v: unlikely suspect

TALIA CLUNG to their dad's leg, sitting on his shoe to prevent him from leaving. She tilted her head backward, her mouth open in a never-ending howl. Her face was blotchy and red. Tears sprang from her eyes. He tried to pull away from her, disgusted by this show of affection from his young daughter, already running late.

"DADDY, NO!" Talia sobbed. "NO! DON'T LEAVE ME!"

Malachi watched, emotionless, from the couch. He didn't move. Didn't cry.

In Malachi's memories, his dad was a statue. Cold and gray and unyielding. So still you wouldn't think he was breathing. Wearing his army fatigues. When Malachi thought back on his father, that's all he ever saw him dressed in. His face expressionless, devoid of emotion. Malachi had never once seen the man smile.

His dad looked over his shoulder and gave his mom, who stood in front of the couch chewing on her thumbnail, a pleading look. She shook her head at him, her lips pressed into a thin, disappointed line. Then she relented.

She walked over and yanked Talia off his leg. Talia screamed, frantically grabbing at his leg, but their mom was stronger than her. She held her against her chest, stroking her hair. "Shh, Tali. He'll be back before you know it."

Talia screamed louder and fought to get out of their mom's grasp. Eventually, she gave in and sobbed into her shoulder, giving up the fight.

With Talia pacified, their dad walked over to Malachi. "Stand up, boy."

Malachi knew to do as he was told. He stood. He was about eye-level with his dad's chest.

"Look at me."

Malachi's eyes glanced up at his dad's face then quickly darted away.

"In the eye."

Malachi couldn't. Didn't want to. Didn't know how. He forced himself to look at his face.

"You're the man of the house now," his dad said, his voice low like he was sharing a secret. "Take care of the girls while I'm gone."

Malachi stared at him. He was a child; he couldn't take care of anybody. He nodded.

"When I give you an order," his dad reminded him, "you say 'yes sir.'"

"Yes sir," Malachi mumbled.

"You're a man, son. Talk louder."

"Yes sir," Malachi said.

"Louder."

"YES SIR."

"Good boy." He ruffled his son's hair and walked over to his wife. He kissed her, ruffled Talia's hair like he'd ruffled Malachi's, then walked out the door without properly saying goodbye.

Malachi slumped onto the couch. He knew he might never see his dad again. And yet all he felt watching him go was relief.

***

ICED COFFEE IN HAND, Malachi shoved the door open. The flyers and the staple guns were heavy in his bag, reminding him of what he could be doing right now instead. He tossed his bag and shoes to the floor, piling his outerwear on top of them.

Talia peeked her head out of the bedroom they shared. She blinked at him sleepily, still pajama-clad. She threw the door open with a grin and ran to Malachi, her messy brown bun bobbing on top of her head.

"MALACHI!" She slammed into him, nearly knocking him off his feet with the force of her hug. "You'll never guess what—"

Malachi's mom stepped out of the kitchen. With her loose gray cardigan, black leggings, and fuzzy socks, she looked harmless and cozy. She cupped her hands around a steaming mug of tea. "Malachi!" She smiled and tucked a dark curl behind her ear. "I was hoping you'd stop by. Come sit."

Talia held tight to him, rooting him in place. "—Julie said to me yesterday," she continued, as if she hadn't been interrupted, "she was all, 'You can't wear that, everyone will think you're a skank,' and I was all 'Takes one to know one, bitch,' and then—"

Malachi tore his sister from his side. "I need to talk to Mom."

Talia prattled on like she hadn't heard him. "—Julie was all 'Oh, well a bitch is a female dog,' and she went into that whole spiel and I mean, like, come on, that's so middle school—" She stopped mid-sentence as if realizing what he'd said. "Oh. That's okay. I'll come with you. And anyway, I was all—"

"Talia." Malachi insisted. "We need to talk about adult things."

Talia crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes. "Like what? Taxes? I can handle taxes. You know, I'm top of my class in—"

Malachi gave Talia a noogie. She screeched at him, trying and failing to duck out of his reach. He followed their mom into the kitchen. Talia trailed after him.

"Tali, I'm serious. You don't wanna hear about this stuff."

"Taxes?" Talia asked. "I know all about taxes."

Malachi shook his head. He wished they were talking about taxes.

"What else could this mysterious"—she put air quotes around the words—"adult thing be?" Her eyes widened. "Oh. My. God! Are you talking about"—she lowered her voice—"sex?" She screwed up her face. "Ewwwwwww!"

Malachi heaved a Malasigh. He threw his hands up, defeated. Sure. Let her think they were talking about all the sex he wasn't having. It was better than the truth. Maybe it would keep her from listening in. "Yes. We're talking about sex."

"Ewwwwwww!" she shrieked, again. "Gross! Tell me everything!"

"Sure." Malachi never planned to bring the topic up again. Anything to get Talia to sit in their room with her headphones on and tune out everything they were really talking about. "After."

This seemed to pacify her. She yawned, stretched, and ambled back to their room.

In the kitchen, his mom sat with her arm propped up on the table, her leg tucked beneath her, so casual. The shades were drawn, blocking all outside light. Malachi sat in a chair across from her and avoided looking her in the eye.

"Why didn't you call?" she asked.

Malachi shrugged.

She let out a short, dark laugh, shaking her head. "I had to find out your best friend was missing through a damn TikTok! That girl's slept in this house before! I've made her dinner, I've dropped you off at her apartment more times than I can count. How do you think that makes me feel?"

Malachi sank deep into his head. She was making this all about her. It wasn't about any of them. It was about Mila. His anger simmered in his stomach, threatening to spill over. He shrugged again and sank low in his seat, wanting this conversation to end as quickly as possible. He could be doing literally anything else right now, and it would be more productive than this conversation. Like hanging up flyers. Like looking for Mila. Like watching paint dry.

She rubbed her face. "You don't tell me anything anymore."

Did I ever? "I'm sorry." He didn't mean it.

"Where did I go wrong with you?" she asked. "I try so hard to be a part of your life, to be there for you. And it's like the more I try, the more you push me away."

Where did she go wrong? Was it when she brought a stranger into their home? Was it all the snide comments over the years, the passive aggression, the we just want what's best for yous and the I'm worried about yous and the I don't agree with that lifestyles? Was it how slow she'd been to react when his dad beat him? Was it how she left him in that house with him all those years?

She had never outright done anything wrong to him. It was all his dad. He, after all, was the one that had screamed at him, that had thrown a glass at his head, that raised his fist when he got angry, that had beat him to a bloody pulp with his belt. It was him, after all, that left him in constant fear. If he was to be angry at anyone, it should be him. But his father was dead and his mom had always been there. She'd tried to protect Malachi from his father, but she'd kept him trapped with him all those years. She'd been too slow to react—and Malachi bore the scars to prove it. She'd never been able to protect him. He'd had to take matters into his own hands. And so young, too. Now she was all he had left. His mom and the memories.

Malachi's skin crawled. Something about this was wrong, all wrong. "Mila's missing." She didn't seem to realize something bigger than her was happening.

"I know! I know." His mom rubbed her face again. "I'm worried sick about her. And about you." Of course she was worried about him. She was always worried about him. She reached out to hold his hand, but Malachi tucked his hands in his pockets. "Please stay here with me, where I know you're safe. For all we know, whoever did that to her could be planning to hurt you, too."

Malachi bristled. "I can't. I have to help find her."

"No, no, no." She shook her head. "No, you don't. Malachi, baby, you're just a kid. You don't have to do anything."

He wasn't just a kid anymore. He'd never had the chance to be just a kid. "I can't just sit here and do nothing!" Not when his best friend was out there, in trouble. Not when she could be in danger. Not when she could be hurt.

"Malachi, the police will—"

"Will what?" he shot back. "Solve the case? Arrest whoever's responsible? Save Mila? Do their job? When have they ever?"

She flinched like he'd hit her. "When did you become this... this radical? You're scaring me."

The anger boiled over. Malachi pushed his chair back and got to his feet. "I'm leaving. I need to get back to..." he gestured vaguely in the direction of the door. Back to the real world instead of this fantasy she was living in where she'd been the perfect mother and it was all Malachi's fault he hated her and he could come home and all could be forgiven and the cops actually protected those they served.

"No," she insisted, reaching out for his arm. "You need to stay here."

"I'm leaving. Goodbye, Mom." He spat it like an insult.

Malachi didn't wait for her response, her desperate plea for him to stay. He stormed into the living room, where Talia was sitting upside down on the couch, her earbuds in. She sat up and pulled one earbud out, all the blood rushing to her head, turning her face red.

"So all this sex you've been having," Talia asked, "is it anything like in The Sims?"

The question took him off guard. Malachi froze, flustered and upset by his conversation with their mom. "I'm not having any—" he started. Then he remembered their earlier conversation. "Oh."

Talia's face melted into concern. "Did Mom say something?" she whispered. "Was she being...?" she trailed off. They both knew what she meant. Borderline homophobic. The kind of homophobia she specialized in, that was almost harder to fight than outright homophobia, because how on earth could you argue with it?

"I'm fine." He was tempted to tell Talia about Mila then and there, so she wouldn't have to find out through TikTok or, worse, their mom. But he couldn't stay in this apartment a second longer. He felt like he was going to implode. "Let's take a walk."

***

MALACHI PUSHED OPEN his apartment door, his backpack slung over one shoulder. He hung his bag and his jacket on the coat rack and tossed his shoes on the pile by the door. He walked to the kitchen, flicked on the light, and poured himself a glass of chocolate milk. He deserved it, after the day he'd had. He took a long swig and dramatically slammed it down on the counter.

His ears pricked up. A rustling sound came from the living room, hurried feet skidding on the scratchy brown carpet.

"Hurry the fuck up! My son—" His mom's voice. A whisper, but loud and clear in the otherwise silent apartment. She took a shaky breath, cutting herself off.

Malachi grabbed his glass of chocolate milk and stepped into the living room.

There was a strange man in his apartment. White with a salt-and-pepper crew cut and stubble on his cheeks. He didn't have any pants on—they were balled up in his hands. Just boxers. His shirt was on backwards, his socks halfway on his feet. And his mom... Jesus Christ, his mom. She only had her underwear on, a robe haphazardly wrapped around her shoulders. It was loose, the ribbons used to tie it abandoned by her side. Her makeup was smeared, and Malachi could see the remnants of it on this strange man's face.

Malachi instantly understood.

He dropped his glass of chocolate milk, shattering it at his feet. Speckles of brown and shards of glass flew in every direction.

His mom gasped and threw her hands to her cheeks. The strange man looked from her to Malachi and back again. He clasped his hands together and cleared his throat.

"Malachi." He butchered his name, saying it more like Mal-ee-chee, not like Mal-uh-kai. Malachi cringed. "I'm sorry we had to meet like this."

Malachi stared at him, open-mouthed and wide-eyed. It's Mal-uh-kai, he wanted to say. He didn't. Who are you? he wanted to ask. He didn't. His eyes welled with tears.

His mom spun on the strange man. "Get out of my house," she demanded. "Now!"

The strange man struggled to get one leg into his jeans, pathetically jumping around.

His mom grabbed her car keys off the coffee table and threw it at him, hitting him in the back. "Get out!" she shrieked.

With one leg half-in his jeans, he grabbed his shoes and ran out the door. "Crazy bitch," he mumbled as he passed Malachi, shaking his head.

Malachi's mom watched him go, shaking her head right back at him. She wrapped her robe tight around her and took a step toward her son. "Malachi, baby," she cooed. "I'm so sorry."

Malachi stepped backward. Pain shot through him as a glass shard broke the skin on the bottom of his foot. He howled. The tears he'd been fighting back burst from his eyes. He raised his foot to his hands, blood dripping down his fingers.

"Malachi!" his mom yelped. "Don't move, baby. I'll get you."

Grabbing a pair of shoes from the entryway, she shoved her feet into them. She stepped over the glass and struggled to lift Malachi, carrying him to the living room couch. She sat him down and knelt to inspect his injured foot.

The glass was about an inch wide. It protruded from the deep, jagged wound. The blood poured out of it, soaking the couch cushion and the brown carpet, staining his mom's hands. It was right in the most tender spot on the foot—the center. Malachi cried on the couch above her. She looked from his foot to his face and reached her hand up to him, but he scooted away.

"I'm sorry, baby," she repeated. "I'm so sorry. You stay right here. I'm gonna throw some clothes on and then I'll take you to the ER, okay? And then we can get you some coffee, how does that sound? As a treat."

Malachi already liked coffee. Especially when it was iced. But he was never allowed more than a sip. If she was willing to take him to get coffee... she really must have thought she'd messed up. (And Malachi knew she had.)

***

SIMRAN AND NATHAN MOREAU, Adrian's brother and sister-in-law, hosted lunch. Malachi, Talia, and Adrian sat squished together on the couch; Reza and Becca sat at the counter. Malachi didn't like sitting so close to other people. His skin crawled whenever Talia's shirt rubbed against him or Adrian's shoulder bumped against his. Simran and Nathan sat on the carpeted floor. Their infant daughter, Ava, crawled along on the floor, smiling toothlessly at everyone, babbling nonsense, and examining shoelaces. They ate ham and cheese sandwiches and chips off paper plates.

Malachi didn't like kids. He tensed whenever Ava got near him, not wanting to hurt her or scare her, but smiled down at her as she grinned up at him. The others seemed to love her. Especially Adrian. He beamed proudly at her and snapped a billion photos when she came to him, bouncing her on his lap while she giggled uncontrollably.

The meal seemed out of place, almost vulgar, given the situation. It reminded Malachi of happy times—summers spent by the lake in Seattle, so ravenous after a day of swimming the sandwiches tasted like ambrosia. Other than Ava, everyone ate in silence with grim expressions. (But given that Ava was an infant, she was temporarily excused for her problematic behavior. But only temporarily. Get woke, stinker.)

Until there was a loud, stern knock at the door. And an "NYPD, open up."

Malachi's heart froze in his chest. The room grew even quieter; everyone stopped eating to stare at the door. Adrian stopped bouncing Ava on his lap and snuggled her against his chest, telling her to "Shh, shh."

Simran and Nathan exchanged nervous glances.

"I'll get it." Simran handed her plate to Nathan to hold. She stood and brushed her hands on her jeans, cracking the door and peeking outside. "Do you have a warrant?"

A voice filtered through the doorway. "For the arrest of Adrian Moreau. We have reason to believe he's here."

Simran turned and looked at Adrian, holding her daughter in his lap, a dumbstruck look on his face. She shook her head, bewildered. "This must be a mistake. What did he...?"

"For me?" Adrian whispered to Malachi. "For—they said my name? This has to... what? I didn't..." He seemed a million miles away.

"Ma'am," came a different voice, "he's an adult. We'd like to speak to him."

"An adult?" Simran replied. "He's nineteen! He's a child!"

"Adrian?" Reza asked Becca.

Becca shook her head and tossed her hands up, her lips pursed and her eyebrows raised.

Nathan placed the plates on the ground and stood. He met Simran at the door, where he placed his hand at the small of her back. "Sim, it's okay, we know he didn't do anything. We'll figure something out. Just work with them."

"This is ridiculous." Simran shook her head. "Absolutely ridiculous. He's a child..." But she listened to Nathan and stepped away from the door.

"This isn't happening," Talia mumbled. Her hands were strewn over her face; she peeked out through the gaps between her fingers.

Adrian passed Ava to Malachi, who awkwardly held her at arm's length. What do I do with this? he wondered, panicking. Talia took her out of his hands and cuddled her up against her chest. Malachi slipped his phone out of his pocket, pressing the record button. He didn't have his camera on him, so it was better than nothing.

"Take care of—take care of..." Adrian stared straight ahead. He stood and walked to the door in a trance.

"Adrian, don't you worry about a single thing," Simran told him. "We'll pay your bail. We'll find you a good lawyer. Everything will"—her voice broke—"everything will be all right."

Adrian nodded sternly. "I'll be okay." He didn't sound like he would.

"We'll worry about everything out here," Nathan assured him. "We'll bring Mom and Dad down from upstate. You just keep your head on your shoulders, kiddo."

"And don't say anything until we get you a lawyer!" Simran added.

"I can't believe this is happening," Talia repeated.

"What am I being arrested for?" Adrian asked the officers.

"Adrian Moreau," said one of them, "you're under arrest in connection with the murder of Camila Santos." He handcuffed Adrian's hands behind his back. "You have the right to remain silent..." But you know your Miranda Rights, don't you? Good little reader. Good.

Becca gasped. Reza pulled his hood up around his head and tightened it around his face. Malachi wondered if his ears were full of wax. Adrian? Adrian Moreau? They were arresting him in connection with Mila's murder? Mila's murder?

The officers dragged a handcuffed, bewildered Adrian out the door.

"Adrian..." Simran called.

As Adrian looked back behind him, a tear glinted on his eye. Malachi had never seen him cry before.

Simran chewed her lower lip. "Stay safe, okay?"

The door slammed in her face.

Simran burst into tears, which caused Ava to cry. Nathan wrapped his arms around Simran and rubbed her back as she cried into his chest.

"I watched that boy grow up!" she sobbed. "I've been—I've been here for everything with him. And to see him led away in handcuffs! How are you not more freaked out?"

"Jesus Christ," Becca mumbled, rubbing her pentagram necklace, the irony of which was lost on Malachi, as he had more pressing concerns. "Jesus Christ."

"I know my brother," Nathan replied. "He would never do something like that. This is just one big misunderstanding. Everything will get sorted out. He's gonna be fine."

"But what if he did it?" Nathan's shirt muffled Simran's voice. "What if he actually... killed her? Or had a hand in it?"

"You can't talk like that. Adrian's family."

"If Adrian killed his girlfriend, he's no family of mine."

"Malachi." Talia tugged on his sleeve. "I want to go home."

Malachi nodded. Dully, he got to his feet. Talia stood with him. Adrian had just been arrested. Adrian had just been arrested. Adrian had just... He couldn't wrap his mind around it. He took his plate to the trash, Talia at his heels.

Simran pulled away from her husband. She wiped the tears from her eyes. "Kids, I'm so sorry to cut this short, but we need a moment alone. You're welcome back anytime. Our door is always open."

Mila was murdered. Mila was murdered. Mila was—

Something about this felt horribly wrong, besides the obvious.

Adrian couldn't have...

Mila couldn't have...

The cops couldn't have... not in such a short time period... not unless they'd found a body...

But he'd seen the crime scene. There was no body.

Malachi led the others outside into the hallway.

"I can't believe that just happened," Becca said. "That Adrian—"

"Bullshit," Malachi said.

Becca's eyes widened with that dumbstruck Valley Girl Lost In New York expression she often got. "What?"

"Not you." Malachi waved his hand in the general direction of the apartment. "That whole thing. That was bullshit."

"What just happened?" Talia asked.

"I think Adrian was arrested," Reza replied. Malachi couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or if he was genuinely confused.

"Smartass," Malachi mumbled, quiet enough he didn't think Reza'd heard it.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Reza's voice was slick with passive aggression. "What do you want me to say? That everything's all sunshine and rainbows? That we didn't just watch Adrian get arrested? That it wasn't just confirmed that Mila was murdered?"

Why did he care? Why did he act like he knew Adrian, like he was friends with Mila, like any of this mattered to him? "Why do you care so much?" Malachi shot back. "None of this has anything to do with you!"

"Guys!" Becca stepped between them, holding her hands out as if to keep them apart.

"Yeah," Reza replied, "I could say the same to you. A girl went missing. It doesn't have anything to do with you, either. Unless it does."

"What are you saying?" Malachi's hands balled into fists. "My best friend went missing!" Reza didn't know anything about him. He had no idea how close they were, how much she meant to him. "You barely knew her!"

"Malachi, why don't you take Talia home?" Becca suggested. "I'll talk to Reza."

"It's fine." Malachi shrugged. "I was leaving anyway."

"Where are you going?" Reza asked.

Malachi gestured around him. This was the hallway of an apartment building he didn't live in. Why did he have to be going anywhere other than away from here? And why was it any of Reza's business? He was going to take his little sister home, that was all. And then he was going to commit a felony. "Why do you care?"

"Come on," Talia pleaded, tugging on the sleeve of Malachi's jacket, "let's go home."

"I'm going with you," Reza decided.

"What?" Malachi said.

"You absolutely aren't!" Becca exclaimed.

Talia yanked on his jacket. "Malachi, please."

Reza crossed his arms over his chest. He shifted on his feet. "I want to help."

Malachi rolled his eyes.

"Malachi," Talia threatened, "I'm going to leave you."

Reza shook his head. "All I want to do is help. And all you do is antagonize me."

"Because look around you!" Malachi gestured at Talia and Becca. "Everyone here was close to Mila. Everyone but you."

"I'm sorry I'm concerned about someone I knew who was murdered?" Reza responded.

"She wasn't murdered!" Malachi dug his fingernails into his palms. All his anger—at the world, at this whole situation, at whatever had happened to Mila—billowed up inside him, threatening to explode. He was the earthquake before a volcanic eruption. He knew it wouldn't be long before he exploded. So he turned on his heel and marched toward the stairwell, Talia at his side.

"Finally," she muttered.

Footsteps fell behind him. He was too proud to turn to see who it was. He knew it was Reza with Becca trailing behind him, ready to mediate.

***

AFTER A SILENT CAR RIDE home from the ER, before Malachi's mom had even taken her jacket off, she wrapped her hands around his face.

"Promise me you won't tell anybody. Not even Aisha." Aisha—his best friend. Of course he would tell her.

Malachi pulled away from her. "You're cheating on Dad."

She sat on the couch, avoiding the spot stained with Malachi's blood. Malachi stayed at the door, wanting nothing to do with her.

"No, honey..." she shook her head. "Jeff and I, we're... we're just friends."

"Bullshit."

Her eyebrows raised. She sat in shock for a second, staring at him. "Excuse me?" she finally managed.

"Bull," Malachi enunciated, "shit."

His mom rose to her feet. "How dare you speak to me that way?"

"How dare you lie to me?" Malachi shot back. "And how dare you cheat on Dad?"

She sank back into the couch, holding her head in her hands. "Malachi, it's... complicated."

Malachi didn't think it was complicated. His mom was cheating on his dad while he was deployed. "How long?" he asked. "How long have you and Jeff...?"

"About six months," she admitted between her fingers.

Malachi's stomach roiled. "Was there anyone... else?"

His mom nodded.

"When did this start?"

"After Talia was born."

The world spun in front of Malachi. His mom had been cheating on his dad for years.

"Malachi," she continued, "your dad is a sick man. Sick in the head. When he's gone, I... I get so lonely. You wouldn't understand, baby. You're too young. But there's just—there's this emptiness when he's not here. I need to... fill it. And it's not any better when he is here. It's like his mind's still at war. He's a ticking time bomb. When he's good, he's a shell of the man I fell in love with. When he's bad..."

"Don't."

Her eye twitched. "What do you mean, honey?"

"Don't blame this on him."

His mom's hands fell from her face. "I'm just trying to explain.

Explain to someone who cares. "I want to stay at Aisha's tonight."

"Of course, honey." She nodded. Then her eyes widened. "Talia."

Malachi looked at the clock on the living room wall. Talia's dance class had ended an hour and fifteen minutes ago.

***

[ video description ]

[ YouTube posted by Macabre with Mila & Malachi ]

[ Clips of the press release of Adrian's arrest. The sheriff stands behind a podium, flanked on either side by beat cops, detectives, and lawyers. "I have... unfortunate news this afternoon regarding the case of missing NYU student Camila Santos. We've begun to treat this case as a murder investigation. We have one suspect in police custody, but have yet to find a body."

Cut to Malachi Abramtzik, walking down the streets of NYC. He stares blankly at the camera. Then: "Bullshit." The video ends. ]

91.9k comments

Horror Horror: This is crazy man. Reminds me of my gf that went missing in Bali a couple years ago. Turns out she'd been killed by the Italian mafia and they were selling her body parts on the black market. All that was left of her when we found her was her right ear. Hope you find Mila in better condition! Love from Singapore 1m ago
View 1 reply

colton's bubble bath: adrian was right for killing that bitch #pogchamp 13m ago
View 72 more replies

Dani Escamilla: we're all so focused on adrian (stinky) but like malachi seems kinda sus too. idk it seems like he's trying to throw us off his trail w videos like this. maybe he and adrian were working together??? or maybe it was aliens??? there doesn't seem to be a more rational explanation. anyway whoever hurt mila will die by my sword 21m ago
View 11 replies

Marie H.Z.: IDK if I find Malachi or Adrian more attractive but Lord help me I'm thirsting after possible serial killers again 🤤 🤤 🤤 🤤 23m ago
View 4 replies

Add comment

***

"TALI?" Malachi's mom called when Talia pushed open the door. "Is that you, hun?"

"Yeah, I just got back!" Talia yelled. "See you later, Malachi. Let me know if you need any—"

Malachi shook his head. "I'm coming in."

Talia made a face at him and stepped inside. He followed her in and slammed the door before Reza got any funny ideas. Talia shrugged her coat off and hung it up with her hat and gloves. Malachi kept his on. He didn't plan to stay for long.

Their mom came out of the kitchen, two small blue weights in her hand, quickly moving them back and forth. Her dark hair was held back by a gray headband. Her socked feet marched on the floor. Sweat gleamed on her forehead. "Malachi! I'm so glad you're back. Are you stay—"

Malachi walked past her and opened the door to his bedroom. Talia stayed at the door with her arms crossed over her chest.

"—ing for dinner?" their mom finished. "We were just gonna get takeout, but I can—"

"Leave me alone."

She froze. "Oh, I'm sorry..."

Knock, knock. She marched toward the front door.

"Don't open that," Malachi called.

"This is my apartment, honey. I can do what I want." She opened the door.

"MooOOOM." Malachi whined. He slammed the door to his bedroom in protest. He didn't even want to have to see Reza. He pressed his ear to the door.

NESSA ABRAMTZIK: What do you want?

BECCA RASK: Oh! We're friends of Malachi's—

REZA GUTIÉRREZ: Yeah. (Scoffs.) "Friends."

BECCA: And anyway we were wondering if he was here and if we could maybe, um, come in.

NESSA: Of course! I'm so sorry about the mess. I wasn't expecting company. Malachi's in his room. It's that door over there. Um... oh! This is his little sister—

REZA: Talia. We just met.

TALIA ABRAMTZIK: 'Sup?

NESSA: Oh, good! You know each other already. How wonderful. You're welcome to stay for dinner. Haven't figured out what we're having.

BECCA: Thank you, Mrs. Abramtzik. We'll let you know if we decide to stay.

NESSA: Nessa—please. Just Nessa is fine. Oh! Excuse me. It's been so long since Malachi's had any friends over. I forgot to ask your names.

BECCA: I'm Becca.

REZA: Reza.

NESSA: It's lovely to meet you both. Like I said, Malachi's in his room over there. Talia can show you... and feel free to help yourselves to anything in our kitchen—wait, Reza's a Persian name, isn't it? (Brief pause.) Oh! You're Iranian?

REZA: Half. My mom's from Iran.

NESSA: What part? We're Mizrahi. My parents are from Tehran.

REZA: It's actually just a little outside of Tehran. It's a really small town.

NESSA: You'll have to give me her number. I'd love more Iranian friends here. I used to have so many when we lived in Seattle, but over here—

TALIA: Mooooooom! Stop bothering them!

NESSA: Oh! I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I just wanted to get to know some of Malachi's friends, sweetheart. You three can go off now. I'll be out here if you need anything.

Malachi jumped away from the door and pulled his backpack off, pretending to root through it. The door creaked open, and Talia stepped in, Becca and Reza following behind her. Talia sat cross-legged on her bed.

"Your mom seems nice," Reza said.

"Yeah, it's all an act," Malachi responded.

"Mind if I sit here?" Becca pointed to the spot beside Talia on her bed.

"Yeah. Go ahead."

Becca sat down beside her.

Malachi pulled his computer out of his bag, hooking it up to the printer. He scrolled through his photo album until he found one of Mila smiling straight ahead at the camera and a similar one of Adrian. He printed them and some screenshots of his footage of the crime scene.

"What are you doing?" Reza asked.

Malachi pulled out a couple pages of printer paper, a pack of push pins, a pair of scissors, and a bundle of red string. He pinned the photo of Mila in the center of the wall and cut out a sliver of paper, which he pinned beneath it. He wrote CAMILA SANTOS - DISAPPEARED JANUARY 21ST. To the right, he pinned the photo of Adrian and another sliver of paper. ADRIAN MOREAU - POSSIBLE MURDER SUSPECT (UNLIKELY). Parallel to Adrian's photo, he hung the screenshots of the crime scene and a sliver of paper in the center. CRIME SCENE. He took a piece of red string and wound it around the push pins, connecting what he had so far together.

"Way to be cliché," Reza mumbled.

"Why do you have red string?" Talia asked.

"I knew this day would come," Malachi replied, solemnly.

"Planning for it, huh?" Reza crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against Talia's dresser.

"What does that mean?" Malachi shot back.

Reza sarcastically shrugged.

"Guys!" Becca warned. She stood in front of Malachi's wall, squinting at it. "Let's get back on track. Why do you think Adrian's an unlikely suspect?" she asked.

"Just a feeling." Malachi ran his hands over his face and into his hair. "It just doesn't seem right. I mean... it was so soon after we found her crime scene. And—and, I mean, I know Adrian. It just doesn't seem like... doesn't seem like something he would do. And the police, I mean—"

"Fuck 'em?" Talia suggested, because she hadn't been subjected to their mother's influences.

"Yeah, yeah. Yeah, exactly. Fuck 'em. And—I mean, if Adrian had done it, it would have been such a personal crime, you know? And nothing about this says personal to me. I mean... it seemed like a cookie cutter crime. Nothing personal at all. Except maybe the location. But no one but Mila and her mom and I knew about that place."

Reza tilted his head backward. "What place?"

"None of your beeswax."

"That's not suspicious at all."

Malachi stared Reza down. "Are you accusing me of something?"

Reza held up his hands in mock innocence.

"How did you get access to these photos?" Talia asked, gesturing at the ones of the crime scene. "Did you hack the FBI or something?"

Reza snorted. "Yeah, cause Malachi could hack the entire FBI."

"Don't talk to my sister like that," Malachi snapped. "Reza and I were the ones to find it. I videotaped it. In case the police pull something." He shoved his laptop into his bag. "There's no way Adrian could have done this. There's just... no way." And it worried him. How quick the police had jumped to conclusions. How they barked up the wrong tree.

"Where are you going?" Reza asked, again.

Malachi slung his backpack over his shoulder. "Looking for clues."

"Calm down, Jughead Jones. This isn't Riverdale." Reza rolled his eyes. Which made Malachi suspect that Reza watched Riverdale, and what little respect he had for him plummeted. "But that means we're all coming, no?"

"No."

Becca pursed her lips. "You two can't be trusted on your own. If he's going with you, so am I."

Malachi heaved a Malasigh. He nodded at Becca. "You can come." He pointed to Reza. "He can't."

Reza smirked. "Where are you going?" he asked. "Back to the crime scene?"

"None of your beeswax," Malachi repeated.

"How're you gonna get there?"

"None of your beeswax!"

"'Cause I have a car," Reza tempted.

Malachi's resolve waned. If he had a car, he wouldn't have to wait for an Uber. If he had a car, he wouldn't have to take public transportation. It would be safer, he told himself. And faster. And cheaper. Otherwise he'd skin Reza alive before letting him tag along. "Fine. You can come. But you're driving."

***

WHEN MALACHI'S DAD WAS discharged from the army, all it meant to Malachi was his dad was home all the time. Which meant there was no escape.

At first, things weren't terrible. His dad was on the hunt for a new job. He was in a suit more often than he wasn't and usually had an interview to dash off to. He spent a lot of time on the family computer or scouring the newspaper. He was there for breakfast each morning. He started calling Malachi "Old Sport" and Talia "Princess."

But he slowly unravelled. It was almost unnoticeable at first—small, nearly imperceptible changes. He'd sleep in a little later and stay up into the wee hours. He stopped going to job interviews, changed out his suit for sweatpants and old t-shirts. He left the paper abandoned on their doormat, the pile of old news stacking up each day. And when Malachi walked in on him on the computer, he wasn't scrolling through job listings; he was on Facebook. One day, Malachi read the post he was looking at over his shoulder. Obama wasn't born on US soil. At dinner, he'd bring up crazy conspiracy theories like they were God-given facts. Not the fun ones that Malachi would get into like the faked moon landing, but the dangerous, deadly ones with roots in anti-Semitic and racist rhetoric. The lizard people this, 9/11 that. And all the while his mother sat there eating her food and smiling politely.

The conspiracy theories were the beginning of the end.

As Malachi sat across the dinner table from him after another long-winded spiel about how the government was implanting chips in people through vaccines, he picked at his food, avoiding eye contact.

His dad cleared his throat. "Malachi, look me in the eye when I'm talking to you."

Malachi's eyes quickly glanced up then back down to his food. He swirled his pasta around his fork, but didn't bring it to his mouth.

"You're acting like a girl, Malachi." Malachi knew a girl wasn't a thing he wanted to be. "Men can look each other in the eye."

Malachi swallowed a bite of pasta and ignored the gnawing in his stomach that something wasn't right. His eyes didn't move from his plate.

"Malachi!" his dad demanded, slamming his fists into the table. Malachi, Talia, and their mom all jumped. "Look me in the eye. It's not that hard. Be a man."

Malachi shut his eyes. When he opened them again, he slowly raised them to meet his father's. "I am a man."

"That's my boy!" his dad replied, pushing his chair back and clambering to his feet. "I need a beer."

"At least excuse yourself, dear." Malachi's mom put her hand on his arm. His dad yanked his arm back, jumping away from her, his eyes wide.

"I," he replied, "am the man of the house. You don't order me around."

She gave a tight-lipped smile and picked at her pasta with her fork.

His dad waltzed into the kitchen, returning with a can of Bud Lite. He sat down, slammed the can on the table, and flicked the tab open. He took a couple swigs, sighed, burped, and slammed it back down.

"Malachi," he asked, "how about we sign you up for the Boy Scouts?"

Malachi stared. He'd never paid attention to the Boy Scouts. All he knew about them was the annoying white boys at school were a part of them. Which meant he wanted nothing to do with them.

"What?" his mom asked. "Where is that coming from?"

"I think it'd be good for him, being around other guys his age. Learning to do guy things. Maybe they'd have more of an impact on him than we seem to be having."

"I don't think that's necessary," she replied.

"Why not? It's not like we're sending him off to a military school." His tone implied it was something he'd considered. "It's just the Boy Scouts. It'll be good for him. Hell, I was in the Boy Scouts when I was his age."

She sipped her water. "We'll talk about this later."

His dad shrugged like he knew he'd get his way.

***

ONE LAST GOOD SEARCH of the crime scene. Malachi found nothing new, and neither did Becca, nor Reza. Yellow police tape marked it off from the trail, but there was no active police presence. A part of Malachi wondered if they'd already forgotten about her, but maybe it'd be better that way. A light snow fell from overhead, coating the blood. Malachi shivered, and it wasn't just from the cold.

***

BECCA LED Malachi and Reza to her dorm, though Malachi knew the way there by heart. Yellow police tape crisscrossed over the door. Below the peephole, two paper strawberries clung to flimsy pieces of tape. On one, "REBECCA R." was written in blocky black sharpie; on the other, "CAMILA S."

"I've been staying at Marisol's," Becca admitted. "I got my stuff out, but I haven't been back since..." She took a sharp inhale and stuck her key in the lock, pushing the door open. "Have at it, boys. I'll knock twice if someone's coming."

Malachi tiptoed into the dorm, clicking his flashlight on. His and Reza's gloved hands would ensure none of their DNA made its way onto the scene. There was only so much they could do about hair, but they both knew Mila. Any hair found could be discredited by that. They'd decided to use flashlights instead of the overhead lights so anyone passing by wouldn't see any light under the door. His flashlight cast an eerie blue glow around the room. Reza pulled the door shut.

"Aren't you worried about contaminating evidence?" Reza whispered.

"I'm more worried about the cops mishandling it."

"Touché." Reza turned his own flashlight in a slow sweep around the room, paying particular attention to the posters on Mila's side. He leaned in and examined a Green Day poster as if looking for crucial evidence.

Malachi patted down Mila's bed, making sure to rearrange everything back the way he had found it. Nothing. Having had no luck, he scoured the top of her desk and its drawers. In the top drawer, as a bookmark in an intro to directing textbook, he found a small, thin piece of paper with a name and a number. PEGGY ZHÀO. Malachi's eyebrows furrowed. He'd never heard of her and Mila told him everything. Or so he thought. He pocketed it. On the second drawer from the bottom, beneath her laptop and its charger, he found a crumpled-up flyer.

SEXUAL ASSAULT SURVIVORS ASSOCIATION - NYU CAMPUS

CLUB MEETING THIS MONDAY

Malachi's stomach turned. He slid it in his pocket along with the other piece of paper. He pulled out Mila's computer and opened it, staring at it as it prompted for her password. Her birthday? No, too easy. Her name? No, she wasn't stupid. Something to do with—?

Two sharp, fast knocks on the door interrupted Malachi's thoughts. He and Reza looked at each other.

"The closets," Reza whispered. "Quick."

Yes, great idea. 'Cause they're not gonna search the closets. But Malachi didn't have any better ideas. They were too high up to take a chance on the window. Taking the door back out was suicide if whoever was coming was a cop. The closets were their only chance.

Reza opened the closet closest to him. Malachi saw a flash of pink before he shut the door—Becca's. Malachi hastened to the farther one and pulled it open, unleashing an avalanche of black and red clothes. He swore; he couldn't fit. He shut it and ran to Becca's.

"There's no room," Reza whispered. "Go to the other one."

"There's no room in that one!" Malachi replied, his mind racing. He had to do something, and he had to do it fast. He'd found what might be crucial evidence. Someone was coming, maybe a cop. Only one of them could hide.

If he got caught, he'd lose the evidence. And he didn't have enough time to convince Reza to swap places with him. So Malachi pulled the two pieces of paper from his pocket and passed them to Reza. "Keep these for me. Protect them."

Reza nodded, the intensity in his eyes sending shivers down Malachi's spine. "I won't let anything happen to them."

Malachi shut the closet door and knelt by the mess that had fallen out of Mila's closet. He pretended to root through it as the door swung open. A stream of blue light blinded him. He blinked and made out the outline of a cop.

"What the hell and the fuck do you think you're doing?" the cop asked.

"The laundry," Malachi replied.

Bạn đang đọc truyện trên: AzTruyen.Top