Hushed (2 page)

Sunday, September 21
^st

Richter Samuels would die more peacefully than Brody. Just carbon monoxide poisoning, too bad, so sad. Whenever someone found the source of the leak, they might wonder at it—except Richter’s house was one big hazard. Wires exposed, mail and newspapers piled high on the counters, mouse crap on the floor…and a convenient little gas stove. Archer was in and out as quickly as he could be; the smell alone made him dizzy.

Afterward, he hid in the yard behind the mobile home, wearing a turtleneck with the collar pulled up over his nose and mouth, the hood of his jacket fitted around his head. Keeping his face hidden, he crept to the window now and again to peek inside.

It took several hours, but his patience paid off and eventually Richter lay on his kitchen floor, unconscious. Another useless existence removed from society.

But unconscious didn’t equal dead. He needed to slip back inside, check for a pulse, and be quick about it before the gas made him pass out, too. He crept back around the house, picking through overgrown weeds and grass, knowing the door would still be unlocked when he reached it.

No sooner had he rounded the front than a set of headlights swept around the corner and he scrambled back, out of sight. Just someone passing through, right? Nothing to worry about.

Except the lights slowed and the car they belonged to pulled up in front of Richter’s house, lingered a few seconds, and turned off.

Shit.

Archer dared to peer around the corner of the building. From the car stepped a curly-haired, middle-aged woman, wearing some kind of waitressing uniform and hauling a basket of folded laundry. Richter’s mother, maybe? She trudged up the steps and let herself in, while Archer vanished to the back of the house again, away from the view of the street.

He needed to get out of there. Run to his car and leave. But he couldn’t, not until he knew that Richter was dead. Crouching outside of the window he’d watched from earlier, he listened. He heard the frantic calls from the woman in search of Richter, the startled shriek she let out when she found him on the kitchen floor. As much as he wanted to stretch up and peer in the window, he knew better. He’d have to rely on her shouts to tell him what he needed to know.

And she
was
loud. Muffled through the walls and glass, until she threw open the window. Archer shrank down, ready to bolt, but she was too busy talking to 911 on the phone to look down and see him. She stuttered and stumbled over her words while struggling to explain to the dispatcher what was going on.

“He’s dead, my son is dead! I just—no, I just found him and he’s…”

Archer closed his eyes. Forced himself to stay put.

“No, there’s no pulse, oh my God…”

Good enough. It had to be. If ambulances were on their way, he couldn’t risk staying there longer. This ended round four. Only Hector and Bobby remained.

As he slipped away into the cover of trees and darkness, a prickle of guilt gnawed at his insides. No mother should have to find her son dead, but…for as much as she’d screamed, he hadn’t heard tears. What kind of mother didn’t even cry when she found her child dead?

Of course, his mother wouldn’t have, either.

He was cold and tired by the time he got back into his car parked off the side of the road a mile away. All he wanted was a warm shower and an even warmer bed. On the passenger’s seat, his phone flashed.

Unread (7)

Well, someone was eager to get ahold of him. Archer exhaled. Nearly two in the morning. Was he really up for whatever drama Viv had going on now? Sometimes he wished he had the ability to shut her out and ignore her.

Vivian:
Hey are you home?
Sent: 10:45 p.m.

Vivian:
Call me please.
Sent: 10:50 p.m.

Vivian:
Archer call me please its important.
Sent: 11:34 p.m.

Vivian
: Where are you.
Sent: 12:45 p.m.

Vivian
: I need someone to talk to.
Sent: 12:47 p.m.

Vivian
: Kicked mick out. Afraid of being by myself.
Sent: 1:59 a.m.

Vivian
: I need you. Please.
Sent: 2:03 a.m.

The last message came through just as he slid out the keypad. He sighed.

Me:
Sorry, napping. On my way.
Sent: 2:05 a.m.

He tossed the phone to the seat. So much for sleep.

As he started the drive to Vivian’s place, he wondered what could’ve possibly happened to make her finally buckle down and kick Mickey’s sorry ass out. Not like he lived with her, but he may as well have. Low-life piece of crap had a pretty nice place of his own. The only reason it stayed some semblance of clean was because his mommy dearest paid for a maid to come once a month.

The phone blipped again before he even made it to the end of the street.

Vivian:
No you weren’t. I’m at your house.
Sent: 2:11 a.m.

A chill slithered up the back of his neck. At his place? How the hell had she gotten
in?
Sure, she stopped by unexpectedly sometimes, but he’d never given her a key. Archer stared at the screen until someone behind him at the light honked.

Okay, okay. Is there anything at the apartment she can’t see?
No. He was pretty good about keeping his place free of evidence. He wasn’t some sloppy serial killer picking prey off the streets at random. Didn’t bring them home. Didn’t have a murder weapon or whatever. It wasn’t like he
enjoyed
it and kept souvenirs. He
had
to do it.

The most he kept was a black folder with a worn, loose piece of paper tucked inside, a checklist of names and notes. Each name was crossed out as he got to it.
Jay Lee, Ronny Brown, Brody Hilton, Richter Samuels…
But that folder was practically glued to him. It went wherever he did.

His heart pounded the entire way home. He was careful, but what if he hadn’t been careful enough? What if she found something?

He parked in his assigned spot and jumped out of the car so quickly he damned near forgot his keys. He took the steps two at a time, shoved the door open— it wasn’t locked— and shut it behind him.

“Viv?” he shouted.

Light spilled into the hallway from his bedroom. Inside, Vivian had made herself at home on his bed, dressed in nothing but one of his t-shirts. She sat up when he entered, wrapping her arms around her legs. A mottled purple-and-blue bruise marred the right side of her face, making him forget why he was upset she was in his apartment. “Hey…”

Tension seared through him and made his clenched jaw ache. How much of a prick did Mickey have to be in order for Vivian to ditch him? Apparently, that bruise answered it. But she wasn’t crying, so Archer willed himself to relax. He pulled off his jacket, and she scooted over so he could sink down on the edge of the mattress.

“What did he do to you?”

Vivian gathered up his hand in her own, tangling their fingers together. “It’s nothing. Sorry, I probably worried you.”

He stared at her face. “Doesn’t look like nothing.”

“Okay, it’s something, but it’s not important now.” She sighed. “I broke it off with him. Told him I didn’t want to see him again. It’s not like this is even the first time he’s done it”—Vivian winced at the sharp look he shot her—”but…I don’t know, something about this time was different. I just decided I was done with it. With him.”

Because you’re free
, he wanted to tell her.
You’re free from Brody and everything he put you through. I freed you.
What would she say if she knew, he wondered. Would she be grateful? Throw her arms around him and thank him? Or would she call him a monster and run to the police? He didn’t know. Didn’t want to know.

“Good. I’ve told you before, you can do better.”

Viv looked down at their entwined fingers, absently rubbing the pad of her thumb across his knuckles. “I put in a request to have the locks changed on my apartment. I was wondering if I could stay here for a few days until it’s done.”

Oh, hell. Archer couldn’t think of a real reason to say no. He wouldn’t be killing anyone again anytime soon. He’d already knocked off two in one month; any more than that, in a town this size, and people would start to notice.

It was only a few days. He could handle that, couldn’t he? It was an opportunity to make sure Viv stayed away from Mick while getting to spend some one-on-one time with her.

And there was that whole irritating thing where he couldn’t say ‘no.’ He sighed.

“Yeah, sure. Take the bed and get some sleep. I can crash on the couch.” When he moved to get up, Vivian squeezed his hand. He looked back down, wondering—hoping, maybe—she’d just…tell him to sleep in the bed with her. Knowing it would be a bad idea if she did.

Her lower lip jutted out in a slight pout. “Why’d you tell me you were sleeping earlier? Where were you?”

Lies came easily to him, but he never liked lying to Vivian. “I went out earlier. Got a little wasted, slept it off in the car.” The answer didn’t seem to entirely satisfy her—she knew he wasn’t big on drinking—but she also had no reason to question him. He swallowed hard, tried swinging the spotlight back to her. “How did you get into my apartment?”

She had the grace to blush. “You keep your spare in the hide-a-key frog by the bushes.”

Something he had to stop doing, obviously. “Oh.”

Vivian released his hand. “Goodnight, Archer. Thanks.”

Archer waved his hand dismissively. He fetched a pillow, sheet, and spare blanket from his closet and shuffled to the living room. Sleeping on the couch was no big deal. He’d done it a million times before when crawling to his room seemed like too much effort.

He tossed his dirty pine-smelling clothing into the laundry before he draped a sheet over the couch to avoid sleeping directly on it, stripped down to his boxers, and collapsed onto the cushions.
3:34 a.m.
,
according to his phone. Classes started at nine. Maybe he’d stay home tomorrow and enjoy the silence. Or maybe he would finally add Mickey’s name to his list.

Monday, September 22
^nd

At 9:30, Archer’s alarm blared angrily from the bedroom. Seeing as it was set for 9:00, he could determine two things: he slept like a rock, and Vivian had left early.

There was a note next to the coffee maker, saying she had classes and needed to grab some things from her apartment. She would be at The Grove that night, then make her way home. Like she expected Mick not to show up to her favorite hangout spot? Cute. Archer wondered how long before she took him back.

Making it to his 9:00 a.m. class obviously wasn’t happening. Even though he could’ve gotten dressed and made the others, he didn’t bother. Instead, he cleaned up the apartment. Made the bed—well, remade it; Viv did it herself but not the way he liked. He washed the dishes and finished up some homework. Napped somewhere around lunchtime. The silence was blissful.

Until late afternoon, when the texts started coming in from Roxy, asking if he would be at The Grove.
Do I have a choice?
he texted back. She replied with a sad-face, and when he ignored it for awhile, a frowny face. Guess that meant no. Better to make an appearance and ensure Vivian wasn’t hanging around Mick anyway, he guessed.

The Grove sat along the boardwalk, its back deck overlooking the beach so the cool ocean air swept in and sent shivers up his spine. Vivian wasn’t there when he arrived.

Archer made himself comfortable in his usual seat near Roxy, feet kicked up on the table, soaking up the remaining rays of light. He could’ve fallen asleep like that. Might have, even, were the people around him not so damned loud. Occasionally making the mistake of trying to prod him into conversation to which he gave clipped responses. People his age, barely out of high school and into college. Thinking they were hot shit because of it. But the summer after graduation had done little to make any of them grow up.

There was a time when outings with friends had been a fun thing. Back in high school when it was just him, Vivian, and occasionally Roxy. Playing Scrabble and watching low-budget horror movies rented from the Family Video up the street. Sneaking into clubs with fake IDs that rarely worked.

Then graduation happened, and within a few short weeks of moving into their own places in preparation for college, Roxy and Vivian morphed into social butterflies who loved meeting new people and bringing them around. They made The Grove into their hangout spot. Along came Mickey and some of his friends. Then there was Jordy, Melissa. Others who came, others who went.

So when Jordy arrived and introduced someone new, it wasn’t a huge surprise. The surprising thing was that Archer already knew who it was.

“Guys, hey, this is Evan Bishop. He’s new in town; thought we could show him a good time.”

School-boy. Right. Archer purposely tried not to look in his direction, but Roxy jabbed him in the shoulder until he lifted his head and tipped down his sunglasses.

Evan, still in his stupid cargo shorts—at least he’d thought to wear a jacket—scanned the group. His eyes found Archer’s and lingered. Archer swore he could see a smile tugging at his mouth.

“That’s Roxy and Archer over there,” Jordy said. Evan shoved his hands into his pockets. That time, his lopsided smile was obvious.

“Archer and I have met.”

The way he said it made heat creep up into his face. “At school,” Archer muttered when everyone turned to look at him.

Roxy leaned in to murmur, “You met a gorgeous guy like that at our school and didn’t bring him around?”

Archer ignored her, nudging his sunglasses up and looking back out over the water.

For the next thirty minutes, he listened to everyone lavish their attention all over the New Guy. Archer learned that Evan was majoring in marine biology. “
Like swimming with dolphins and stuff?”
Melissa asked, while Evan gave a soft laugh and said,
“Uh, something like that, I guess.”

Evan was surprisingly quiet, despite how chatty he’d been the day Archer had met him. Shy around groups, maybe. Evan’s family lived an hour north, and he’d met Jordy in sociology.

Archer only learned all this because they were loud. Not because he was listening or anything. What did he care?

Eventually, Evan squirmed free from the girls’ prying questions. When he did, he took a seat in the chair Roxy had abandoned a while ago, slouching gracelessly forward with a sigh. Archer pretended his eyes weren’t following him from behind dark lenses. “Regretting it yet?”

Evan blinked at him. “Regretting what?”

“Letting Jordy talk you into showing up here. Didn’t look like you were enjoying yourself.” What a stupid observation, he thought. Why in the world would he initiate a conversation?
Good going, self.

A brief, warm laugh escaped Evan’s mouth. “I don’t mind. I was starting to think I’d be spending the semester with no one to hang out with.”

Haven University was a lot of things, but a place where making friends was difficult? Not really. “No roommates?”

“No. Just me.” His eyes dropped to his lap where his fingers picked at a loose thread on his shirt. “I have my own apartment at the Hillhurst complexes. I didn’t really want to live on campus.”

Hello, coincidence.
“Interesting.”

Evan glanced at him. “Why is that?”

Same complex. It wasn’t a big deal. Archer could’ve shrugged it off and not said anything, but—“I live there, too.”

His smile lit up his entire face. That’s what it was—not so much his mouth that Archer liked, but the way he looked when he smiled like that. Sincere and warm. “Really? What number?”

It really wasn’t Evan’s business where he lived, but Archer couldn’t think of a nice way to say it now that he’d let the information slip. “G205.” G-building, way in the back of the complex, second floor. Secluded and quiet, just what he liked.

“I’m in C102, but the office staff probably thinks I live in the pool.” His posture relaxed. The tension seemed to ease out of his shoulders for the first time since he arrived. “I haven’t had any visitors yet, though. You should stop by.”

There was something kind of depressing and lonely in that statement. Archer never had visitors, either. Well, not willingly, anyway. Only Vivian knew where he lived, and it had been an ongoing battle to get her to call before showing up. The last thing he needed or wanted were guests swinging by whenever they felt like it. So telling Evan where he lived? Not a brilliant idea.

But no one had ever given him an open invite to just
drop by
before. No one really hung out with Archer because they wanted to. He was just the guy who tagged along wherever Vivian went. Up until that point, he never really let it bother him.

Yet the idea of the girls vying for Evan’s attention and the guys wanting to take him out on the town didn’t sit right with him. Archer had seen him first. So what did he say without sounding overly eager or like a complete jackass? What was the right response?

“Yeah,” he said finally, avoiding Evan’s eyes. “We’ll see.”