chapter 14
326 Words
Day five.
Ryan left at six. Earlier than usual. One car.
Didn’t touch his coffee.
The envelope was gone from his jacket. I checked.
I cleaned the house. Twice.
No doorbell.
At four, I sat at the window.
Black car pulled into the driveway. Not Ryan’s.
Two men got out. Suits. Not police.
I went to the back door. Hand on the lock.
Knock. Hard. Front door.
"Mr. Volkov," one called. "We need a word."
I stayed quiet.
Phone rang. House phone. Never rang.
I let it ring.
Voicemail picked up. Ryan’s voice: "Leave a message."
Click.
The men talked low. I couldn’t hear.
Car doors shut. Engine started. They left.
I stayed by the back door another ten minutes.
Then I finished the baseboards.
Ryan came home at eight. Late.
His knuckles were scraped. Blood dried in the cuts.
He saw me look.
"Kitchen," he said.
I followed.
He opened the sink. Turned the water on.
Pulled the red wax envelope from his jacket. Still sealed.
Held it under the water. Paper soaked. Ink bled.
He flicked a lighter.
Touched flame to the corner.
The rose seal melted first. Then the rest.
He dropped it in the sink. Watched it burn to black.
Turned the water off when it was ash.
"You get any more deliveries," he said, "you don’t touch them. You call me."
"Okay."
"Not the house phone. Mine." He pulled a phone from his pocket. Old. Flip. Set it on the counter. "Speed dial one."
I nodded.
He looked at his hands. At the blood.
"Wash up," I said.
He met my eyes.
Then he went upstairs.
I ran the water. Washed the ash down the drain.
The sink was clean when he came back down.
Dinner was cold.
We ate anyway.
At nine, the locks clicked.
He checked them. I checked after.
Office light on. Door shut.
I lay in bed.
The flip phone was on my nightstand.
Speed dial one.
- Writer
