I hope Jeff really is as good at investigating as he says he is because I’m at a dead-end.

I hear the unmistakable sound of a desk drawer opening and closing in the morgue and growl at the interruption.

“Alver. Get the fuck out of my morgue,” I shout, but when I peek out, there’s no one there again. I think I’m losing my mind for a moment and look around in confusion. Realization dawns and I sigh. “Jacob, I’ve had a really shitty day and I’m not in the mood for one of your pranks.”

I half expect him to pop out and say ‘gotcha’ when I jump, but nothing happens. “It’s not funny tonight.” Still nothing. “Fine, but I’m not playing these games. I’ve got work to do, so I’ll see you at home later.”

I inject as much mom-tone to my voice as I can, channeling Holly’s no-nonsense manner. Unlike Olive, Jacob doesn’t readily fall into line. Understandable since Olive’s five and Jacob’s eighteen, but I’m too exhausted to deal with him tonight. I spin on my heel and disappear into the refrigerator once more, hoping Jacob will slink away. I’ll apologize for my bitchy mood later, but for now, all I can manage is mopping and thinking.

I do three more passes, making it all the way to the door of the refrigerator when the hair on the back of my neck stands up and gooseflesh that has nothing to do with the cool room breaks out over my skin.

Before I can turn around to scold Jacob for scaring the shit out of me again, a train crashes into my skull. Sharp pain explodes in my head, stealing my vision and turning everything black with colorful sparkles.

I stumble, or I think I do, but my brain isn’t working any better than my feet. The floor is cold and wet against my cheek, unforgiving beneath my body. From far away, I hear a furious voice snarl, “You should’ve let it go. This is all your fault.”

Was that real or in my head?

I’m not sure, and it seems less important as I sink into the darkness.

Chapter 24

Blake

I leave the morgue after talking to Jeff, rushing straight to Zoey’s trailer. Like she said, if she’s not at work, she’s home, and vice versa. Sliding into the dirt driveway, I run up the stairs and bang on the door.

“Zoey? Let me in.”

No answer.

My heart climbs up in my throat, and I hit the door harder, using the side of my fist to make it louder. The door shakes in its frame. “C’mon, Zo. This is all one big misunderstanding.”

No answer.

I peek in the window, begging. “Please, Zoey. Let’s talk about this.”