House of Steel (15 page)

“You two are going to make me cry,” Michael
Jones said, walking into the living room wearing his jacket and
hat. “But don’t forget who we are talking about. If there is
anyone, I mean,
anyone
, in this world that could get through
this, it would be your mother.” He stopped at her chair, setting
down the bags he had packed for them both and placed his hand on
her arm. She startled at the touch as she opened her eyes to
Michael.

“Are you ready? Is Delaney back?” she asked,
looking down at the bags next to her.

“I’m here, Mom,” Delaney said, wiping her
eyes and face with her hands. She walked to the woman, who was
placed, like a small child, bundled in the chair, and wrapped her
hand around the cold, bony fingers that lie on top of the
blanket.

“Oh, you two. Don’t worry about me, just
take care of yourselves. I’ll be fine,” she said, looking into
Delaney’s clear blue eyes that had reddened with tears. “But you
promise me that you’ll be careful when you get back to Appleton.
Dad will call you when they schedule the surgery later this
week.”

“Later this week?” Delaney asked.

“They are going to help her get some
strength back before they do the surgery. Increase the odds,”
Michael paused, clearing his throat.

“Oh, hell, I’ll just say it,” Ann
interjected. “Of living through the surgery. I’ve got to be stable
before going into surgery.” She spoke as if she was reporting on
someone else. “But don’t worry about me. We’ll call when we know
when the surgery is. Just be careful, Delaney. It sounds like there
is some funny business going on at your school.”

“You know I will,” she said, bending down to
kiss her mother’s bald head; she felt the cool, clammy skin of her
head against her warm lips. “And I will see you before you go into
surgery. Don’t worry – I’ll let Mark drive.”

“And, Mark, you should move into Delaney’s
house instead of those stuffy corporate apartments until you get a
house,” Ann said, pointing to Delaney who had stepped behind Mark
as he embraced his mother.

“Don’t worry about it, Mom,” he said,
picking up one of the bags to bring to the car that was waiting in
the garage.

“Are you ready?” Michael asked Ann.

“Not yet,” she responded, “I’ve got some
things to take care of before I go. But you kids can get going
before your dad gets my sorry ass out of this chair.”

Delaney forced a small smile and turned to
Mark to see a small tear sliding down his face.

20

DAY 4: Sunday, December 21 – 10:00 a.m.

V had to move fast, the time was dripping
away. She crept along the detached garage in her day gear, the
usual full uniform of white, with a backpack slung on her
shoulders. She paused reluctantly, waiting for the man next door to
finish shoveling his driveway. His body leaned forward. Scoop.
Lift. Throw. The speed was painful to watch knowing how little time
Theron had. He finished his last throw, placing the shovel inside
his garage before ducking his head back into the house.
Finally.

The snow removal service had already made
its round to the driveway ahead of her. She had placed the call
last night. It felt like a necessary measure. Would Delaney
notice?

She sprawled forward, lifting the handle of
the garage door with two hands. The door lifted a foot, enabling
her to slide her tiny body beneath the crack. She sprung to her
feet inside the garage and kicked the door down with her foot,
shutting it tight against the cracked pavement. The backpack hit
the ground with a thud before she unzipped it to remove the
contents. She gripped the pen, carefully constructing the words
along the note, when her eyes caught the tacky red streaks along
the side of her jacket. There was so much blood. She wasn’t trained
for a wound so deep and extreme. She hadn’t ever seen anything
grotesque as the torn flesh, the white of his ribs poking through
the opening. The blood had gotten everywhere.

V placed the items from her bag in the
garage before she opened the door and slid back out the bottom, the
same way she had come in. Her eyes flashed to the house - the
bedroom. She couldn’t help herself. She sprinted to the back door,
tipping the small tree stump on its end to reveal a brass key.
Delaney was in dire need of taking basic security precaution. It
was too easy.

She slid the key into the hole and vanished
through the open door. She walked into the bedroom, standing in the
middle of the room as she closed her eyes to envision the long,
broad strokes against the canvas. It wouldn’t take long. Her pants
made contact with the floor as she lay on her belly, searching with
her arms. V felt the frame of the canvas and hard plastic bin.
Pulling them out, she grabbed the pink watercolor and a brush. It
would have to be quick. She couldn’t leave Theron for much
longer.

21

DAY 4:Sunday, December 21 - 12:00 p.m.

The Ford hummed along the concrete that
stretched against the vastness of the fields as it veered to the
right to exit off the freeway. Delaney and Mark had spent most of
the hour drive in silence while looking out the windows of the
truck, watching the city and industrial landscape turn to open farm
fields and tall trees that stood like beacons emerging from the
layers of snow.

“Do you think you can manage the drive back
to campus without landing in a ditch?” Mark half-joked as he took a
left onto Parker Drive. She knew he was only trying to look after
her, but he couldn’t manage to express his concern in a normal,
caring way. Typical sibling banter that, at the moment, exhausted
her.

“Yeah. What about you? You’re looking pretty
tired,” she jeered back, trying to compensate for the sheer panic
that continued to fester inside.
Who is the man in the fedora?
Where the hell is Theron? Are they after me, too?
Should I
call the police? What would I say?

“I got this covered. Just be careful when
you get back. I don’t want to hear about you getting kidnapped or
murdered,” he said, turning into the driveway of Joe’s Towing.

You have no idea.
Delaney’s stomach
churned at the thought of the blood of the student she had slept
with, but she hadn’t divulged the details to Mark. She hadn’t quite
figured out how or if she would be able to tell him, or anyone,
that she had slept with Theron two nights before he was found
missing, maybe dead. Her career and life ruined before it even
started. Then there was Gunnar, where would she begin?

His cellphone.
Her number would be in
his phone from her text. She placed her head against the coolness
of the passenger side window, exhaling, causing a small patch of
foggy condensation to develop on the glass in front of her. Her
Civic was parked outside along the warehouse. In the afternoon sun,
the run-down warehouse glared against the cleanness of the white
blanket surrounding it. Areas of red and orange rust seeped along
the sides of the building, running down the dark gray aluminum like
a dirty blood that drenched it. The Joe’s Towing sign hung crooked
over the door. She closed her eyes to shut out the muffled noise of
Mr. Rowan’s scream, only to see the knife sinking into his chest.
She couldn’t do this.

“Mark,” she hung on his name, opening her
eyes to turn to him.

“Yeah,” he replied, pulling the truck to a
stop.

Delaney paused, her heart ferocious in her
chest. Her phone burned in her hand.

“I remember asking you once when we were
kids what your birth parents were like. You told me that you tried
to forget. Do you remember that?” she asked. “Have you still
forgotten what it was like?”

“For the most part, yes, I’ve forgotten,” he
replied, hesitant. “Why?”

“How do you forget something? Move on from
something?” she asked.

“You just do. Push it out of your mind.”

“Do you still see anything?”

“Only bits and pieces, but it faded with
time. Everything fades with time,” he replied. “Delaney, is this
about Mom?”

“No.”

“Do I need to be worried?”

“No,” she replied again before leaning over
to hug her brother. “It’ll be fine. It always is.” She climbed out
of the truck with her bag slung over her shoulder and walked up to
the warehouse door. It was fine when she didn’t tell anyone about
Mr. Rowan. She banged on the door with her fist, waiting a few
moments before trying the handle. Delaney would forget, just like
Mark did. The door was locked. She turned back to Mark, waiting in
the truck, who was pointing at her Civic. She opened the door of
the car and saw a white piece of paper with a pre-printed header
“Joe’s Towing - Parker Enterprises” placed on the driver seat.

Delaney, This one’s on me. Car is in good
shape, just a few dings. Be safe. - Joe.
She folded the note,
placing it in her pocket as she began to search for the keys, but
they were indiscreetly placed in the ignition of the car. She shook
her head at the dangling keychain, glistening in the sun and threw
her bag on the passenger side floor. As she paused for a moment to
wait for the engine to warm up and the heat to kick in, she ran her
hand along the floor of the passenger side mat. Her pepper spray
was gone. Delaney took one more glance at the door of Joe’s Towing,
thinking about the picture of his beautiful, now-dead daughter
Elizabeth and her friend. And Gunnar. And the lifeless body in the
trunk. She shuddered, putting the car in reverse to make her way
out of the driveway and back to campus.

***

Delaney slowed to a stop at her house on Drew
Street, hesitating as she noticed her black driveway had been
cleared. Piles of snow lined her driveway on either side. She
peered at the houses flanking her own; she hadn’t exactly
befriended any of her neighbors to warrant the favor.
June and
Robert.

With the Civic idling in front of the
garage, she climbed out and jerked the handle of the garage door.
She kicked the jammed door with her foot and bent down again,
grasping the door with two hands to lift it up with all her body
weight. She jerked it free, swinging it half-way open, and
readjusted herself to lift it above her head while the resentment
dripped from her burning arms.

The door hadn’t stopped moving before she
spotted a dark heap lying in the middle of the stall. She walked
closer, examining the black, crumpled piece of clothing. Picking it
up with her index finger and thumb, the tackiness transferred to
her skin as she recognized the black buttons she remembered
unfastening just a few nights before. Her knees made contact with
the concrete as she fell, letting the fabric fall through her hands
back down to the garage floor. Her mouth let out a scream before
she covered it quickly with her blood-stained hand, muffling the
noise.

Theron’s jacket.
She glanced down at
her hand to see a faint hint of red glowing back at her. Her head
reeled as she wiped her hand impulsively on her own jacket,
transferring the blood from her fingers onto it. Her face. She ran
the inside of her elbow across both cheeks, scrubbing the skin raw
where her fingers had been. Her feet moved beneath her body until
her knees finally straightened, willing her body to stand in a
crouched position. With the jacket lying on the floor, she spun on
her heels, expecting to see someone behind her, but the desolate
street was silent.
No one.
She looked back at the jacket to
see a folded, white note lying next to it that had fallen out from
underneath. In sprawling handwriting, the message only filled a
small portion of the page:

Tell no one. His life depends on it. Your
family’s lives depend on it. Burn the jacket. You have until 5:00
to save his life. Trust me - V.

Delaney snapped her eyes shut, counting to
three, and reopened them to see the same message written on the
piece of paper held in her shaking hands. The text message.
Who
the hell is V? Gunnar?
The paper fluttered to the floor as the
garage spun around her, sending a warm snake slithering through her
body. The coils of warmth tightened their grip on her insides as
sweat beads formed near her forehead.

She stumbled to the cool breeze outside of
the garage, her shoes disappearing into the frost as she lurched
into the snow. Her stomach emptied, leaving repulsive streaks of
brown and green against the white. God, she hated puking. Tears
streamed down her face as she lurched a final time, nothing left to
give. She wiped her mouth with the backside of her hand and
staggered back into the garage. The stinging red letters streaked
against a canvas in her head, searing as they branded into her head
underneath the loose waves.

Your family’s lives depend on it. Trust
me.

She couldn’t take it anymore. She couldn’t
do this alone. The police needed to know. The fact that she had
slept with a student didn’t matter anymore. Her job didn’t matter.
It was his life. Her life. Her family. Her mind spun to her family
as she thought about Mark, Ben, her parents, all in coffins. Even
if they all survived, if she survived, she would be an accessory to
murder if Theron was found dead. The panic swirled in her head as
she reread the note. It was almost 2:00 p.m.; she had three hours.
This is a sick game.

Delaney nudged the jacket and note to the
side of the garage with her foot, unable to pick it up with her own
hands. She climbed back into her Civic and pulled it over the spot
where she had found the jacket. The engine stopped silent with the
turn of her hand. The impossible stillness permeated through her
body. Paralyzed, her body refused to move forward out of the car.
She rested her forehead against the hardness of the steering wheel.
I have no choice.

Her hand reached mechanically for the door
handle, pushing it open wide enough to climb out and onto the
concrete slab six feet away from the jacket. The words chanted
through her mind.
Burn it.
Her eyes scanned the garage
before they narrowed on a black Hefty bag set beside several logs
of split wood.
Another addition to the garage.
She picked up
the bag, hesitating before she plunged her hand inside to find
gloves and a book of kitchen matches with a deep silver cover
embossed with a V. She fingered the cover, feeling the raised V
against her skin.
Gunnar?