Page 58 of Promise of Destruction

The words intrigue me. His last deal has barely even begun to unfold and he wants to make another? When he sees I’m listening, he nods at the untouched food on my plate.

“You eat that whole thing by the time I get back and I’ll tell you.”

My first thought to ask is where he’s going, but I don’t dare sound like I care. Instead, I narrow my eyes at him. “Why do you care?”

That makes him laugh. “Because I paid for that burger to be delivered in the dead of night. Because it will make you feel better.” He pauses. “Because Marissa was right—you need the iron.”

My jaw goes slack with that addition to his prior confession. He’s not just watching me—he canhearme. Guess I don’t have to worry that he murdered my neighbors to get access to their attic. Declan is far closer than I thought he was.

I want to be angry that he’s intruding on things that don’t pertain to him, embarrassed that he thinks there’s something wrong with me, defensive because I don’t have a problem.

But I just nod.

“Deal.”

thirty-eight

Declan

Itakemytimecleaning up the glass with the broom I spotted on my way back from the garage, being sure to catch every sliver so that we don’t have any more accidents. The remains of her dish set are heavy; they’ll shred a trash bag immediately. I decide to ask forgiveness instead of permission, making my way back to the garage. I grab one of the medium sized boxes that’s unmarked and open it to throw the contents into a trash bag but stop dead.

Whatever I expected to be in here, it’s not this.

A little plush bunny lays on top of a pile of baby blankets, a ribbon attached around it’s neck.

This feels more intrusive than anything I’ve done so far, and yet I don’t stop. I lift the bunny in one hand, staring at it like it will tell me the things I want to know. But it simply stares at me with glassy, inanimate eyes, so I set it aside and lift out the blankets. Fuzzy pink and blue, green and yellow blankets with unicorns and elephants, rabbits and ducks. They smell sweet and mellow, their gentle scent overpowering the leather and must of the garage. I’d think they were just in storage as futuregifts, except these don’t have tags on them. And when I reach beneath them, a single photo lays at the bottom of the cardboard box.

The picture doesn’t make much sense to me, but I don’t live under a rock. It’s a sonogram photo, and I’m guessing the little white dot in the center of it is a baby.

Orwasa baby.

Her name typed neatly in the white upper edge of the picture confirms the conclusion I already assumed.

D'Anerio, Soren P

March 19th.

Barely more than a year ago.

“What are you…” Soren’s voice trails off when I turn to face her standing in the doorway of her garage.

My shift allows her to see the box I opened, the pile of blankets that I discarded, the stuffed rabbit lying atop it, and the picture still in my hand. Her mouth is open in surprise, her eyes wide.

“I needed a box for the glass.” I explain.

She’s transfixed on the bunny, and I think for a minute that she’s about to snatch it against her chest. But then she shakes her head so violently I think she’ll lose her balance.

“No.”

“No?” I laugh—not because there’s anything funny about the contents of this box or the fact that she clearly didn’t want me to see them, but because I don’t really understand.

“No,” She repeats louder.

When I don’t move, I see something in her snap. She charges at me in a fury of fists and hair that’s fallen free from her bun. Her blows glance off my chest without causing me any pain.

I let her hit me, too steeped in confusion to do anything else.

“Get out!” She cries, her voice shrill. Her fists beat against my chest until she tires of that and takes to pushing me instead. “Get out!”