Page 1 of Heartfelt Pain
CHAPTER 1
Ren
FIVE YEARS LATER
It’s cold and wet as I peer into the trunk of a beat-up sedan, the rust-colored paint scratched off.
“Dead?” Abe asks, blinking.
“Dead,” Bennie confirms.
“Fucking dead,” Isolde double confirms.
Three heads swivel my way.
I pretend the water running down my neck is rain and not sweat. It’s stopped pouring, but mist halos us, the lights from our flashlights creating hazy rainbows.
“Yeah.” The word slips out breathlessly. It doesn’t fully hit me, or maybe I’ve finally figured out how to stop my insides from curdling every time I come across a dead body.
“You sure?” Bennie asks. He took his tie off before we left, and the first few buttons of his white shirt are loose.
Abe’s face wrinkles. He looks out of place, out of his apron, and away from the kitchen. He insisted on coming, though. If this is the first time he’s coming across a dead body, he’s doing rather well.
“Are you?” Isolde prods when I remain silent. Herhair is pulled into a high pony, the rain slicking it back. Her eyes never waver as she stares at me.
If there’s anyone out of the four of us used to dead bodies it’s my best friend.
Her gloved hand keeps the trunk open, her other holding a flashlight.
It’s a crappy junkyard and we had to slog through mud and scattered debris to find the right car.
“I’m sure.” The words are quieter. Okay, so maybe my insides are a little bit curdled.
“You want to tell us about it?” Ben asks with measured precision. I can’t look over at him because Abe’s worried, creased face does stuff to me.
“Eighth grade dance.”
“Eighth grade?” Abe blurts, gobsmacked.
“I wore a red, glittery skirt because I couldn’t find a dress I liked.” My ears aren’t ringing. It’s a train making that high whirling sound. “He picked me up and by that I mean his older sister drove us to the dance.”
Just typical midwestern shit.
Ben asks the question on everyone’s mind. “How did he end up here?”
My fingers curl around the metal flashlight in my hand. “Last I heard he worked as a teacher. In Ohio, I think.”
Is he married? I’ve shirked social media thanks to my job. But I scan my memories thinking back to college days when I’d ruthlessly search for updates on people from my high school days. I used to ponder how much of a loser I was for not having anything cool to share myself.
Oh, God. I think he did get married. Someone he met in college. Though, maybe they got divorced. Fuck. He definitely had a kid.
Isolde slams the trunk shut. I’m grateful Abe jumps, hiding my own stunned expression.
“Right.” Isolde clicks her flashlight off.
There’s a crane in the background, the metal a dark outline in the gray foggy night.
“So that’s another one of your ex-boyfriends dead,” she tells the group.
