Page 46

CHAPTER 46

Birdie

Are you safe?

My head leaning against the car window, I ask each of the Victorian houses lining up across the shoreline, as if I could see the people that lived in them.

I step into their worlds, into their heads, with no boundaries, and I see them in ways others do not. My mind races with mini stories about each house, where I make their residents all happy and safe at home. There’s something inspirational about the idea of loving, functional families. I even let myself envy them for having what I’ve never had.

Talk about an overactive imagination. My parents always told me I had one of those. He did, too. They didn’t mean it as a compliment. They didn’t mean it. Period. My imagination was their excuse to make me the villain of their story, to justify what they chose to do. To me, it was a weapon. The only weapon I could have.

I jump back into the mini stories, where nothing is unacceptable or too far-fetched, like families that protect their children and husbands that take care of their wives, instead of scaring them for life.

My weapon deters the memories but doesn’t take away the anxiety of the present. What’s more frightening? Finding a note from Butterfly Man in the mail or the lack of thereof?

Tristan said the targeting of Gia and Blake would make catching Butterfly Man easier. He has a team watching Blake like a hawk and sends one of the men to Gia’s house every other day, waiting for Butterfly Man to make a mistake. But nothing ever happens.

Blake has been living like a hermit in his office. No one visits him but the food delivery people and his dealer, who looks nothing like the man in Saldana’s car photos and doesn’t wear face masks with or without butterflies either. As for Gia, every time it’s the same report. Neither she nor her car is there.

Watching Gia and Blake has been a dead end. Just like the background checks on the list of people I interact with daily; none of them has any ties to Florida.

I’ve never thought I’d say that, but I’m praying to find a message from my stalker in the mail. Ever since he sent those photos, I’ve been waiting for the next step. Different photos of Gia and Blake, covered in blood this time, miraculously making their way into my house. News about their bodies rotting in a ditch, hopefully not after they pumped their blood with lethal drugs and drove themselves into a tree—a pattern will draw more attention from the police and circle back to me—but, at this point, I’d take anything. Anything is better than the silence, the ignorance, the nothingness, the waiting that squeezes the life out of me ever so slowly.

Does that make me evil? My eagerness to see Gia and Blake dead? If I am, what does that make them?

I’m not delusional. In the stories of the people who hurt me, I’ll always be the villain. In mine, I’m just tired of being a victim. For once, I want to have a happy ending, and if that makes me evil, so be it.

Why don’t you kill them already? Gia has been missing for a week. I don’t know how many texts Tristan can send me from the burner, pretending to be her, before the lie crumbles into a plot hole. Make your move, so I can make mine.

My phone rings. Jacob’s name on the screen stares me in the face. Why is he calling so early in the morning? Oh my God, did the police finally find Gia’s body?

I hesitate between the red and green icons, my heartbeat thumping in my ear. Should I take this call? At this hour? Without Tristan by my side?

Anything is better than the waiting. Don’t be a coward and take control. Holding my breath, I answer. “Hello?”

“Shit…uh…didn’t think you’d pick up. This call was intended for your voicemail.” He chuckles nervously. “Good morning.”

“What’s wrong, Jacob?”

“Nothing! Nothing at all. I was called at the station a couple of hours after our date, and I’m just about to hit home. I thought I’d leave you a good morning message so you could hear it when you woke up.” He swears under his breath. “It was a bad idea. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. In my defense, I’ve always thought you’re one of those people who turns off the sound of their phones when they go to sleep.”

I am. Is he really that intuitive? The early morning sun casts long shadows on the road ahead, mirroring the doubt creeping into my mind. “ That’s why you’re calling before it’s even seven a.m.?”

“Can you go back to bed and pretend it was all a dream, and maybe not hate me a little?”

Finally, I exhale a sigh, in disappointment rather than in relief—they haven’t found Gia yet—that turns into a chortle at the end. “You’re such a dork. A romantic dork.”

“Does that mean I’m off the hook?”

“I wasn’t even sleeping, so yes, you’re off the hook.”

“Phew. Wait, what are these sounds? Are you outside… before it’s even seven a.m. ?” His tone changes from humorous to wary in a split-second. “Is something wrong? Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I…just couldn’t sleep so I went for a drive.”

“Alone?”

“You know better, Detective.” I throw the same thing I told him when he offered to give me a ride at the café, where we first met in Oak Bluffs.

He grunts. “Little bird is a castle, always watched or watched over.”

“Have you just quoted from my book…and changed the protagonist’s pet name for his love interest to fit mine?”

“Are we impressed yet?”

“I’ll give you a point for memorizing that line, but, Jacob, for the sake of any possible future together, don’t ever call me little bird. That’s Blake’s pet name for me.”

“Copy that. Jesus, I’m royally fucking up today. Is there any preference for other pet names I could use?”

Oddly, I’d love to hear him call me by my real name. Reagan, just Reagan. But I can’t tell him that, just like I can’t tell him the real reason I’m out or where I’m going. “For now, Birdie will suffice.”

“Okay. Birdie, would you like to grab some coffee and tell me what’s keeping you up at night? I can bring it over wherever you are to make it easier for your bodyguards. Just send me your location, and I’ll be there in no time.”

Although the genuine concern in his voice makes me want to share my worries about Butterfly Man, to trust Jacob will be on my side and help protect me, I can’t shake off the suspicion that this call might be more than just a romantic gesture.

Is Jacob really worried about me, or is this a clever ploy to pinpoint my location? He sounds too eager to know where I am.

The weight of my secrets and trust issues presses down on me all at once. Even after my doubts about Jacob cleared up on our date last night, I can’t stop thinking what if he isn’t who he claims to be.

When I don’t answer right away, he asks, “Am I asking you out again too soon?”

“No. That’s not it. I just have a lot on my mind today. Rain check?”

“Sure. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Am I being paranoid, or am I right to be cautious? The line between trust and self-preservation has never felt so thin.