Secrets, Lies, and Double Lives

Chapter 4: When to Run Away

Chapter 4: When to Run AwayIt feels like hours have passed before Zeke and Elijah move from the bathroom floor. Elijah feels emotionally drained, silent, and though the overdose effects are wearing off now, he’s still weak.

He’s decided that Zeke is not a threat to him. Given the patience he’s so compassionately shown by sitting with Elijah and comforting him through the realization of what had happened, he’s going to great lengths to build up his trust, so there is no way Elijah can imagine he’s the killer.

“I’m sorry.” Elijah finally speaks, his voice hoarse from screaming.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Zeke says. His voice is calm, polarizing Elijah’s.

“I’ve wasted a whole day of your time and broken things in your house.”

“There’s no right way to deal with what you’ve been through, trust me.” Zeke loosens his arms around Elijah but for a few moments, Elijah doesn’t pull away. He almost feels like Zeke’s embrace is the one thing keeping him from falling apart.

Elijah, reluctant to leave the one bit of comfort in what feels like a massive, lonely world right now, forces himself to stand up and step away from Zeke. “What were you going to do if you caught the guy?”

“Well, that depends on a lot of different factors and isn’t entirely up to me. Obviously, life in prison is the legal outcome if we handed him over.” Zeke pauses and Elijah sees darkness fall in his eyes before he continues. “But I know plenty of people feel like letting him live isn’t serving proper justice given his actions.”

“Are you a police officer?” Elijah asks to which Zeke scoffs. “FBI? Oh, my God you’re FBI, aren’t you?” Elijah almost feels excited at the thought.

Zeke smiles at him and shrugs.

“Come on, tell me. Don’t you think I deserve to at least know? It’d make me feel safer.”

“Trust me, you are safe. I’m trained to keep innocent people safe,” Zeke half-answers the question, leaving Elijah trying to think of any other job title Zeke could have. “Why don’t you clean yourself up? Does a warm shower sound good? I’ll find you some fresh clothes.” Zeke gestures at Elijah’s blood-stained clothes.

“Yeah, actually, that’d be great.” Elijah hadn’t taken the time to look at his clothes until now and he feels embarrassed that this guy had let him sleep in his bed while he was such a mess, not to mention he’d helped him up more than once, and just had his arms around him. The fact Zeke hasn’t been repulsed by him seems odd, given that his house is otherwise immaculate and clean.

“Okay, I’ll be right back with a towel and a bag for your hand.”

Elijah glances at his hand, only now realizing the wrist he’d punctured early is bandaged neatly.

Zeke leaves, returning only a moment later and passing the towel to Elijah. “I’ll leave some clothes on the bed for you. Take your time.” Zeke smiles, slipping a plastic bag over Elijah’s injured hand and taping it tight to his skin, then stepping out of the bathroom and closing the door.

Elijah turns to lock the door instinctively for privacy, noticing the lock has been removed.

He isn’t trusted here anymore.

The warm water feels amazing running over his skin. He takes his time and lets the water wash away the tear streaks on his cheeks and the dried blood on his hand. As he stands in the shower, he closes his eyes, wishing the water could wash away the horrible memories he has. After he helps himself to soap and shampoo, he sits down, allowing himself a few peaceful moments to cry. The words Zeke had said earlier had an impact. There is no right way to deal with this, and now that he feels safe for the first time, he lets the pain consume him without fear of being vulnerable.

He turns the shower off and gets out, wrapping the soft white towel around himself before opening the door a little and looking for Zeke. The room is empty, and the bedroom door closed, though again there’s no way to lock it. Elijah takes a deep breath, then moves back into the bathroom to retrieve something he’d noticed while on the floor with Zeke. Behind the toilet there’s a shard of glass the size of his fingernail that Zeke had missed in the clean-up. Elijah takes it and inspects the sharpness of the edges, then considers what to do next.

Elijah finds clothes neatly folded, sitting on the side of the bed he’d woken up on. He dresses himself quickly. Zeke’s clothes are a size or two too big, but Elijah doesn’t have much choice. He pulls the clothes on and hugs himself, then sits on the bed looking at the shard of glass, wondering where he can hide it just in case he needs it.

“Are you okay?” Zeke calls from the other side of the door, knocking gently.

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a sec,” Elijah says, surprised at how normal he feels in the least normal circumstance. He quickly stashes away the glass shard in one of his shoes, hoping he’ll remember before shoving his foot in it the next time he puts them on.

When he opens the door, he expects Zeke to be hanging around on the other side, like a guard, but he isn’t. Elijah looks up the hallway towards where he can hear the TV and the occasional clink of cooking utensils, then he looks at the front door, taking a few steps towards it as though drawn by curiosity. He reaches out to touch the handle but the ringing of a phone and footsteps startles him. Elijah is rushing up the hallway as Zeke passes from the kitchen to the living room. Under normal circumstances, he’d not be eavesdropping, but Elijah doesn’t feel any need to be particularly polite to this stranger. Saved his life or not, Elijah is in the house of someone he doesn’t know, and he doesn’t feel guilty taking advantage of an opportunity to know more about who he’s risking his life trusting.

“Hey, yeah sorry I’ve been sleeping all day. I know. I’ll be there for that. It’s okay, really, you don’t need to check on me. I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you, bye.” Zeke hangs up the phone. “How was your shower?” Zeke asks only slightly louder than he’d been on the phone, taking a step into the hallway and smiling at Elijah.

“I uh, it was good. I just got out,” Elijah lies, adjusting his clothes and avoiding Zeke’s eyes.

“Uh-huh.” Zeke rolls his eyes. “Well, just for future reference, I don’t talk about anything important over the phone. You never know who else might tap into the call. Oh, and I’ve made a few adjustments to the house to help me see things that might be going on around me so that and the fact I’ve studied body language and facial cues to know when people are lying…” Zeke doesn’t need to finish what he’s saying.

Elijah bites his lip and nods. “I’m sorry.”

Zeke smiles and crosses his arms. “No, you’re not.”

“You’re right. I’d be naïve to believe your side of things and let my guard down. I’m not sorry.” Elijah crosses his arms too, mirroring Zeke’s confident demeanor, which, judging by the smile he receives, amuses Zeke.

“I don’t blame you one bit. Now I’ve got dinner for you cooking. Should be done any minute,” he says as he glances at his watch. “I’m going to be just down the hall in the office. I’ll leave the door open, and you can sit in there with me if you feel the need. Whatever you are most comfortable with. I’ve got some stuff I need to do since I’ll be missing work for a while by the looks of things—”

“If I’m that much of an inconvenience, then I can leave. You don’t have to babysit me.”

“It’s not an inconvenience, and I’m not by any means babysitting you. I want to protect you, that’s all,” Zeke says, stepping past Elijah and walking into the kitchen with Elijah following right behind him. He opens every cupboard to show where everything is. “Make yourself at home.”

“Protect me from what exactly?” Elijah asks, much less interested in where the plates and cups are, and more focused on what danger he’s in.

“What do you think I’d want to protect you from, Eli?” Zeke shrugs, continuing his kitchen tour. Judging by the limited supplies in the pantry, he isn’t used to having guests here. Either that or he isn’t used to being home for meals himself.

“Yeah, but you said he doesn’t have a reason so won’t he be going for random people?” Elijah asks, tracing the scars on his hand from that morning, hissing at the pain on some of the deeper cuts, though it doesn’t stop him pressing against the pain.

“He knew you were in that house, so I don’t know what he’ll do. If his track record is anything to go by, he’s more than likely looking for you. He doesn’t like leaving jobs incomplete.” Zeke checks the oven and turns it off.

“Well, now, I’m terrified. Do you think he’ll find me here?” Elijah asks, again hugging himself for comfort.

“Sorry. I know you’ve been through a lot, but it’s like you were saying before about not wanting to be naïve and let your guard down. It’s better that I don’t sugarcoat the situation and have you put yourself in danger. It’s important that you understand the risks. You’ll be fine here, as long as you trust me,” Zeke says, plating the freezer meal lasagna and placing it on the table with a fork and a butter knife.

“Does this have meat in it?”

“It says vegetarian on the box.” Zeke pulls out the box of meals from the freezer and shows Elijah. “Anyway, I’ll be just down the hall. You wouldn’t believe how much paperwork I have to do. I signed up for the shooting bad guys, not the admin.”

“Is that going to be paperwork about saving me, or paperwork about my dead family that you’ve got to do?” Elijah asks in a bitter tone, not at all amused by Zeke’s comment.

Zeke’s smile disappears, and he licks his lips.

“Dead people might be so normal to you that you’re desensitized, but just like you didn’t sign up for the admin, I didn’t sign up to have my family killed.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. That was horrible of me…”

“Just go do whatever you need to do.” Elijah stares at the ground.

Zeke nods, leaving Elijah alone.

Elijah sinks into the chair at the table and stares at the food before him. No urge to eat despite the way his stomach is aching for food. He’d forgotten for a bit, but at the smell and sight of the food, he can’t deny how hungry he is. Looking at the clock on the wall in the kitchen, he licks his lips as he thinks back on what time he’d last eaten. He can’t remember it, his memories blurry of anything before arriving home, but it must have been a small lunch with his friends at school over thirty hours ago. His eyes drift back to the plate, and he picks up the fork. His body needs something. The last thing he can afford is to be any weaker right now. Just before the food touches his lips, another thought hits him. Why isn’t Zeke eating this, too? Elijah picks up the plate and carries it down the hallway to the office where Zeke is sitting at a computer, a frown on his face as he types.

“Everything okay?” he asks, not looking over at Elijah.

“Is this poisoned?” Elijah asks bluntly.

“I know it’s not some homemade masterpiece, but I live off frozen meals. I can make you something else if you want?” Zeke offers.

“So, you don’t want it?”

“No thanks, I already ate,” Zeke answers, then leans back in his chair and looks at Elijah. “Oh, you don’t mean it tastes like poison; you really think I poisoned it. I didn’t. I’ll have some to prove it to you if that puts your mind at ease.”

“Go for it.” Elijah steps forward with the plate, his eyes glancing at the neat piles of paperwork on Zeke’s desk. A page of shorthand writing that looks like a code of random letters and numbers is on top of the pile.

Zeke follows Elijah’s interested gaze. “Any idea what you are looking at?”

“No.” Elijah shrugs. “But I’m guessing that’s the point. People aren’t meant to be able to read it, right?”

Zeke sighs. “It’s a bit of a wild guess, but it’s the initials of the day, month, street and the victims in each attack. We don’t believe there is a connection, and we can’t guess his next one, but we’re just looking for any hint of a pattern or message. I don’t know, but I feel like there has to be something that leads him to choosing the victims.”

“Good luck with that. It looks like gibberish to me. Are those the dates of each murder?” Elijah asks.

“Yeah, what do you make of it?” Zeke asks, sitting back and watching Elijah.

Fury and disappointment fill Elijah. “The first one was like, fifteen years ago! How hasn’t he been caught by now?”

“All of them are so far spread apart, and so randomly done that the police aren’t that interested. He’s not a huge threat to them. I mean, over fifteen years, he’s made a total of seven attacks. One of them was a previous survivor, so it’s only six seemingly unrelated attacks over fifteen years. He’s almost not seen as a threat because he makes an attack, then goes off the radar for years at a time,” Zeke says, sounding equally disappointed.

“But you’ve kept track?” Elijah thinks back on how Zeke had joked about the paperwork before and compares it to the obvious disdain he’s shown in the moments when he’d brought up the police.

“And I won’t stop until he’s dead,” Zeke says, not a single hint of doubt in the statement’s delivery.

Elijah eyes him, not sure whether it’s reassuring to know this man is very willing to murder someone, but also feeling a surge of empowerment at the thought of revenge.

“See, not poisoned.” Zeke puts a fork full of food in his mouth, chewing.

“That’s what you think.” Elijah gives him a sly smile.

Zeke pauses mid chew and his face fills with regret.

“I’m joking,” Elijah relieves him of his fear and can’t help snickering at the dramatic relaxed sigh Zeke lets out. “Wow, I am entrusting my safety to someone gullible. That instills confidence.”

“Well, just like you, I don’t know you, and I don’t want to let my guard down. For all I know, you’re a closet psychopath. I mean, you have proven to be unpredictable so far.”

Elijah catches himself smiling and turns to leave the room, not sure how he’s able to feel so relaxed around Zeke when there’s so much, he doesn’t know about him. Part of him fears the trust that he’s rapidly building with Zeke. He would be stupid to trust anyone right now, especially someone that’s working so hard to gain it like this. Elijah isn’t the only one that is unpredictable. Neither of them knows truly what the other might be capable of yet.

Zeke comes up the hallway about an hour later, seeing Elijah sitting on the couch shivering.

“What’s up?” Zeke asks. His gaze follows along to what Elijah’s attention is locked on. The news is reporting on his family’s death showing pictures of his mom and dad’s wedding, then stating they were brutally murdered with multiple stab wounds each.

Zeke sits beside Elijah on the couch and places a hand on his shoulder to let him know he isn’t alone while the report plays out.

“Police believe their son Elijah had tried to fight the intruder but was overpowered. His body was found lying on the kitchen table with a broken neck,” the reporter states.

Zeke looks away, then bites his lip as he hears the reporter describe Elijah’s sister’s condition. “Found with multiple stab wounds and arms bound. It is believed she witnessed her parent’s deaths before trying to run away. The result of her struggle against the man was a broken neck, like her brother.”

The reporter finishes, changing shamelessly to another topic. This was the biggest tragedy in Elijah’s life, but for everyone else it was just an average day at work. Elijah turns his head slowly and looks at Zeke.

“What happened to her?” Elijah wipes the tears from his eyes. “Did he really make her watch them die?”

“Our educated guess is that she found them injured and ran from the room to get help. There was blooded handprints on the wall in the hallway, not her blood but the size would suggest it was your sister’s hand. He grabbed her by her dress and ripped it, but there’s no sign to suggest any s****l assault took place. She had a few superficial lacerations on her back and arms, indicative of the knife being in his hands and scratching her when she struggled in his grip. Judging by the injury to her face, it appears he just let her fall into the bath after her neck was broken. We think he tied her up after the fact to make it look worse for anyone who saw her,” Zeke says.

Elijah sucks in a deep breath, grateful for the truth and the professional description of her injuries. “Was she really unrecognizable?”

“I couldn’t let you see her. Her injuries weren’t a pleasant sight, and you already suffered enough seeing your parents.” Zeke moves closer to Elijah.

“You know how they said I was dead? Wouldn’t the police have seen that there were only three bodies there?”

“There were four bodies, Eli.” Zeke’s voice is solemn and dark as he looks down at his hands.

“How? Who else was in my house?”

“I told you we didn’t catch the guy. My colleague was very brave. He was stupid to be so brave, but he fought the killer off long enough for me to get you out of the house. He saved our lives,” Zeke pauses. “Unfortunately, he couldn’t save himself and I didn’t get back to him in time. The phone call earlier was to let me know his funeral will be tomorrow.”

“Your friend, what was his name?” Elijah asks, holding back another wave of tears, feeling as though he’d caused all this trouble and feeling bad that Zeke had been having to put up with his emotional outbursts, while he had his own grief to go through. “You must hate me for being there.”

“Henry. We weren’t exactly close, but he was a great guy, good at his job. He knew he wouldn’t be able to fight him alone, but he tried to anyway. I don’t blame you for anything that happened. It’s not your fault he died. Sometimes you have to know when to run away. Sometimes even we get it wrong,” Zeke replies.

Elijah notices the sense of emotional detachment Zeke is showing in the situation. Like he’d compartmentalized the death of someone he knew, to prioritize Elijah coping with his loss instead.

“I blame myself for it,” Elijah admits and covers his face with his hands. He can’t deal with this. Not a single part of it. It’s like every few hours he ends up back where he started. The grief cycle resetting, and it’d barely been a day. In this moment, his only thought was on what Zeke had just said.

He needs to run away. From Zeke and himself.