Page 27 of The Night Shift

Which is ironic since I know what I just did was wrong — evil, on some level. Of course, I know killing people is wrong. I’m not an idiot. But I also know there is nothing I can do to undo it. The past is in the past. No one can change it. Nor can we erase it. All that can be done is to forget and move on.

After waiting an extra ten minutes over the standard twenty, I grab dead-Jared’s hand and make another precise two-inchdeep vertical incision over the first one. Crimson flows from the gash in a steady pour.

Pretty, pretty, pretty.

I repeat the same process on his other wrist, setting them both down under the running water. With every beat of his heart, more and more of his blood drips down into the murky water. I resist the impulse to stick out my finger and dab a bit of it onto my tongue. A gust of wind rattles the crappy windows of his bathroom, and I take his cold limp fingers and tightly wrap them around my scalpel. A few stray flecks of blood stain the inside of my wrist, beyond the protection of the nitrile gloves. Jace’s half-open eyes stare back at me. Lifeless and glazed. His mouth is half-open too allowing his tongue to hang out. The sight makes me smile.

He looks like a fool.

I stand up and take a step back.

There’s no blood on the floor or on Audrey’s white top. But just to be safe, I switch out my bloody gloves for a fresh pair and take out the bottle of bleach from underneath his sink to scrub the floor clean.

Once I’m done cleaning, I step outside and start scanning the rest of the apartment. There are some old takeout boxes on the dining table. A few burrito wrappers in the trash. I turn on the two lamps in the living area and move to his bedroom. A narrow, unmade bed. A desk with piles of notes, an open laptop, a phone charger, a lamp, and a record player. A small stack of albums rests beside it and I flip through them until I find something upbeat to match my current mood. Music pours into his apartment. I close my eyes and sway a little. The song reminds me of happier times. Easier times. It reminds me of summer picnics, long brown hair and an innocent smile, the deep cut on her arm, her vacant eyes, blood all over the floor, the sight of her body sprawled across the bathroo —

The song stops.

My heart beats frantically in my chest as I remove the needle. I want to break something. My stomach churns with nausea. I roll my fingers into a fist, my nails pressing into my palm so hard that my skin feels like it’s about to split open.

“Stop it,” I whisper to myself, somewhat irritated.

The past is in the past. I should know that by now. I do know that. I do.

My phone buzzes. I take it out and see several texts from Camille.

Camille: how did it go?

Camille: the bar got so busy as soon as you left :(

Camille: some asshole just left me a target gift card instead of a tip.

Camille: hellooo???

Holly: All done.

Camille: details please :)

Holly: I’ll call you once I’m home.

I stuff my phone back into my pocket and go back to perusing the man’s apartment. On the wall over his bed, hangs his medical diploma. Josh Duvall. Huh. Next toJosh’s(what a stupid fucking name) diploma, there’s a framed collage. A few photos from his graduation, including one in a mortarboard with his parents standing on either side. It should make me sad, but it doesn’t. There are also a couple of random polaroids of him with friends or family, along with a framed print resting on his bedside table. Him and some woman with long, wavy blonde hair and bright eyes.

She’s pretty. Not my type, but beautiful, nonetheless. Maybe it’s his sister. Or perhaps the infamous wife.

A hearty laugh escapes my mouth. For her sake, I hope it’s neither. I quickly grab my coat and bag, taking extra care not to leave behind any trace of a petite, five-foot-seven blonde, andexit the apartment. The building is relatively old so there aren’t any surveillance cameras, but I keep my head down just in case. I walk down the four flights of stairs and eventually step back out into the cold night, immediately wincing as the chilly October air hits my face. There’s just one flickering streetlight in the distance, so it’s pretty dark.

Ten feet from the building, there’s a small strip of a store called Ed’s Deli. I peel off my gloves and stuff them into my coat pocket before pulling on the deli’s glass door. Bells jangle and the scents of fresh rye bread, smoked meat, and spicy mustard send my stomach into a joyful flurry. There’s not a lot of people inside. Thank god. I get one of their pastrami sandwiches along with a can of orange soda and step back out, making sure to put at least three blocks’ worth of distance between me and Ed before taking off my wig and throwing it in a trash can. It’s right about then that my phone buzzes inside my pocket.

With my can of soda in one hand and sandwich in my mouth, I use my free hand to pull it out, immediately wishing I hadn’t.

Unknown: Good. I’ve always liked you blonde.

Chapter 4

Theo

Two hours earlier

Camille’s bar