by now.
It’s not funny, but the thought makes me laugh. Officer Barnes grimaces and his green eyes narrow on me even more.
“Two hours ago?” I laugh again. “Well, don’t worry. I’m alive this time. Next time you take two hours to show up, I probably won’t be.”
“Miss…”
“It’s Mrs.” I correct him. “Mrs. D’Anerio. And I’m fine. I screamed in the shower earlier because I had a really bad day, and I needed to let my frustration out. And I’m done talking to you.”
“Maybe I could come in and make sure everything is secure?”
“No.” I laugh. All the anger that’s been tormenting me for the last few months in particular is making its way out with this guy as a target. “Your department has already proven their uselessness to me. I don’t need to be reminded of your incompetence. Good night, officer.”
I slam the door in his face and draw the chain lock into place before leaning against it, all the fight leaving me at once.
It’s not nice to take out my dissatisfaction with his superiors on a very-obvious rookie, I know. I also know that his apparent concern wasn’t genuine. People like to think they’re helpful. They like to think that their pity or concern means anything in the face of tragedy, but at the end of the day they go home and sleep peacefully, grateful that they’re not the person they pity.
Everyone wants to feel bad for a widow when she’s had her future ripped away from her, but they don’t do anything meaningful to help the widow find a new future or clean up the mess that becomes their past. They all just look the other way and continue to fight with their own spouse over who forgot to put the cap back on the toothpaste or who missed the laundry basket, as if those things are worthy of the breath it takes to complain about them.
Sliding against the door, I draw my knees to my chest and bury my head in my knees.
My phone chimes with a new text.
When I look down at the message, my heart seizes.
UNKNOWN: If I EVER see you answer the door in a robe again, I’ll come lift it above your hips and introduce your ass to a paddle.
twenty-four
Declan
Sorenislateagain.I’d ask if she overslept, but I know she didn’t sleep at all. Unlike me, it wasn’t for lack of trying.
After my last message, I watched her on the camera as she hurled her phone across her house.
It landed off camera, but the force she used left me without any doubt that it was shattered into a dozen pieces. After that, she stood and closed the curtains in every room except for one, a room which she never enters. But she didn’t turn off the light, so I could still see the shape of her pacing her room until I was sure she’d wear a hole in the floor just by doing so.
When she finally calmed, it was to dim the lights and slip in bed. She left the TV on, however, and the flashes of different colored light illuminated her throughout the night sitting, then laying, tossing and turning.
She’s beautiful, even with dark circles under her eyes that make her look a little haunted. Maybe even more beautiful because of them. I take them as a small victory, proof that I’ve infiltrated her thoughts. I’ve stolen her security.
It’s a good first step, considering she nearly outed my secrets to the entire world. Luckily for me, nobody bothers listening to the truth when it’s not the status quo. Politician got a little handsy with his intern? Gross, but did you see the latest Hollywood scandal about the feuding B-list celebrities? Awful!
The article Soren wrote was surely meant to get my attention. She had to know that nobody would believe that the benefactor of Covington Illinois wasactuallyinvolved in the sorts of things she suggested.
Maybe if she’d come out and said it without hiding behind euphemisms, someone may have believed her… a fringe group prone to believing everything certainly would have.
Of course, it wouldn’t have amounted to anything. insulated by nature of my position in the company. The legal system will protect me until its dying breath, because I have leverage overevery oneof them.
“You’re late, Miss Palmer.” I tell her when she slinks into our office warily.
Avoiding my gaze, Soren sets her laptop on her desk and pretends she didn’t hear me. I might even think she didn’t if her jaw weren’t clenched so tightly that she may shatter her teeth.
She can’t ignore me forever, but it’s cute to watch her try like a petulant child, so I let her play like she’s doing something. I watch her sweep her hair off her shoulder and take a sip from her coffee. Her dress is red today—the exact shade of a candied apple. The fabric of this one is a little loose, like she was between sizes when she bought it. Though she looks nice and clearly took some time putting herself together this morning, I favor the form-fitting garment from yesterday. I’m willing to bet that the electric blue she was wearing when I first laid eyes on her will forever make any other clothing pale in comparison.
She stills her fidgeting when I stand and step in front of her desk.
Her eyes shoot up to mine, but I don’t get to enjoy her hatred because it turns quickly to confusion when I set the phone in front of her.
