Not What it Seems by Nicky James

Nineteen

River

Cyrus wasn’t out the door, and I wanted to go after him. I’d done everything wrong. Somehow I’d said the wrong thing, and he was hurt. The sad, kicked-puppy look in his eyes was burned into my retinas. I was trying to get his ass out of trouble. He didn’t need to bury himself deeper in this mess because of me. He’d put his career on the line already. Wasn’t that enough? It didn’t feel right to keep dragging him along on this impossible mission. I cared about Cyrus a whole lot more than I ever expected to. Was I freaking out? Yes, a little, but unlike our hookup in May, that wasn’t why I’d told him to go. I needed to be sure he didn’t get dragged any further into my mess.

I sat on the unmade bed. A bed where less than an hour ago I’d shared something with Cyrus I’d never experienced before. I should have said something then, but I didn’t know how to explain what was happening. What I was feeling.

“Dammit.”

I scrubbed my face. Where did I go from here? If Cyrus was successful, if the police listened, there was hope they would track down my father and end this.

But if the police didn’t listen, if they arrested Cyrus because they believed he was working with me…

“Then I don’t know how to fix it.”

I needed to find the man who called himself Justice Adams. But how?

I didn’t have access to Cyrus’s computer any longer. All I had was a half-remembered old address courtesy of a drug-fried brain.

I flipped on the news and watched to see if there were any more updates. I wanted to hear they were searching for a different man. That they’d gotten it wrong this whole time. It was too soon. Even if Cyrus had convinced the cops to change their minds, it would take time for the media to get caught up.

I sat for an hour, then I couldn’t be still anymore.

There wasn’t a whole lot I could do, but I had to do something. I had to try.

Before leaving the room, I used the phone to call the reception desk. When the woman answered, I asked if she could tell me the phone number of the person who’d rented the room. I lied and said Cyrus and I had been checking out, and he’d left already, but I’d found a few of his belongings. I needed to call him to let him know I had his stuff. She was gullible and rhymed off Cyrus’s number without a hitch.

Next, I called Cyrus’s phone. It rang and rang and rang. Was he in with the police? It kicked over to voice mail, and I clammed up, unsure what to say.

“Hey. It’s me. I just…” My throat clogged. I cleared it with a cough. “I just wanted to… You ran off and didn’t let me explain. I’m not sure how to say this. I’m not sure if you want to hear it. I like you.” My heart bruised my ribs. “A lot. I… there’s more there, Cy. Between us. I know you probably don’t believe me. It’s kinda new for me. You’re more than a fling, okay. You’re more than a one-night stand. I… I don’t know what can happen considering… well, you know. I’m not even sure I’m the best person for you, but I swear I will never treat you like that punk-ass ex of yours. You’re pretty fucking amazing. I know you don’t see it, but I want to spend time showing you how great you are. You have a really big heart, and it deserves to be taken care of. Not abused. If this stuff works out… If… Maybe we could…” I sighed. “I’m going to find him. I’m going to hunt him down, and he’s going to pay for what he’s done to me. What he’s done to those girls. Anyway, I’m leaving the hotel. If you get this message, I’m going to the old neighborhood to bang on doors until someone gives me answers. I know the risks, but I have to find out where he went.” I fumbled, unsure how to say goodbye. “So, um… be safe. I… Thank you for all you did.”

I hung up with a groan. None of it had come out how I wanted. I’d sounded like a blubbering fool.

I considered calling him back, leaving a second message, but I knew it wouldn’t be any better than the first.

Unlike Cyrus, I didn’t have any belongings to collect. I fixed the stolen ball cap onto my head and headed out. I had no disguise, no means of transportation, and no money since I’d given it all to Cyrus. If someone saw and recognized me, I was screwed.

I walked, chin down, hat pulled low, to the busiest bus stop I could find. It would take hours to walk since Justice Adams’s old neighborhood was across the city in the wealthier part of town.

In under five minutes, I managed to bum some change, enough to take the bus. No one looked at me twice. They were all too busy on their phones or staring down the road, waiting for the next bus.

By the time I arrived, the sun was low on the horizon. Being midsummer, it would be hours yet before it set. That was an issue. If I was going door to door, seeking a neighbor who might know my father’s new address, it would have been better if they couldn’t make out too many facial features and match me to the guy on TV.

I didn’t want to wait. Time was not on my side.

My plan was simple and honest. I wondered if Cyrus would appreciate that.

The neighborhood was a ritzy, upper-class subdivision. The houses were spaced apart, monstrous and set back off the road. Most of the gardens and lawns were landscaped to precision. The cars in the driveways reflected wealth. For a brief moment, a seed of anger grew in my gut. If this was where my father had lived for all those years while I’d been growing up in random foster homes, I could hardly begrudge my mother blackmailing him. She might have used all the money on drugs, but the man could have made a tiny effort with me. He could have ensured I had a better life, but he hadn’t. I was nothing to him.

When I got to the street number my mother’s boyfriend Tim had scribbled on the notepaper, I stared, craning my neck at the two-story, white brick home with pillars and an arched entryway, big windows, and rock gardens in full bloom. There were two cars in the driveway—a BMW and a Lexus.

I scanned the street in both directions. Based on the position of the sun, I thought it must be close to seven. It would be dark in two hours. I should wait. Darkness would be better.

I strolled up and down the street, checking out the neighborhood. Every house was equally extravagant, and I thought about the families who lived inside. Who needed this much space? Even if they had three or more children, I bet they still all got their own rooms. I’d never had that luxury until I’d moved out on my own.

When I reached the end of the block, I turned around and headed back.

Where was Cyrus right now?

Had he listened to my message?

Was he dissecting every word? Knowing him, he was probably processing and analyzing it to death. Did he doubt my honesty?

How far had he gotten with the police?

If I found answers, should I phone and update him?

I paced the block once more, bouncing on my toes.

“Screw it.” I couldn’t wait any longer and headed to the front door of my father’s old house, praying the occupants wouldn’t recognize me.

There was a bell, so I rang it a few times before knocking. It took a while before someone answered. A tall, middle-aged woman with warm brown skin and shimmering dark eyes opened the door. Her black hair was long and braided, hanging over her shoulder, and she wore a red bindi on her forehead. A cool blast of air-conditioned air smacked me in the face, along with the rich scent of spices wafting from a kitchen.

My stomach growled. It had been hours since I’d eaten.

“May I help you?”

I kept my head tilted in such a way as to keep my face in shadows. “Sorry to bother you. I’m… looking for my dad. I was told he used to live here, but I don’t have his new address. I was wondering if you might, by chance, know where he moved to?”

Uncertainty flashed in her eyes. She didn’t speak for a long minute. “Um… Hang on. My husband might be able to help you. We had their new address in case we had to forward mail, but it never came up. I’m not sure if he kept it or not.” She held up a finger and turned to shout over her shoulder. “Malik.” Then she spoke in a different language. I hoped she wasn’t saying, Call the police. The man from the news is here.

She didn’t invite me in, so we both stood awkwardly at the door while we waited for her husband to arrive. I shuffled, keeping my hands in my pockets and my head angled so the fading sunlight wouldn’t illuminate my face.

Malik was tall with the same warm skin tone as his wife and deep-set eyes. His raven hair was thick and cut short. He had the rough impression of a five o’clock shadow covering his neck and shapely jaw. Malik didn’t look pleased to find a stranger on his doorstep. He studied me for a long moment, unsmiling before his wife explained my purpose—or so I assumed. Once again, she didn’t speak English.

If they dug deeper, questioned my purpose even a tiny bit, I was screwed. I couldn’t tell them my father’s name or even describe what he looked like, short of taking off my ball cap and striking a pose since my mother had been so adamant I’d inherited his looks.

“You’re looking for your father?” Malik asked. He had a thick accent which made him hard to understand, unlike his wife, who spoke flawless English.

“Yes, sir. I was told he used to live here but moved about six months ago. Any chance you have his new address? Please. I would be so grateful.”

Malik held my gaze. It was intimidating, and in the end, I stared at my shoes, shifting my weight.

“Yes. I think so. I have to find it. Wait outside.” He closed the door in my face. The moment it shut, a whirlwind of high-intensity conversation erupted from behind the door.

I got the impression this was going south. Like Malik was ten seconds from calling the police. Like maybe I should get the fuck out of there pronto.

I wavered. If I walked away, I might never find the man who called himself Justice Adams. The man who had contributed to my birth. The man who was potentially responsible for my demise. I would eventually be caught and spend my life in prison.

I stayed. This was my last resort.

It dawned on me that these people would know his name, but asking would be odd. It might make them suspicious.

The loud voices grew quiet. Time expanded.

They weren’t coming back.

Malik had decided I was trouble, and he wasn’t going to honor my request.

“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, scanning the street for the hundredth time.

I cocked an ear, listening and waiting to hear a police siren.

All was silent.

With a sigh, I turned to go. I was on the sidewalk when the door opened. Malik shouted from the stoop. “You want this address or no?”

Shocked he’d returned, I spun on my heels and skipped back up the stone path to the front door. “Please. Thank you so much. I appreciate it.”

He held out a small, folded piece of paper, his expression set in the same hostile glare. There was no trust in his eyes. I took the paper, glanced at the writing, and bowed my head in gratitude.

“Thank you. I’m so sorry to have bothered you.”

“Don’t knock on my door again. Go. Don’t come back.”

“I won’t. Thank you.”

I backed my way down the path toward the sidewalk. Malik watched my retreat. In the front window, his wife peeked around a curtain. Malik didn’t return inside until I was down the block and far away.

Once the house was out of sight, I stopped and studied the address. The street name wasn’t familiar, but London was big enough it didn’t surprise me. My next step was figuring out where the house was and how to get there without the help of a phone.

I walked several blocks until I left the ritzy subdivision behind. On a main thoroughfare with six lanes of traffic zipping by in both directions, I approached a group of older teens at a bus stop. They were smoking and laughing, shoving each other around. I tugged my hat low and sauntered over like I belonged there.

“Hey, man, can I bum a smoke?” I asked the kid closest to me.

It was the easiest way to wheedle my way into their group and strike up a conversation. They were young enough I hoped they didn’t follow the news too closely. At their age, I couldn’t have cared less about the shit going on in the world.

The kid I’d asked sized me up. He had chin-length light brown hair. Deciding I was okay, he plucked a cigarette from a pack and handed it over. I wasn’t a smoker, but I grabbed it and thanked him when he held out a lighter with the flame flickering so I could light it.

It took an effort to look natural and not hack up a lung. Once I’d taken a few hauls, not inhaling, I held out the paper Malik had given me. “Can I ask a favor? Any chance one of you guys could look up this address for me? I busted my phone, and I’m trying to get to a buddy’s house.”

“Yeah, man. No problem,” said the guy who’d given me the cigarette. He tossed his hair off his face with a flick of his head and took the paper.

His friends continued to chat about an upcoming party they wanted to attend.

The kid pulled his phone out and, letting his cigarette dangle from his lips, he punched the address into the search bar. When he turned his phone to me, I studied the map that had come up, showing the most direct route.

“Not too far,” he said.

He was right. My father had moved from one fancy neighborhood to one adjacent. On foot, it would take me about twenty or so minutes to get there.

“Perfect. Thank you, man.”

“No problem.” He took a drag off his cigarette and was about to turn to his friends when I stopped him.

“Hey, um… could I make a quick call? I won’t be long. Just wanna let my buddy know I’m running late.”

The guy shrugged and handed me his phone. “Yeah, whatever. Knock yourself out.”

He turned to his group and joined their conversation as I tapped Cyrus’s number into the phone. It rang and rang and rang.

“Come on. Pick up, pick up, pick up.”

He wouldn’t recognize the number, so I wasn’t surprised when it kicked over to voice mail. I turned my back on the teens and kept my message short and sweet.

“Hey, it’s me. I found him. I have an address.” I rhymed it off. “Tell the police if you can. I’m going to confront him. I know it isn’t safe. I know I shouldn’t, but I don’t have a choice. I’ll be careful. I promise. I… I hope we can talk again. I meant what I said before. All right, I gotta go.”

I hung up and blew out a ragged breath. Time to move.

Returning the helpful guy’s phone and thanking him again, I waved at his friends and took off down the road. Only as I cleared an intersection a few blocks away did my body release a flood of adrenaline. This was it. I was about to confront my father. Things might get ugly fast, but I was ready.

He’d turned my life upside down. None of this was my fault, and I had a lot of questions for that fuck. I deserved answers.

I got turned around, so it took me longer than I anticipated to find his neighborhood, but in a little under forty minutes, I was staring at a house on the same scale as the one I’d been to previously.

The hair along my arms was damp with sweat. It was muggy and unbearable, even at this time of day. Jogging around for hours on end wasn’t helping. I was thirsty, tired, and starving.

None of it mattered.

The two-story red brick house sat far back off the road with shrubs and gardens in front of a huge bay window. There was a two-car garage, a multipeaked roofline, and decorative ornaments on the wide front porch. Solar lighting lined the garden beds and the path leading to the front door. The curtains were drawn on all the windows, but light shone from beyond. Someone was home.

My heart bruised my ribs as I stood a long time, absorbing the sight, deciding how I would approach the situation. Would I know him to see him? Would it be like looking into a mirror to my future?

I had so many questions.

Before approaching the front door and knocking, I slinked around back, intending to survey the rear of the house to see if I could get a look inside. All the windows in the back were covered as well.

The backyard stretched far and was protected on all sides by a high wooden privacy fence. There were more gardens, a patio area, and expensive lawn furniture. A hammock swung between two giant maples. The barbecue was the kind with all the bells and whistles.

I didn’t want a neighbor to catch me rooting around in the back and call the police, so I returned to the front yard.

Nothing else to do but knock.

I didn’t have a weapon.

I didn’t have a plan.

Hell, maybe my father wasn’t home. Maybe he was out slaughtering more innocent girls. Maybe I would come face-to-face with his unsuspecting wife. That would be awkward. Hi, ma’am, I’m your husband’s son. Yeah, you heard me right. May I come in?

I blew out a breath and punched the doorbell once before knocking.

There was no answer.

I knocked again and poked the doorbell over and over, listening to it chime inside.

Still nothing.

There was no car in the driveway, but that didn’t mean the occupants weren’t parked in the garage. I debated what to do. My life hinged on getting answers from the man who supposedly lived at this address. Without thinking twice, I tried the doorknob. It turned. I hadn’t expected that.

With a small shove, the door swung open an inch, light and cool air spilling from inside. A thick carpet lined the front entryway, providing resistance against the bottom edge of the door.

I listened.

Silence.

Well, technically, this was my father’s home. Didn’t that make it mine too?

Poor logic. I knew that.

Disregarding the idea that I was breaking and entering, I pushed the door open a few more inches, poking my head inside.

“Hello?” I spoke loud enough my voice would travel. “Anyone home?”

No answer.

“Oh, Father dearest, I’ve come to pay you a visit.”

Nothing.

I stepped inside, shutting the door behind me.

Something was off.

There was a stillness in the air that made my skin tingle. My senses were on alert. The lights were bright, and I squinted into the room adjacent to the front hallway. It was a formal sitting room with gleaming white leather furniture and polished mahogany shelving all around that held an abundance of costly decorations and trinkets. Framed art covered the walls, abstract smears of pastel pinks and yellows and blues. Someone had an obsession with china dolls. They filled two shelves, all their lifelike eyes staring at me from their perch.

“Creepy,” I breathed, scanning the open floor plan as I stepped into the room.

My nose twitched. There was a scent lingering in the air that the floral air freshener I’d noticed in the hallway wasn’t masking. Like garbage or spoiled meat. Something rotten.

I didn’t call out again, but I wandered deeper into the house, listening for any sounds I wasn’t alone.

I found a kitchen near the back of the house with pristine countertops, glass-fronted cupboards, and a granite-topped island with leather padded stools along one side. I circled it, panning left and right until I was on the other side. My heart stopped at the multiple large bottles of bleach lining the floor by a pantry. I nudged one with my shoe. It was full. I nudged another. Full.

They were all full.

My mouth dried, my saliva glands refusing to produce spit.

There was a door that led to a basement, a hallway off to one side of the house with three closed doors, another hallway that led to a different area, and a stairwell that went to the second floor.

Toucan Sam was in my head telling me to follow my nose. The putrid smell was worse in the kitchen, but it wasn’t where it originated. It wasn’t a familiar scent, yet my brain seemed to register what it was without any previous knowledge. Pushing the thought to the back of my mind, refusing to acknowledge it for what it was, I pressed on.

I wandered down the hallway to my right. When the floorboards creaked under my weight, I froze and listened, anticipating someone would pop out at any second and aim a gun at my head. The eerily silent response was enough to make my blood turn to ice.

The first door I came upon opened into a study. It was dark inside. I flicked on the light and scanned. An antique wooden desk sat under the window with a computer and several stacks of papers and folders spread over its surface. Built-in shelving units lined two walls. Books and framed photographs decorated them. I wandered into the room, scanning. Approaching a bookshelf, I picked up a photograph and stared at the smiling family in the frame, my insides turning to liquid.

There was no doubt I’d found my father. The man in the picture was both a stranger and all too familiar. He was younger than the man I expected to find, but I assumed the picture had been taken many years ago. We shared the same dark hair—his heavily laced with silver—the same sharp jawline, deep-set eyes, and aquiline nose. Our builds were similar. Even our smiles were alike. A curl of anger grew in my gut. Why had he done this to me? Where was he now?

“I’ll find you, you fuck.”

After looking my fill at the man who was my father, my gaze went to the other two people in the picture with him. A woman of average height with dark hair and an hourglass frame grinned back at me. Beside her, a young man had an arm draped over her shoulder. He shared many similar features with the man and the woman. Their child. A brother. I had a half brother. My mother had said as much, but it didn’t compute until this moment.

I set the picture down and picked up another and another. Same people. Some were just of the kid. Others were of the wife. There were a few more with all three of them. I abandoned them and moved to the desk. Someone had forced a lower drawer open. The wood was splintered, and the contents were a mess, spilling out onto the floor.

Unsettled, I picked through the papers. Nothing of interest caught my eye. I returned to the bookshelf and skimmed a few more family portraits. A queasiness grew in my belly. I didn’t want to see any more of this fake happy family.

Leaving the office, I closed the door behind me.

The second door down the hall was a bathroom, pristine and tidy, nothing out of place. I moved on.

When I reached the third door at the end of the hall, I paused. I had to hold my shirt to my nose. The smell was worse. I’d located the source. It was behind the door, and I had the sick feeling it was not something I wanted to see.

I braced for the worst and turned the knob.

A wretched wall of decomposition hit me in the face, and I gagged. The lights were on, so there was no need to scramble for a switch. The grisly scene inside the room was one I would see in my nightmares for years to come. My stomach roiled, and bile climbed my throat.

“Fuck me.” I stepped into the room when I should have been running away.

The woman from the photographs in the office, my father’s wife, stared back at me with wide sightless eyes. Her neck had been opened from ear to ear. She was tied to a chair, arms and legs bound with plastic ties. Duct tape covered her mouth, so no one would have heard her scream for help. The pool of blood surrounding her was long ago congealed. Her clothing was soaked with it.

I gagged again and had to breathe through my mouth so I wouldn’t throw up.

It took staring at her lifeless body for me to make the connection. I didn’t know how I knew or why, but I had no doubt in my mind. The woman whose name I didn’t know, the woman from the photographs, my father’s wife, was the same woman who’d taunted me in the alley over and over again. I would have bet money on it.

But if that was the case, why was she dead?

As my brain whirred, trying to make sense of it all and put the pieces together in the right order, I registered movement behind me.