Mike Omer - In the Darkness

“I wouldn’t go that far. It’s chicken breast in bread crumbs. Hardly worthy of a Michelin star.”

“Well, it gets a Zoe star.”

“You’re just hungry.” Andrea blushed slightly as she cut her own schnitzel.

Zoe sipped from her beer. “What are you doing home? Weren’t you supposed to work tonight?”

Andrea shrugged, eyes on her plate. “I got fired.”

“What?”

“Frank called me earlier. He said he found someone to replace me.” Andrea spoke casually, but her voice had the grainy quality that came when words were laced with tears.

Frank was the owner of the restaurant Andrea worked in. Zoe digested the news and realized her immediate gut reaction was relief. The night shifts in the restaurant were a constant source of tension between Andrea and her. They placed Andrea at unnecessary risk. Glover could be waiting for Andrea to step out and throw away the trash behind the restaurant. He could follow her when she returned home, grabbing her as she got out of the cab.

“Why did he fire you?” she finally asked.

“Why do you think?” Andrea asked bitterly. “He said he couldn’t pay a waitress who wouldn’t do three night shifts a week.”

“I’m sorry, honey, I—”

Andrea dropped her fork, and it clattered on the table. “I can’t take this any longer, Zoe. It’s been over a month, and no one saw him, not even once! And Agent Caldwell says—”

“Agent Caldwell is wrong. He got him all wrong,” Zoe spat angrily. “He doesn’t understand how Glover—”

“He said that Glover is too careful. That he’d never risk direct contact.”

“He’s wrong. Glover’s fantasy is—”

“I don’t care what his fantasy is, Zoe! What if he’s really gone? What if he intends to hide for another year? Or two? Or five? I won’t keep living like this.” The tears she’d managed to hide so far materialized, and one dropped on her schnitzel, absorbed by the bread crumbs.

“Andrea.” Zoe reached for her sister’s hand, but Andrea pulled it away.

“Forget it,” she said. “It was a shitty job anyway.”

Unsure how to make Andrea feel better, Zoe ate in silence. Andrea wiped her tears with her hand and began eating.

After a few minutes, Zoe said, “Tatum called earlier. Would you mind it if his grandfather dropped by occasionally while we’re in Texas? He’s an old man, and Tatum says he gets very lonely.”

Andrea fixed her with a sharp look. Though unlike Zoe, she hadn’t inherited their mother’s crooked nose, her sister had gotten their father’s intense green eyes. Zoe met her stare, and they sat in silence for a second. She couldn’t tell if her sister believed her innocent explanation.

“Sure,” Andrea said. “He’s a nice man, right?”

“Yeah, and he doesn’t know a lot of people here.” That was a blatant lie. In the six weeks since Tatum and Marvin had moved to Dale City, Marvin had already made the acquaintance of several people, some considerably younger. He had thrown two parties in Tatum’s apartment, each one resulting in property damage and police complaints from nearby residents.

“It’s not like I have anything to do now that I don’t have a job or an apartment of my own.”

“You’ll find another job.”

“I’m tired, Zoe. I don’t want to be scared anymore.”

Zoe nodded, the delicious mashed potatoes in her mouth suddenly tasteless. Andrea didn’t deserve this. Unlike Zoe, she did her best to stay away from violence. Andrea couldn’t stand to see anyone hurt, even on TV. And now this twisted person had invaded her life because of her connection to Zoe.

“When I come back, I’ll fix this.” Zoe hoped she could keep her word. “Mancuso promised me access to the case. I’ll find that bastard Glover and put him behind bars.”

“And if you don’t?”

“We’ll find a solution.”

The blast of hot, dry air that struck Zoe as they left the airport momentarily took her breath away. The air-conditioned atmosphere inside the terminal had been very misleading. Every molecule of water in her skin dissipated, leaving behind a dry, crinkling parchment. She shadowed her eyes with her free hand as she peered around her, the bright sun blinding her. She quickly took off her black jacket, folding it and placing it in the crook of her arm. She’d left her sunglasses back home. She’d packed late at night, when the concept of sunlight had been far away. She’d have to buy a new pair, or she’d spend the entire time in San Angelo squinting at everything.

“Our car should be over there.” Tatum gestured. He looked like the perfect FBI agent cliché—dark suit, large black sunglasses, shiny shoes. If the heat bothered him in any way, it didn’t show. “A silver Hyundai Accent. They said it’s parked on the northern side of the parking lot.”

Zoe glanced at the parking lot. It was dozens of yards away. She wasn’t sure she’d make it that far.

“Do you have water?” she asked, her voice croaking. She hazily remembered seeing him buy a bottle inside the terminal.

Tatum nodded, rummaged in his bag, and located the water bottle. He held it to her, a bead of condensation slowly trickling down the plastic container. Zoe took it, unscrewed the cap, and tipped the bottle to her mouth, throwing her head back.

“Feel free to”—Tatum stared as Zoe gulped the entire thing—“finish it.”

“Thanks.” She licked her lips, relieved.

As they paced between the cars, the sun boiled Zoe’s brain, turning it into soup. All thoughts of serial killers were gone, replaced by a confused shopping list of things she’d need to survive the heat. A hat; a large bottle of water; short, thin clothes; a portable icebox to live inside.

“There.” Tatum unlocked the car. Zoe hurriedly stepped inside. The heat in the car was stifling, far from the relief she’d hoped for.

Tatum switched on the engine, and the car’s air-conditioning blasted them with hot air that quickly cooled into icy goodness. Zoe aimed the vents directly at her face, feeling her brain slowly kicking into gear again. She’d have to stay in air-conditioned rooms constantly if she was expected to think.

As Tatum checked how to get to the San Angelo police station on his phone, Zoe turned on the radio and flipped the stations until she heard Taylor Swift singing “Begin Again.” Pleased, she leaned back, waiting for Tatum to drive.

“Yeah . . . we’re not going to listen to that, right?” Tatum raised his eyes from the phone.

“Yes, we are.”

“I can’t really do that, Zoe.”

“Sure you can. Come on—drive.”

“Tell you what.” Tatum brightened up. “We’ll take turns, okay? I’ll choose the songs for this ride, then you’ll do the next one.”

“Fine.”

Tatum plugged his phone into the auxiliary input and fiddled with it a bit. “Okay, we’re listening to Genesis.”

“I like Genesis,” Zoe said, feeling satisfaction that Tatum’s attempt at patronizing her musical taste was foiled. “I had the cassette of Invisible Touch when I was younger.”

“I’m sure you did. But I’m talking about Genesis before Peter Gabriel left and everything went to hell. This is Selling England by the Pound , and it’s a masterpiece.”

He hit play and began to drive, the hum of the car engine intermingling with a lone singer’s mournful tone.

Zoe gazed out the window, the music washing over her. The land on her side was a flat endless field, dotted with an occasional tree. The other side of the road was hidden from sight by a wild growth of similar trees and cacti.

Her mind turned to Andrea. What was her sister doing right now? Still sleeping, probably. She had said she’d start looking for a new job today. Zoe did her best to ignore the pang of worry that instantly awoke when she thought of Andrea driving around Dale City by herself. Zoe had left her the car keys, so Andrea wouldn’t need to take cabs or public transportation. That, Zoe hoped, would keep her sister safer and difficult to follow.