Page 30 of Icy Heart, Empty Chest
“What’s so funny?”
“Can’t say you’re not resourceful.”
I did a mock curtsy in my coat and opened the door so the dog could get back in.
After dropping Peanut off, we parted ways. I told Damien to meet back at seven to get to Ziedlin’s house.
I wondered around my apartment aimlessly. It was still relatively early in the morning but the apartment felt smaller, emptier without him in it.
I didn’t like that. Maybe it was just ’cause I typically didn’t have company. Maybe some of the girls from work, maybe Finneas. I was usually a solitary creature. I always had been. When my father was alive, he was a master of letting me have my space but would always answer questions or entertain my disruptions.
My urge to stress clean was kicking in. I frowned. That wasn’t good; I usually wasn’t this nervous before a job. Mostly because I usually didn’t have any personal stakes in them. This was different. If I thought something would be dangerous enough, I just wouldn’t take it, but right now I had no choice. I spearheaded this mess after getting choked by my own hubris. We both did.
I sighed and headed over to the almost nonexistent dishes. I’m sure the bathroom would need to be scrubbed too. I narrowed my eyes at the laundry—later.
A few hours later, I found myself in a visual meditation. If I knew where I was going, I should be able to see it in my head, and the routes I’d need to go. Finneas had taught me this visualization a few years back when I first started out. Many people blank when it comes to new places. Being ableto construct an area in your mind gave you more power over your surroundings. I could see the doors and their knobs, the windows and their locks, paintings on the walls and— a knock on my door?
I rose from my spot and made my way to the front to see Damien holding two steaming coffees.
I eyed him suspiciously. “You’re early.” He was. Close to an hour and ten minutes.
He pushed a coffee toward me. “Can I come in?”
I took the java offering gratefully, recognizing the roast from my place of employment.
“So…?”
“So what?” he asked, putting his coat on the hook, not meeting my eyes.
“You’re early,” I repeated.
“Yup, you said that.”
“What’s wrong? You look agitated,” I observed, dropping onto the couch.
“I shouldn’t be. I work in a somewhat high stress field. I’m usually OK with chaos and the unknown.” He shrugged his shoulders and took the chair opposite me.
I swirled the cup around. “This is a bit different.”
“I just couldn’t really relax at home,” he confessed.
“I think I’d be surprised if you could.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“When you’re at work, do you usually have any personal involvement in your cases?”
He shook his head, dark seafoam hair shifting. “Never. We’d have to pass it on to someone else if we did.” I nodded, taking a deep swig of the coffee.
“This is heavy for me too,” I admitted. “This isn’t my typical job.”
The last job I had before this one involved climbing a trellis to get into a mansion site where I was acting like a waitress for a fancy occasion. I “got lost,” grabbed the necklace and went back out a window. Way more fun.
“I keep imagining that scene from the gothic book where it’s my heart and it’s just pulsating underneath someone’s floor.” The look on his face was bitter, regretful. “I fucked this all up,” he announced, leaning his head to the back of the chair.
“Well, let’s see if we can un-fuck it.” I rose to get a map of Ziedlin’s house. I found you could get more accomplished with a can-do attitude rather than actually giving up before you start. “Before you got here, I was trying to visualize the space. I could teach you.” It was easy enough to learn with some imagination. I started to clear my mind to teach him the basics.
“Before I got here, Marie asked me out.”
