Tomorrow Is Never Promised

Chapter 7 Part 2

Oliver

Ethan washed his hands in the kitchen sink while I popped the meatloaf I had prepared while he was working on my car. It’s kind of a shame really, the site of him covered in car grease was actually kind of doing something to my insides. How primitive of me.

Bad Oliver, bad.

What was even better was watching him struggle adorably with my car. I knew he didn’t really know full well what he was doing, but I found the fact that he really wanted to try kind of endearing, and I should not be thinking about my partner as endearing or attractive or sexy-

“Should I be concerned that you already had dinner prepped before you asked me if I wanted to stay for dinner?” Ethan gave me a mischievous grin before drying his hands.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I was making this for myself.”

Lie.

Ethan doesn’t seem convinced, crossing his arms and leaning against the island, c*****g an eyebrow at me. He had managed to get most of the grease off his arms and hands, except for one little smudge on his cheek. How the hell he got it on his face I have no idea. I grabbed a rag and wetted the corner, taking a step towards him. His legs parted almost instinctively as I stepped between them.

“Here, you got-” I moved the rag towards his face and started wiping the smudge away. He never broke eye contact with me, just stared at me with those emerald green eyes which a sense of, longing? No that can’t be it. Contempt?

He audibly swallowed, his adams apple bobbing with the motion. There seemed to be this electric, almost intensifying reaction between us. My brain was telling me that I needed to step away, that this was dangerous territory. But for some reason I didn’t want to.

“Boiling.” His voice was gravely as he spoke.

“Yeah.” Boiling? What the hell does that mean?

He huffed in amusement. “No, the pot on the stove. It’s boiling.”

I whipped my head around to see the pot housing the potatoes I was boiling beginning to overflow, the burner making a hiss sound as the water touched it’s hot surface.

I stepped away and removed the pot from the burner, carrying it over to the sink so I could drain it. At least the steam would hide my embarrassment.

I made quick work of mashing the potatoes, adding some garlic, and then some butter. When the oven began beeping, signaling the meatloaf was ready I went to abandon my station but Ethan put a hand out.

“I got it.” He gave me a crooked grin as he grabbed an oven mitt and withdrew the loaf from the oven, sitting it down on a hot plate next to the oven.

Before too long we were sitting at the small circular table just off the kitchen. I had poured myself a glass wine and offered some to Ethan, who politely refused and instead got up and retrieved a glass of water. Interesting, he refused a beer earlier too when he was working on my car. Maybe he just didn’t like drinking alcohol. Nevertheless it was another thing that I added to the list of things that interested me about Ethan.

I began digging into my food almost immediately, Ethan however closed his eyes and bowed his head slightly. Was he praying? He stayed like that for a couple of seconds, then drew a cross across his chest, and then looked up at me.

“What?” He had a quizzical look on his face.

Was I staring? s**t.

“Nothing.” I shook my head and busied myself with my plate.

“You’re not gonna give me s**t about praying, and how God can’t hear us because he’s not really there?”

Jesus, do I really sound like that?

I shook my head again. “No,” I stab a piece of meatloaf with my fork. “I was actually going to ask you what you pray about.”

He considered that for a second. Probably wondering if I was serious or not. I mean I did make it abundantly clear what my stance on religion was when we first met. But I found all of him so intriguing that I genuinely wanted to know.

“No ones actually asked me that before.”

“Oh, sorry. Is it rude to-“

“No, no it’s not,” He cut me off reassuringly. “Umm, well honestly I ask him to watch over my sister and,” His cheeks went a little pink. “To give my mom a message for me.”

I felt something tug at my heart a little at that last part. Him and his mom must have been really close, judging by what little I’ve heard about his dad I’m assuming there’s not much of a relationship there.

Ethan a took a bite of meatloaf and closed his eyes, a low grumbly moan escaping from his chest that really he had no business making. My c**k took immediate notice to it however, and I wasn’t going to lie, I wanted to figure out anyway to get that sound to come out of him again.

“This is so good. I haven’t had a good meatloaf in ages.”

I blushed at the compliment, dipping my head to hide it from him. “It was actually my dad’s recipe. He was a wizard in the kitchen.”

“No doubt where you got your skills from.”

“Kiss ass.”

Ethan snorted into his glass before taking a drink. “All I’m saying is that if your dinner is this good every night then I may just have to fix your car everyday.”

“Then who would solve Portland’s numerous homicides?” I questioned.

He looked at me thoughtfully. “Hm, good point.”

I chuckled at that and before I knew it we were falling into easy conversation. Me telling him about the time my friends I decided it would be a good idea to go kayaking in the Chicago river on St. Patricks day, even though we were freezing cold and a little tipsy. And him regaling me on funny stories of when him and his buddies would prank each other in police academy. Before I knew it we were sitting on the couch, facing each other. His arm over the back, and me resting my elbow on the back with my head resting lazily in my hand. I was on my second glass of wine, him politely refusing any. I was at the point where I was giggly and happy, the alcohol slowly lowering my inhibitions slightly.

“So why homicide?” I was really intrigued as to what would drive someone to go into a field such as that.

“My old man was a cop, his father was a cop, it made sense.”

I snorted. “That’s it?”

He gave me an incredulous look before huffing in amusement. “Okay, tell me this then. Why criminal psychology?”

I though on that question for a second. Should I tell him the truth? That surviving my parents killer sent me on some weird journey into figuring out the twisted minds of ruthless criminals?

“Couldn’t cut it in medicine.” I replied jokingly.

“C’mon, I doubt that.” He argued.

I clicked my tongue and gave a deep sigh. “I guess after my parents were murdered I wanted to just-I don’t know-figure out what could bring someone to do something like that. The more and more that I studied criminology and their psyche it just kind of became my thing I guess.”

“Understanding the mind of a killer, I can understand that.” He nodded in agreement.

“I don’t know. Criminals were always easier for me to understand then normal everyday people. Criminals you know why they do bad things and hurt people. Ordinary people,” I shrugged slightly. “You don’t really know why.”

Ethan nodded his head empathetically before taking another drink of his wine. “I think the whole reason deep down I became a homicide detective was so I could give a voice to the victims, bring them justice. I think that’s why I worked on so many cold cases back in Boston, hardly anyone wanted to deal with them but they were people that needed help. Even though they were gone, ya know?”

I nodded in understanding. There was a kind of comfortability when talking to Ethan, or maybe that was the wine talking. Whatever it was, I started to consider why I was so hesitant to being more than just work colleagues. Maybe friends wouldn’t be so bad. Who am I kidding, I could never just be friends with him.

“I should probably go.” He downed the rest of his water and stood up, me following suit. I wished he didn’t have to go, I was actually enjoying talking to him. He went to step around me, more than likely going to the kitchen to dispose of his glass.

“Oh, I got it.” Holding my hand out for his glass.

He handed it over, our fingertips brushing slightly and electricity sparking between them. Would it be crazy to kiss him right now?

That was definitely the wine talking. Damn my low tolerance.

I walked him to my front door and opened it for him, partially using it as a shield between the two of us before I did something stupid.

He paused on the porch and turned around slightly. “Thanks for dinner.”

“Thanks for fixing my car.” I pointed out.

There was a slow silence as he stood on the porch, both of us looking at each other, words being exchanged but neither one of us speaking up.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Oliver.” His tone was husky.

“See you tomorrow.” I responded just above a whisper.

With that he turned around and I watched as he jogged down the porch steps and down the walk towards his car parked in the street. I shut the door and leaned against it, pounding the back of my head lightly against its sturdy surface. It was a good thing that he left when he did. If he wouldn’t have, I probably would have done something very stupid.

I locked the door and began heading upstairs when my cellphone began to ring. I paused halfway up and looked at the clock on the wall frowning. Who would be calling eleven pm? I almost considered not answering it, but it could be work. With that in mind and I crossed the living room and picked up my phone. The caller ID said unknown number. It definitely wasn’t the station.

I hit ignore and put it on the charger next to the couch not thinking anything of it. I was beginning to walk away when it started ringing again. The hairs on the back of my neck began standing up as I picked up my phone and saw unknown number on the caller ID. Going against my better judgement I answered the call.

“Hello?”

“Hello?” The voice on the other end was one that I didn’t recognize. It was a man’s voice for sure, but it was flat and deep, almost fake in nature.

“Who is this?” I asked.

“Who do you think it is?” The voice responded.

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, ha-ha, very funny. You know that prank calls are a crime right?” I had no idea about that, but it was worth a shot. Maybe scare the stupid little s**t on the other end of the line from pressing this any further.

“This isn’t a prank call.”

I chuckled and started making my rounds around the house, checking to make sure the back door was locked and that I didn’t leave any windows open.

“C’mon, you have to do better than that,” I jiggled the knob and locked the deadbolt on the kitchen door. “Gavin is this you?”

“Whose Gavin?”

“This is so un-original of you Gavin. Did you watch Scream again?”

“No, I’ve been watching you and I already told you. This isn’t Gavin.” The voice responded.

I froze in the entryway next to the staircase, cold shivers racing up my spine, not really sure how to respond to that statement. Was this really not Gavin? I thought for sure it was either some dumb high-schooler playing a prank or maybe Gavin getting in the halloween spirit with a little creepy prank phone call. But now I wasn’t so sure. Also did he say he had been watching me?

“Th-then who is this?” I questioned trying to hide the nervousness in my voice.

“I think you know who it is.”

I walked into the living room and peered out the large picture window. I couldn’t see anything besides the usual empty and quiet neighborhood this time of night. This was stupid. “I’m hanging up.”

“Don’t hang up on me.” He warned but I ignored him and hung up the phone anyway.

What an asshole.

My phone rang again and I rolled my eyes, answering it without looking at the caller ID. I knew who it was.

“Alright asshole, if you don’t quite harassing me I’m gonna call the cops.” I threatened.

“Go ahead, call the cops, I doubt your little boyfriend will make it back in time.”

Ice traveled through my veins. Whoever was on the other end was watching me because they knew that Ethan was gone.

“And don’t bother looking out the front window again, I’m not out there.” The voice added.

My breathing and pulse quickened as I backed into the center of the living room. I looked around me as if the person on the other end would materialize magically.

“Then where are you?”

“Let’s play a little game. For each question you get right, I’ll give you a hint.”

My back connected with the fireplace mantle and instinctively I grabbed for the fire poker, the only thing I could use as a weapon in that moment. I held it to my side, brandishing it like a sword.

“And if I get it wrong?”

There was a humorous huff on the other end. “Then let's just say, they’ll be picking pieces of you off the living room floor.”

“f**k you.” I gritted through clenched teeth.

I made my way into the entryway next to the stairs, looking up and down the narrow passage.

The murderer laughed. “First question-“

“I’m not playing your stupid f*****g game. So stop being a coward and come out already.” I growled into the phone.

“As you wish.”

I didn’t have time to react before the closet door under the stairs next to me burst open, the door hitting me in the side and knocking me to the ground. My phone flew out of my hand and slid across the hardwood floor out of my reach, my weapon as well, only inches from my hand.

I flung myself onto my back just into time to catch the person’s wrist as they attempted to stab me with a very large and very familiar looking butcher knife. I grunted and strained, heartbeat thundering out of my chest as I attempted to push their hand away, the weight of their body weighing me down onto the floor, the whole situation very reminiscent of that time when I was seventeen. My attacker even looked like the same person who attacked me all those years ago. Wearing the same black sweater with the hood drawn, acid wash blue jeans, black combat boots and a ski mask obscuring their appearance. I was right back where I was all those years ago, except this time, my attacker wasn’t going to plunge a knife into me.

I brought my knee up into their gut causing a grunt to escape from then and then, using my legs and body weight, I flung them over my head where they hit the floor with a thud. I scrambled towards my phone on my hands and knees, I needed to get help.

Once I got to my phone I held the side button, signaling the SOS function and sending an alert to the police. I went to get up my feet but a hand gripped my ankle, forcing me to fall back to the floor. I looked back to see my attacker crawling back towards me. I kicked with my free leg, making contact with their face which released my ankle from their grasp.

I jumped to my feet, forced to go in the only direction, which was towards the kitchen. I threw myself at the back door, fumbling with the deadbolt and door lock. My hands so shaky from the adrenaline that they betrayed me.

I heard approaching footsteps which caused me to look over my shoulder and make the split second decision to move as the killer came at me with the large knife. I narrowly avoided it’s sharp edge as it pierced the door, jumping to the right and then ducking as they slashed it through the air at my face. However, as I turned to run in the opposite direction the knife connected with my arm, cutting me deeply and causing a white hot searing pain to travel through my arm.

I yelped in pain, but continued to run away, making my way through the formal dining room and hanging an immediate right into the living room. Almost as if by instinct I grabbed the light end table I knew would be there, and using my weight for momentum, brought it up. The wood connected with their face and immediately the rickety table shattered into pieces, the momentum of my swing causing them to fly backward and fall to the floor.

They looked like they weren’t moving, but like hell I was going to stay and find out. With that in mind and I quickly turned around and fled for the front door. I pulled it open with such force that it bounced off the wall and I threw myself though the threshold colliding with something firm, warm, and smelling of leather.

My fight or flight instincts were still roaring through me as I pummeled my fists against the persons firm chest. Their hands gripped my shoulders firmly and it took me a second to realize that the person was trying to get me to calm down, not attack me.

“Oliver! Oliver-stop!”

It was Ethan.

I looked up at him, my eyesight blurry from what I was just now realizing we’re tears of terror.

“B-Beck?” I stammered.

“What the hell is going on?” He gave me a concerned look.

My whole body was vibrating to the point that it was hard for me to find the words I needed. “The-the killer. H-he’s in the house.” I ground out.

Ethan’s face went from concerned to serious in a split second. He pushed me aside and pulled his sidearm out. “Stay here.” He growled. Then he went into the house.

“No! Beck, don’t go in there!” I shouted after him, but he ignored me.

I wanted to follow him, to go in after him. But I remained frozen to the spot, not able to command my muscles to move an inch. Seconds seemed to stretch into eternity as I watched from the doorway, trying to see where Ethan went.

“Beck!” I shouted into the house. There was no response. “Beck!” I shouted again.

He appeared in the entryway, coming from the direction of the living room. He holstered his gun and shook his head.

“There’s no one in here.” He stated.

“What?”

I walked into the house and pushed past Ethan into the living room. Where my attacker had been just moments ago was nothing more than the shattered bits of wood from the end table.

“They… they were here I swear!” I pointed to the floor.

“I believe you.” Ethan spoke, but the look in his eyes said otherwise. Did he not believe me?

I could feel something trickling down my arm, when I brought my gaze down to investigate I saw a deep cut traveling from the crook of my elbow to about an inch above my wrist. I had completely forgot in the chaos of everything that I had been stabbed.

“Oliver, you're bleeding.” Ethan stated, concern dripping into his voice and expression as he grabbed the closest thing available to staunch the bleeding, which just so happened to be a scarf my grandma had knitted for me. Oh well, I guess she would understand.

I hissed as he applied pressure to the cut. It stung, but the comfort of his touch seemed to make it hurt just a little bit less.

“C’mon, we need to get you to the hospital.” He grabbed me by the shoulders and steered me toward the front door.

I looked over my shoulder at the spot where I had left my attacker, it’s emptiness haunting me. I knew this was far from over.