Page 48 of When the Storm Breaks
The one I didn’t see at Tyler’s.
I tell myself it doesn’t mean anything. Maybe it was tucked in a drawer, taken off, left behind for once in her life.
But I know better.
He has it. Hidden somewhere. Kept it—just like everything else.
The realization sinks its claws into me.I didn’t see it.
I think back, scrambling to put the pieces together. The last time she came over, crying over a fight with him, was she wearing it? The memory is hazy, blurred by time and everything that’s happened since.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to picture her. But the harder I try, the more the details slip through my fingers.
My hands tremble as I pull up my browser and type:What does it mean when someone keeps things that belonged tosomeone who was murdered?
The results load instantly—a mess of clickbait headlines and cold case murders I’ve never heard of. Useless. I keep scrolling until one headline catches my eye. It’s a list. My pulse skitters as I skim it, stopping at one sentence:
Keeps belongings from victims as a way to hold onto control or maintain connection.
The words knock the air from my lungs. The room tilts as my mind fixates on the image of Jules’s things scattered around Tyler’s house. The scarf. The mug. The shoes by the door, like she might walk in at any moment.
But not the necklace. Not the one thing she never took off.
No, no, no.
I press my hands to my temples, like I can physically stop the spiral.
“This is insane,” I whisper, voice shaking. “I’m losing it.”
I drop my hands and stare up at the ceiling, heart pounding. My thoughts race too fast to catch.
But the feeling in my gut won’t let go. No matter how hard I try to push it down, it stays.
He’s keeping her things. Too many things.
Part of me knows I’m spiraling—that grief and paranoia are a dangerous mix. But another part, deeper and louder, more insistent, is convinced I’m onto something.
Jules is gone, but the truth is still out there. What if I’m the only one willing to look for it?
Maybe it takes a little delusion to find the answers.
Maybe that’s what it’ll take to bring her back. If not in body, then in truth.
I sit up suddenly, the room around me fading into the background.
An idea takes root. It grows fast, wild, impossible to ignore. I won’t break into his house. I’m not that far gone. But what’s the harm in looking?
Just one more visit. A quick drive-by. A glance through the windows.
If I time it right, no one will ever know.
My mind latches onto the idea, turning it over, shaping it into something solid. If I see something—something real, something undeniable—I’ll know I’m not imagining this.
I’ll have proof. A reason for this terrible feeling in my chest that won’t let me sleep.
I drag a hand through my damp hair, gripping at the roots.
Jules never gave up on me. She was always there when I needed her.
