Fourth Grave Beneath My Feet

“Oh, whew. So, what happened with Reyes? Did you see him?”

“Saw him. Argued with him. Barfed.”

“You vomited?”

“Yes.”

“On Reyes?”

“No, but only because I didn’t think of it at the time. I’m going to Pari’s to check on Harper before I head home. No need to let the fact that I’m wearing a bra go to waste.”

“Wonderful, then you have a few minutes to fill me in.”

I figured as much. I explained everything that had happened in the shortest sentence structure possible. Pari didn’t live that far away. Brevity was of the utmost importance. By the time I got there, every molecule in my body was vibrating. It would seem that recaps of Reyes were almost as good as the real thing. How could any man be so inhumanly perfect? Probably because he was inhuman. His presence seemed to cause a disturbance in my space–time continuum. I felt disoriented around him. Unbalanced. And hot. Always hot.

“What about the bill?” she asked, her voice full of hope.

“I told him to send a check.”

“A check?” She seemed appalled. “Couldn’t he just work out what he owes us?”

“Maybe, but he owes me much more than he owes you. I think he only owes you like two dollars.”

Her voice turned deep and husky. “I could do a lot of damage for two dollars. Send that boy over here, and I’ll prove it.”

She scared me sometimes. I ended the call after promising I’d brush the vomit taste out of my mouth as soon as possible. But my mind drifted back to the problem at hand. Or, more specifically, problems. As in multiple. They were back. The demons in all their glory. And they had a plan. I made plans sometimes, too, but they rarely involved world domination. Hot dogs on a grill, maybe. Tequila.

After searching for a space, I parked behind the tattoo parlor in front of a sign that said NO PARKING. Since it didn’t specify to whom it was referring, I figured it couldn’t possibly be talking to me. I hurried through the rain. Got drenched again anyway. I had every intention of complaining to Pari and Tre, but they were both busy evoking whimpers of agony from their patrons, so I left them to it and cruised to the makeshift guest bedroom. Harper, who seemed to have taken an interest in Pari’s wall texture, jumped up the minute I walked in.

“Did you find anything?”

“Not a lot. How are you doing?” I asked, sitting on the sofa and motioning for her to sit beside me.

She did reluctantly. “I’m okay.”

“I talked to your stepmother today. Why didn’t you tell me this has been going on since you were a kid?”

She stood again and turned her back to me, embarrassed. “I didn’t think you’d believe me. No one ever believes me, especially when I tell them the whole story.”

“I’ll tell you what,” I said, knowing exactly how she felt. “You promise to trust me, and I’ll promise to trust you, okay?”

“Okay.”

I finally convinced her to sit back down, but she hid behind her long dark hair.

“Can you tell me what happened? How all this got started?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

“Your stepmother said it started right after she married your father.”

Harper rolled her eyes and faced me. “She always says that, because this is all about her. All about their marriage. It couldn’t possibly have anything to do with me, with the fact that I’ve been traumatized almost my entire life.” She threw her arms up in frustration, and I liked the glimpse of her she offered me. The fighter. The spirited and capable woman I knew she was if she’d put up with a psychotic stalker her entire life.

I let an appreciative smile slide across my face. “Better.”

“What?” Her pretty brows crinkled together.

“Never mind. Why don’t you give me your version of what happened?”

She drew in a deep breath, leaned back, and said, “That’s just it. I don’t remember. They got married. Yes, against my wishes, but I was only five, so I really didn’t have much of a say. They went on their honeymoon. I stayed with my maternal grandparents in Bosque Farms while they were away.” She focused on me again. “My real grandparents on my biological mother’s side, who were wonderful. Then we came back and that’s when everything started. Right after their honeymoon.”

I took a memo pad out of my bag and started taking notes. It seemed like the right thing to do. “Okay, tell me exactly how it all started. What do you remember noticing first?”

She shrugged. “I’ve gone over this so many times with therapists, I’m not even sure which parts are real and which parts I made up. It was so long ago.”

“Well, I’m glad that you realize some of your memories could have been a product of years of prodding by professionals. They could have been a fabrication of your own mind trying to cope with the circumstances. But let’s just say, for argument’s sake, that they aren’t. That every single thing you remember really happened. What can you tell me?”

“Okay. Well, I guess it started when I found a dead rabbit on my bed.”

“So, a real rabbit? Dead?”

“Yes. I woke up one morning and there it was. Lying dead on the foot of my bed.”

“What happened?”

“I screamed. My dad came running in.” Her gaze darted toward me, then away. “He took it away.”