it would.
‘Hey, Nik. This is a friend of mine, Treyvon. D’you think the chicken can stretch to three?’
From the beginning, Trey had drawn Doug and Nikki even closer together, their common compassion for this poor, broken boy strengthening their love bond and cementing them as a team.
She thought back to Trey’s graduation ceremony out in Palos Verdes, after he’d completed his full sixteen-week detox program, dancing with Nikki to Nina Simone’s ‘Feeling Good’.
Nikki had caught Doug’s eye over Trey’s shoulder and smiled. Doug smiled back, and she’d felt so happy, so full of love for him and the miracle he’d helped happen for this sweet boy he’d come to love as his own.
It was a beautiful memory. But it had been ruined by what had happened since, slashed and mutilated and destroyed, just like Trey. And Lisa.
A million tiny cuts. Then one, final, fatal stab to the heart.
Doug’s death, and the shock of everything she’d learned afterwards, had been the final stabs to Nikki’s heart. So deep, so wounding, she’d believed for a while that she wouldn’t survive them. But she had. She’d survived, and picked herself up and carried on. And she was still carrying on, even in the midst of this new nightmare.
Torture and terror.
Murder and lies.
I ought to call Trey’s mother, Nikki thought, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Her own grief was still so raw, so real, she couldn’t cope with anyone else’s. Perhaps that was selfish, but it was the truth. She knew her own limits.
She drove on for a long time. By the time she got home it was late, very late, and she couldn’t remember where she’d been. That was happening a lot lately. The driveway lights were on, triggered by a timer, twinkling merrily as if all were right with the world. Locking her car, Nikki walked up to the key panel by the front door and was about to tap in her code when she noticed that the door was ajar.
She froze. Today was Monday. Her housekeeper, Rita, came on Mondays. Had she forgotten to close the door properly when she left? It had never happened before. Not once in six years. Rita was extremely reliable.
Someone must have broken in.
Nikki’s heart pounded.
What if they were still inside?
She contemplated getting in her car and driving away. Calling the police. Asking for help. But then an unexpected emotion took over: anger.
This is my home. My sanctuary. I’m not going to be afraid here. I refuse.
Pushing the door open wide, she turned on the hall lights. ‘Hello?’ she called loudly. ‘Is anybody here?’
She walked from room to room, making as much noise as she could, like a hiker hoping to scare away mountain lions. ‘Hello?’
After a few minutes, she exhaled. No one was here. And as far as she could tell, nothing had been taken or touched. In fact, the house looked spotless. It must have been Rita after all.
Pouring herself a large nightcap from the whiskey bottle in the pantry, Nikki went up to bed, proud of herself for not having given in to her fears. Only once she was undressed and slipping between the sheets did she notice.
Her wedding photograph.
The silver framed picture of her and Doug she kept propped on her nightstand, despite the pain it caused.
It was gone.
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