2

Camila

Adriana hadn’t waited more than five minutes, but the array of empty glasses on her table suggested otherwise.

“Camila!” she exclaims, waving energetically for me to join her. Her voice carries, drawing mixed looks from nearby patrons. Not that Adriana doesn’t naturally attract attention with her long red hair, perfect hourglass figure, and adorable freckles that look almost painted on.

“Hey, Adriana.” I settle into the chair across from her.

Leaning closer, she lowers her voice. “How’s Katinka?”

“Mom’s okay.” I grimace, shaking my head and inadvertently whipping my cheeks with my hair. “Actually, no, she’s not. But before I get into that, I need one of those.” I nod at the empty glasses.

Adriana signals for the waitress. A petite server in a tight black skirt sways over. A guy tries to grab her, and she deftly elbows him away without breaking stride. I can’t help but laugh. She catches my eye and winks as she approaches. “What can I get you girls?”

“Some liquor to get us started.”

“Oh boy.” I give the waitress an apologetic smile. “I’ll have a pint of the Stockwood Nitro.”

“Beer?” Adriana looks incredulous. “Who are you?”

“Someone trying to avoid waking up in a stranger’s bed.”

She rolls her eyes at my joke and orders another martini. Once the waitress leaves, Adriana raises her eyebrows sympathetically. “Okay, spill. What’s going on with your mom?”

I really needed a drink before this conversation. Anxiously watching for the waitress, I fidget with my nails. “I was trying to help with the studio, sorting out bills and everything. That used to be Dad’s job.” I inhale sharply.

Six months… How has it been six months already?

Adriana nods understandingly. “Got it. Did your mom not want your help?”

“She was overwhelmed. I thought taking some responsibility off her would help. But then I dove into the paperwork and realized…” I grit my teeth, noticing I’ve nicked my thumbnail with nervous picking. Licking my thumb, I look up relieved to see the waitress arriving with our drinks.

Taking the cold beer, I enjoy the feeling in my hands and make sure to tip the waitress generously. She gives me a grateful smile before disappearing into the crowd. “Just call if you need anything,” she says over her shoulder.

I tilt my head back and take a long sip. It burns perfectly, like swallowing fire. But that’s exactly what I need.

“Camila,” Adriana urges.

Sighing, I set the glass down, turning it slowly on the table. “The studio is drowning in debt. Mom wants to sell it. Actually, she’s already lined up a buyer.”

“Oh my god,” Adriana leans back in her chair, processing everything. She lifts her drink to her lips, leaving a smudge of bright pink lipstick. After one more sip, her martini glass is empty. “Okay. Wow. I'm so sorry, Camila. Dealing with this on top of everything else—you must be overwhelmed.”

“Everything else?” I ask.

“Yeah.” Adriana tilts her head like a curious dog. “You know, isn’t it the anniversary—”

I cut her off sharply, feeling a surge of bitter memories rise like bile.

“Don’t,” I interrupt, biting off the word. Adriana recoils, as if I’ve struck her.

My hand moves to my stomach, hugging myself as I draw my knees up slightly. I search for my beer and frown upon finding it empty. Somehow, I’ve finished it without realizing.

“I’m not going there,” I assert firmly, my tone sharper than intended. “And neither should you.”

“Of course, I’m sorry,” Adriana replies with a forced smile, motioning for the waitress to bring another round. My resolve to stay sober evaporates. Who can blame me? The stress I’m under is unbearable. I pride myself on strength, as my father taught me, but this is too much.

Two rounds turn into three. My preference for beer shifts when Adriana offers me a taste of her martini, intrigued by its bitter edge. By the time Adriana starts guiding me towards the exit, I’m pleasantly buzzed.

“Where are we headed?” I ask.

“Home. I think we’ve both had enough, and Jonah is never going to let me hear the end of it if I come home blackout drunk.”

“Boring,” I tease. She’s right; any more alcohol and I’ll go from dizzy joy to stumbling in the street. The air outside is crisp, a welcome change from the humidity inside Topher’s.

Adriana gives me a firm hug as we balance in our heels on the curb. “Thanks for coming out, Camila.”

“No, no, no, thank you. You’re a great friend, Adriana. We need to do this more.”

She holds me at arm’s length. Her lipstick is smeared from rubbing her mouth on too many martinis. Even slightly drunk, the concern swimming in her pretty blue eyes is genuine. “If you need help, let me know. Got it?”

“I’ll figure it out. Really.” Hugging her one last time, I point at the taxi pulling up behind her. “Get some sleep. Tell Jonah I said hi and that I’m sorry I got you this drunk.”

“You better be calling an Uber. You can’t drive right now.”

“I won’t,” I promise, hand to my heart. “My car is down that way. I just want to get my jacket from it, and then I’ll call a car.”

She screws her face up, silently warning me not to lie before she turns, half-stumbling into the back seat of her taxi. I wait a moment, watching the red taillights fade into the quiet night. It’s starting to feel pretty dead out here. This area gets almost no foot traffic after midnight.

Mom is going to lecture me for hours if she finds out. Shaking my head, I walk on stiff legs toward my car. I’m not as drunk as Adriana, yet walking on the uneven concrete is a challenge.

Popping open my trunk, I search until I find the jean jacket I tossed in there some months ago. I packed it for the coming fall weather, but summer pressed on unexpectedly, taunting the city with its scorch even as September bled into October.

As I slip my arms through the sleeves and adjust the front, I feel a lump in the right-side pocket. Pulling out the wrinkled yellow Post-it note, I read the scribbled writing.

William, Margret, Rose, Brandon.

It takes me a second to make sense of it. Then I remember, and it’s like being punched by a wrecking ball.

My fist shakes as I crumple the paper, throwing it into my trunk and slamming it closed. Breathing heavily, I turn away, walking without purpose as tears sting my eyes. I can’t escape it. Why won’t the world let me move on?

Heated by my tangle of emotions, I don’t notice I’ve wandered toward the docks until the whiff of salt and dead fish hits my nose. Lifting my eyes, I scan the warehouses, getting my bearings. Time to call an Uber and get home. Maybe sleep will make me feel better. I know it won’t. It hasn’t yet. Reaching for my phone, I freeze when a sound to my right catches my attention.

At first, I think it’s a dog whimpering. On instinct, I head toward the noise. My heels click on the hard, splintered boardwalk around the side of a brick building not far from Topher’s. Just before I turn the corner, I hear the sound again.

“Please, no, you can’t!”

Stopping abruptly, I lean against the damp wall beside me. That’s no dog. I crane my neck, peering carefully at the scene ahead. Two men stand there. One is huge, like a solid wall in a dark suit. I can’t see his face, but the other man in front of him is pale and trembling on his knees.

They're not friends, I realize with growing horror. Something is very wrong here. Fear crawls through me, and I shudder in the chilly air.

“Please,” the man on his knees sobs, running his hands over his jaw. He forces a shaky smile, revealing his gums. “Let’s talk about this. We can figure it out, right?”

The large man doesn’t move. He lifts his chin, revealing his strong jawline. Even in the dim light, he looks strikingly handsome. With a swift motion, he reaches deep into his suit pocket. Around his wrist are glossy prayer beads.

“No,” he says in a deep voice. “We can’t.”

The gun gleams under the streetlight. The barrel is short and thick. There’s no time for the man on the ground to react. He still wears his nervous smile when the gun fires. The smile doesn’t fade as he falls sideways, blood staining his shirt.

I gasp in shock. The killer starts turning in my direction. I cover my mouth, sprinting down the dock as fast as I can without tripping.

Miraculously, I don’t fall. Adrenaline pushes me forward, but it’s sheer terror that drives me on.

He killed him!

He killed that man!

Panting, my throat burning, I run past my car, past Topher’s, and don’t stop until I’m several blocks away. Sweat soaks my chest. Tears blur my vision, partly from the wind as I run, partly from sheer agony. What I witnessed was a nightmare come to life.

I always knew bad things happened in this city; I’m not naive.

But I never thought I’d see it happen right in front of me.

The sound of the gunshot echoes in my head. Over and over until I clutch my head, crouching on the sidewalk in a frantic state. Yet, when I close my eyes, it’s not the murder that haunts me. I don’t think about the blood or the dead man’s smile stained with red.

I see the handsome murderer.

And the prayer beads on his wrist.