House of Steel (16 page)

She slid the matches in her pocket and
inched her shaking hands into the gloves to shove the jacket and
note deep inside the bag. The gloves. She peeled off the gloves and
deposited them alongside the jacket. With the logs and bag tucked
in her arms, she crept toward her house in the afternoon sun. Her
neighbors. She was an accessory to murder, tampering with police
evidence. She ducked her head down and turned to the back door that
she had never used up until the morning Theron fled from her house.
She swung the door open with a gentle kick of her foot. It was
unlocked.

Her chest burned as she maneuvered the items
into the living room dropping them next to the wood burning
fireplace. The black fireplace trimmed in gold accents hadn’t been
used in years. The realtor’s face flashed in her mind as she
recounted his words after the house inspection.
Nothing a little
clean and service couldn’t fix.
The surrounding brick that had
been charred with black streaks had been cleaned, exposing original
dark red brick. She bolted to the kitchen, yanking open drawers
until the gleams of the stainless steel edges caught her eyes. Her
fingers surrounded the handle of the largest knife - a butcher
knife her mother had given her as a housewarming gift. She hadn’t
ever used it. Gunnar would have a knife and so would she. Her eyes
darted around the room as her body stood rigid and vulnerable
underneath her. Silence filled the space.

She held the knife tight to her body as she
crept back to the living room and retrieved her supplies one by
one. Her eyes fell on the pile she had collected. Tick. Tick. Tick.
The sound of a clock ticked through her head. Theron. Mark. Ben.
Ann. Michael. Time was vanishing.
I have no choice.

Bending down, she stuffed the logs and bag
inside the fireplace. The sharp smell of sulfur filled her nostrils
before she tossed a match onto the pile. The flames cracked and
spread, melting the plastic to expose the wool jacket inside. The
flicker of the flames burned in her eyes before she finally closed
them. She turned her back on the flames and headed to the garage,
hiding the knife in her jacket, to bring in her bag from her car.
It seemed like a normal thing to do.

Delaney threw her bag on the floor of the
front entrance and pulled her phone from her pocket. She scanned
through it looking through emails and texts. No emails from the
university about the incident. Her legs shook, begging for reprieve
until she found herself huddled on the floor. The metal of the
knife clanged against the floor as she crawled, the knife still
gripped in her hand, to the door. She turned to lean her back
against the door as tears flooded down her face. The snake coiled
in her body from earlier, released itself, slithering away, leaving
her chilled and shuddering. Her mind flashed to the silhouette that
slipped out the door of the church. Down the hallway of the
hospital. His blackened eyes flickering.

Fedora. Is it you? Who are you?

She shivered as she wrapped her arms around
herself, rocking herself back and forth. Between rocks, she reached
down to grab her phone next to her legs, her fingers dialing the
numbers without thinking. Her eyes closed to see him where she had
left him - his body hugging close against the window overlooking
the lake. Her finger hovered over the call button when a sudden
banging vibrated on her back. The scream echoed in her head, but it
refused to leave her lips.

Crawling to the side window of the entry
door, she peered out to see a pair of men’s brown loafers. Her eyes
followed the loafers up to a familiar brown jacket and red scarf
followed by olive skin and brown eyes. She scrambled to her feet,
wiping her face and eyes with the back of her hand, and kicked her
scattered mess from her overnight bag to the wall.

“What are you doing here?” Delaney asked as
she opened the door. The silver of the stainless steel blade in her
hand sparkled in the afternoon sun.

“Jesus, are you okay? Your jacket. Are you
hurt?” James reached to her as he pointed to the blood on the side
of her jacket.

“Oh, that.” The words fumbled out of her
mouth as she placed the knife at her side, wiping the dried streaks
on her jacket with the other hand. Her expressionless face paled as
she buckled in the doorway. “I’m just starting dinner.
Tomatoes.”

“Oh,” James replied with a confused
expression. “With your jacket on?”

“Yeah, it’s cold in the house.”

“Oh.”

“I’m fine,” she said, pushing his
outstretched hand away as she moved back into the house. She
glanced at the flames in the fireplace that had lowered and settled
into a slower, methodical burn.

“What are you doing here?” she accused.

“When you didn’t show at Alterra, I drove
over to your parent’s house. Your dad mentioned that you had gone
to the bookstore, but you came back empty-handed, which I know is
impossible for you. So you lied to them about seeing me. They said
you were headed back to Appleton. He gave me your address.” He
looked down at his feet, his eyes catching her scattered bag
against the wall.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Delaney?” he
pressed, his eyes penetrated hers.

“I’m fine,” she repeated, bending down to
gather her things, shoving them inside the bag. Her fingers refused
to loosen their grip on the knife. The sound of the zipper filled
the empty air.

“Really? That knife is making me
nervous.”

She looked down at her hand where her
knuckles were now white. Despite the burning feeling to trust no
one, she had almost just called James. It had been instinctual to
reach out to him, to spill every detail of the past few days. She
set it down on the console just inside the foyer. Her hand
throbbed. She turned around to see James staring back at her, his
eyes studying her face.

“Whatever you’ve got going on, Delaney, if
it’s more than your mom, I will leave it,” he said, inching closer
to her. He brushed a wave of her tear-moistened hair away from her
face and rested his hand on the nape of her neck. Her body
stiffened before it melted beneath the warmth of his soothing,
familiar hand.

“Maybe you should sit down,” he
suggested.

“I’m fine. Really.” Her voice shook,
entirely unconvincing.

“Delaney,” he whispered, moving closer to
her until his body pressed against hers.
Why is he doing
this?
Her body fell limp in his arms as he consoled her. She
buried her face in his chest, feeling the coolness from outside
still lingering on his jacket. She knew it wasn’t right, but her
body craved the comfort. The closeness of someone familiar. She
felt empty. Vulnerable. She inhaled, breathing in the same soothing
smell of James she had known ten years earlier. He brushed her
long, chocolate waves through his fingers and rested his lips
against the top of her head.

They stood embraced in the foyer when a
sudden crack from the fire jerked Delaney’s head back. Her eyes
moved to the red and orange flames flickering in the darkness of
the living room. She closed her eyes, backing away from James’s
arms that had just enveloped her.

Theron.

“I’m sorry, Delaney.” James shuffled his
feet backward and cleared his throat. He leaned against the wall,
his shoulders and upper back resting along the faded paint.

“I just can’t do this right now,” she
whispered under her breath. The flickers of the flames danced up
and down, casting shadows that bounced along the walls.

“I need to know that you’re okay,” he said,
pushing himself off the wall to stand in front of her. “Coming from
the guy that chased your car in his underwear down the middle of
the street.”

“What are you talking about?”

“California. I ran through the neighbor’s
yard, down the sidewalk, and onto the street, running after your
car. All in my underwear,” he said, smiling at the last words while
lifting up his arms as if he were about to take a bow.

“You did?” The details of seven years ago
seemed grossly irrelevant as her mind spun to the next three hours.
She had three hours to do what? Where were the instructions?

“Of course, I did.”

“I must have missed that,” she said, barely
hearing his words.

“Too bad. I’m sure it was a sight to see.
Delaney, I didn’t know you were coming. Mark told me a few weeks
later why you came. I had no idea. I thought you had written me
off.”

The crackling of the fire filled the silence
between them.
I can’t do this right now.

“Before I forget, your mom sent along
something to give to you. It’s in the car. I’ll be right back,”
James said, breaking the stillness between the two as he moved out
the front door. She opened her mouth to scream to James, but
nothing came out.

Theron, Ben, Mark, Ann, Michael…

Delaney snatched up her bag and the knife,
running to the back of the house. She scanned the bathroom and
spare bedroom before poking her head into her own bedroom. Her feet
stopped before entering the room. The yelp of a wounded dog came
from her lips, followed by the thud of the bag. She held the knife
out, flashing her eyes around the room before settling them back on
the pink staring back at her. It had been propped up on her bed, in
plain view, in watercolor. A pink mask sketched on the canvas.
Drops of red paint dripped from the mask into a red pool onto her
bed. Her brush lay next to the painting.
Gunnar? The man in the
fedora?

She lurched forward, pulling the canvas down
to face her bed. Breathless, she stood in the middle of the room,
knife held high. The sound of the front door opening and shutting
snapped her out of position.

“Delaney?” James called from down the
hall.

“I’ll be there in a second. Just wait,” she
yelled back. Her hands moved feverishly, wrapping up the canvas in
the blanket before shoving it underneath her bed. She slipped down
the hallway and back to the foyer where James stood half-bent in
the entryway, removing his shoes. Her hand slid the knife back on
the table in silence. She looked back to see him presenting a box
that fit neatly into the palm of his hand.

“This is from my mom?” she asked as she
reached out to run her fingers along the dark box adorned with
alternating lighter wood accents.

“She said you would know what it was.”

“I’ve never seen it before,” she replied,
taking it in her hands to feel the smooth wood against her skin and
the cool metal clasp that locked it shut. The small, golden clasp
swung open. She lifted the lid up, resting it on the matching
golden hinges in the back. Red velvet lining encased the inside,
cradling a silver ring in the center. She picked up the ring as she
felt a hardness in her chest, tracing the lettering along the
inside of the ring with her index finger.
Forever.

“It’s my mother’s wedding band,” she said,
placing it back in the box. The silver shone against the deep red
velvet surrounding it as she clasped the lid tight with a click.
Her mother had never taken the ring off. Until now.

“Delaney, I’m sorry. I had no idea. I…”
James sputtered as he reached out to Delaney, wrapping his arms
around her again as she lay her head on his chest. The pounding
reverberated through her mind. Her mother, lying like a small child
in the chair. The man in the fedora creeping through the night.
Theron’s bloody jacket turned to ashes in her fireplace. His life
in her hands. Her family’s lives in her hands. She looked down at
the red streaks still on her jacket. Releasing his grip, she peeled
off the jacket and turned to him.

“Why don’t you grab a seat in the living
room while I wash this bit of tomato off?” She nodded toward the
fire that had simmered to smoldering logs.

“Sure, I’ll throw some more wood on the
fire,” he suggested, turning to walk into the living room.

She opened her mouth to protest, but instead
formed a forced smile. “Go for it. I’ll be right there.”

Relax. The jacket’s gone.
She turned
and moved to the kitchen, her legs aching with each step until they
stopped at the sink. She let the hot water run until steam formed
around the steady stream. She grabbed a towel and ran a portion of
it under the scalding water, allowing her hands to burn for a
moment under the flow. Ann Jones had perfected that temperature.
She scrubbed with vigor, washing the streaks again and again, until
her fingers throbbed. Rinsing the washcloth, she wiped her fingers
raw. Exhausted, she wrung the cloth and leaned against the counter
to look out the window where a vision of Theron’s head bobbing down
the sidewalk was sketched into the landscape outside. She leaned
forward to yell, but before the words could leave her lips, he
disappeared from the sidewalk and out of her head.

“Ouch,” she yelled under her breath as she
pulled back her hands from the edge of the sink. The scalding water
splashed against the sink and onto her forearms, the specks burning
into her skin. She hit the faucet to stop the rush of water before
throwing the washcloth in the garbage on top of the empty box of
Chinese food.

Mark.
Her phone felt hard against her
leg. He would know what to do. How to help Theron. How to get her
out of this hell. But she couldn’t. Her eyes scanned the room,
double-checking the lock on the door in the kitchen. Not that it
mattered.

“Do you need some help?” James’s voice
called from the other room.

“No, I’m good,” she replied as she appeared
into the hallway. Lounged on the couch, James pushed his sleeves to
his elbows exposing his creamy toffee skin. Relaxed was the
furthest state of mind for her. He pointed to the TV with the
remote.

“Did you hear about this? There’s a crime
scene on your campus,” he said, staring at the news reporter
standing in front of Maloney Hall, the location of the Art
Department and Delaney’s office. The woman was bundled in winter
gear, her gloves holding a piece of paper that crinkled in the
wind. Two other reporters were in the shot behind her, reporting in
the distance to other stations, as police officers came in and out
of the screen to set up barricades.