House of Steel (17 page)

“Yeah,” she replied with her eyes locked on
the screen.
The police.
The worn leather of the couch
squeaked as her jeans slid down next to James. She glanced at the
time listed on the bottom of the broadcast. 2:03 p.m.
Less than
three hours. It’s only been maybe ten minutes.

“It sounds like there’s going to be a press
conference soon with the Police Chief and President of the school.”
He turned to look at Delaney, sitting next to him, her body erect
and forward with her eyes glued to the screen. “Are you okay? Do
you know anything about it?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. A student’s missing. Male,”
she added, turning toward James’s imploring eyes. She was placating
him at the moment, but she knew it wouldn’t be long before it
changed. He knew
something
was wrong. It was obvious. She
placed her hand in his, feeling the comfort of his firm grip. She
couldn’t tell him. She couldn’t tell anyone. As much as she wanted
to push James out the door, she couldn’t, not now. But, Theron was
alive, and he needed help. Her silent cry muffled in her head.

“Looks like the conference is coming up,”
she nodded at the screen, releasing his hand. The camera panned the
room. The large boardroom had been a stop on the tour of Maloney
Hall June had given her in her first week. Her stomach dropped as
the camera flashed passed a man in a suit, a fedora in his hands,
leaned up against the wall among the reporters. Silver speckles
spotted his dark hair. He disappeared as the camera kept panning.
That was him.

She snatched the remote from his hands as
President Givens and a stocky, shorter man in a black police
uniform walked together to the podium. The screen flashed
“President Givens and Police Chief Sanchez” along the bottom of the
screen.

“Sorry,” she whispered to him, realizing it
too late.

“Good evening and welcome. We’re here to
provide you with the details of the last twenty-four hours that
have transpired at the University.” Sanchez cleared his throat.
“This morning, at approximately 7:45 a.m., a student of the
university was walking her dog when she came upon an unsettling
scene. She called law enforcement immediately to report her
findings. We have determined the area to be a crime scene according
to the blood spatter analysis. A student has also gone missing on
campus. We have reason to believe, although we can’t be certain,
that the blood belongs to Theron Olson, a twenty-one-year-old
student on campus. In collaboration with the university police, we
are conducting a search for both Mr. Olson and a potential suspect.
During this time, we ask that anyone come forward with details
relating to Mr. Olson and his last whereabouts or with details
regarding suspicious activity on campus. Thank you.” Sanchez
stopped, stepping aside to let the gray-haired President Givens
move forward in his suit to the podium. His eyes were glazed with
bluish circles set in his wrinkled face.

“We plead that all students, faculty and
staff remain calm and safe during this time. Although most of the
student population is away from campus for the break, we strongly
encourage anyone else remaining on campus or close to campus to
stay close to people you know. We are doing our best, with the help
of law enforcement, to find Mr. Olson and the perpetrator. A
command center will be established in the Union for any student who
has information or for any student seeking help. Police officials
and counselors will be available to anyone seeking help. Thank
you.” President Givens stepped aside as a picture of Theron flashed
on the screen.

Delaney felt the thud of her heart hitting
the floor. Theron’s eyes penetrated her as his brown hair flopped
in boyish curls around his forehead. His bright white smile curled
up in the corners.
So innocent.
He appeared so much younger
than what she remembered from her bedroom. He was a boy. His face
permeated the screen as she lurched forward with her hand on her
stomach. Bolting down the hallway, she found her way to the toilet,
dry-heaving into the bowl. She swung the door shut with her foot,
laying back down to rest her face against the coolness of the tile
when a light knock rapped on the door.

“Delaney, are you okay? Do you know him?”
James asked from the other side.

“Yeah, I’m fine, James. Maybe you need to
go.” She feared him leaving. She feared him staying.

“Oh, hell no, I’m not leaving now. Unless
you want me to get axed,” James joked.

Silence.

“Sorry, that slipped. Was he a student of
yours?” his voice softened.

“Yeah.” She sat back up, her head hanging
between her knees. A vibration buzzed against her leg and she shot
her hand into her pocket. The words filled the screen in a tight
bubble from the unknown number.

Police will call soon to question. Stay
calm. Tell them he asked you to be a reference for a job. Send
James to Mark. Wear the clothes in the bag in your bedroom – V.

Her breath quickened as she flashed back to
Sanchez and his hard face staring back at her from underneath his
police uniform. The messenger knew her number, knew her home
address, knew about the mask. He even knew about Mr. Rowan fourteen
years ago. Her eyes focused on the V. The moniker laughed in her
face as her mind sprawled. She moved her body onto her knees,
wincing at the pain before standing up to look at herself in the
mirror. Bloodshot eyes set into a puffy, almost indiscernible face
stared back at her. She looked like a deranged drug addict on a
bender.

“Give me a second,” she said through the
door. She pulled her hair up, wrapping it tight with a hair band.
She turned the handle, sending icy water through the pipes and out
of the faucet into her waiting hands. Daggers pierced into her skin
as she splashed it upward, washing away the salt that had dried on
her skin. She couldn’t let this happen. She wouldn’t let this
happen.
I am a Jones.

The sting permeated into the layers of skin
and traveled through her body, awakening her senses as she finished
and wiped her face. The mirrored reflection was slightly improved;
a woman with her hair pulled tight, a pink tone radiating from her
cheeks. She opened the top drawer to find a bottle of Visine, a
tube of mascara, and a container of lip gloss. She moved quick,
fixing herself to a minimal standard that would pass. Exhaling one
last time, she opened the door.

“Delaney? Delaney, I’m so sorry,” James
pleaded.

“It’s okay. He might be alive yet,” she
said, looking straight into his eyes. She had to do this.
He is
alive. If I do this right, I will save Theron, Ben, Mark, Ann,
Michael… “
I was thinking we should go to Mark’s place. He just
started a job up here a few weeks ago and lives in a corporate
apartment just a couple minutes away. Maybe we can catch an early
dinner?” she asked, the words clear and steady.

“Dinner, really? The Police Chief just said
we should stay in as much as we can. Weren’t you working on
something in the kitchen, anyway?” James asked, putting his hand
against the doorway.

“Not much, and I’m not really in the mood to
finish. It’s not like the homicidal maniac is going to take all
three of us down.” She smiled as she waited for his response.
Maybe he would.

“Okay, let’s do it. I’m not going to leave
you by yourself tonight anyway so we might as well grab dinner,”
James conceded. He had vulnerability with Delaney, and she knew
it.

“I’ll be right back. I’m going to change
real quick. Feel free to grab anything in the kitchen you can
find.” She turned, heading to the foyer to pick up her mother’s box
before moving down the hall into her bedroom. She closed the door
behind her, scanning the room for a bag. No bag. She ran to the
bathroom, her eyes running over the counter and floors. No bag.
Where the hell is it?

She moved backward into the bedroom and
stopped at the desk. The vibrant green color of the file cabinet
splashed against the wooden desk. She placed the box down before
sliding open the drawer. A black bag lay in the place of her
lingerie. Her bras and underwear were all gone. Wrapping her
fingers around the bag, she pulled it out, tearing it open to find
a pair of pink high heels, a black corset and pink jacket. She
closed her eyes thinking back to her mask. It was a reminder. He
was mocking her. With reluctance, she slid on the shoes and
switched out her sweatshirt, clasping the corset shut. Her breasts
pushed upward, overflowing the top. She slid on the jacket,
covering some of her breast exposure. The fit was snug against her
body.
He knows my size.

Turning back to the desk, she eyed the box’s
gold clasp shining in the light. She disappeared into the bathroom
to retrieve a silver chain. Her fingers pushed the clasp open,
revealing the ring. She picked it up and slid it onto the silver
chain. Moving to the mirror, she watched her reflection as she
raised the chain up to her neck, letting the metal fall to her
chest. The ring strengthened her, comforted her as she inhaled,
feeling the ring rise with her breath.
If Ann Jones can fight, I
can, too.

James cleared his throat as she walked out
of the bedroom and down the hall to him. “Pink heels, really?” he
asked with a smile.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, all things
considered,” she replied, trying to play her role with a certain
amount of normalcy. “I’ll call Mark.” She pulled the phone from her
pocket. Before she could start the call, her phone began ringing.
An unknown number.

“Hello?” she answered.

“Is this Delaney Jones?” a man’s voice
asked.

“Yes, it is.”
The Police Chief.

“This is Police Chief Sanchez with the
Appleton Police Department.”

“Yes?” She forced a reassuring look to
James, as if all was clear. That she hadn’t been an accessory to
murder. That she hadn’t slept with a student. That she wasn’t about
to be interrogated by the Police Chief. The text from her mystery
visitor had been right.

“I’m calling on behalf of the task force
designated to the case involving a student at Leighton University.
I assume you’ve been informed of the news of Mr. Olson since you
are a professor on campus?”

“Yes,” she replied, desperate to control her
voice.

“We would like you to come down to the
command center at the Union for a few questions. Time is of the
essence as we attempt to locate Mr. Olson. We can send a car
immediately to your whereabouts.” His last words hung through the
phone. The last thing she needed was a host of police officers at
her house.

“I will come myself, anything to help. I
don’t want my neighbors to question me. I’m sure you understand
seeing as this is a small town. I’m only a few blocks away,” she
replied.

“See you soon, Ms. Jones.” Click.

“Who the hell was that?” James asked, moving
toward her.

“Police Chief Sanchez. They are calling
professors from past semesters. They are grasping at straws trying
to find any kind of lead,” she lied as she turned and made her way
down the hall to grab her winter jacket.

“You’re not walking down there. I heard you
say it was only a few blocks. I’ll come with you.” James followed
her down the hall, scrambling to slip his shoes and jacket on in
the foyer.

“Do you mind just dropping me off?”

“What the hell is going on Delaney? I’ve
known you for a long time and something is definitely up. The
knife, the tears. You never cry. I know I haven’t seen you in a
long time, but this isn’t you.” James pulled her arm, turning her
body to face his.

“Jesus, James. I’m just worried about my
student. I want to help, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Then trust me.” Her own words rung in her
head.
Trust me.

“I will Delaney, but you owe me a better
explanation,” he added, letting go of her arm.

“I don’t owe you anything James,” she spat
back. She stopped herself from the anger that simmered inside.
Stay calm. You can deal with James later.
“Sorry, I’m just…”
she stammered, trying to cover her tracks.

“No, you’re right. You don’t owe me
anything. Let’s just start with a ride, okay?” he interrupted.

“Sounds good. I’ll call Mark on the way. He
can give you directions to his house after you drop me off.”

22

DAY 4:Sunday, December 21 – 2:15 p.m.

Theron lied motionless in the bed.
Unconscious. It was better this way, V reminded herself. His chest,
wrapped tight with white gauze, was blotched with red stains. The
IV pumped through his hand. She looked at the clock. 2:15 p.m. It
had been almost seven hours. He was stable, but not for long. The
shot of etorphine she had jabbed in his neck once they entered into
the back of the building would be wearing off. She had dragged him,
unconscious, up the flight of stairs with a strap used to haul
refrigerators and rolled him onto the cot she had bought used from
a friend that worked at Gold Cross Ambulance. She had stopped the
blood, sewing him shut the best she could, the needle shaking in
her hand as she threaded it in and out of his skin. She had
administered the antibiotics hypodermically, but he had lost so
much blood. The basic skills class hadn’t covered a machete
wound.

Sanchez better make this quick
, she
thought as she looked back at the press conference on her phone
screen. The Latino Police Chief wasn’t entirely unintelligent.
After all, he had searched Theron’s cell phone records and would be
calling Delaney in for questioning any minute. He would have
Delaney’s number but wouldn’t have the content of the messages. Not
yet anyway. As long as Delaney didn’t screw it up, it would be
fine. She switched over screens to the live feed where she could
see an empty, silent house. Delaney must have left. James had been
an unexpected surprise. Delaney Jones was turning out to be quite
the little whore.