Still Beating

Earl Timothy Hubbard.

I finally find the strength to research the case.

My case.

Our case.

It’s made international headlines, branding Earl with the nickname of The Matchmaker. He’ll be going down in history as a renowned serial killer after eleven bodies were discovered buried beneath his vast acreage. His victims were taken in pairs—male and female, with no blood relation or romantic connection. Earl had boxes and boxes of trophies, trinkets, and evidence stored in his attic, including Cora’s wallet and my leather jacket and car keys. He had journal entries devoted to each “couple”, though, none of the detailed contents have been released to the media. It’s been alleged that, based on the diaries discovered, Earl groomed his victims into developing feelings for one another—and when he felt like they had successfully fallen in love, he would murder them in cold blood. He got off on watching his victims mourn over their lover being tortured to death.

Sick fucking shit.

I think back to that fateful night, dwelling on every little thing I did wrong. Each wrong turn and fatal slip of the tongue.

“She your girl?”

Earl’s question seemed harmless at the time. I had no idea I’d be sealing our fate when I replied with a firm, “Hell, no.” I should have fucking lied, but getting under Cora’s skin was more important. Pissing her off was more fun.

I had no idea I put the nails in our goddamn coffins.

Turns out the guy was a run-of-the-mill sales clerk for a company that makes power tools. I had thought at first he was a dirty cop, but the flashing lights on his vehicle were only there to trick his victims into pulling over. You hear about this shit in crime show documentaries—you never even dream about it happening in real life.

I close out of the news articles as my skin heats up with prickling anxiety. I feel physically ill. I’m cursing myself for reading this crap—I’m clearly not ready, and the wounds are still too fresh. Too raw. And I sure as fuck hope that Cora isn’t reading any of it.

I lean back against my couch cushions, closing my eyes as I try to get a handle on my breathing. Two dogs were confiscated off the premises and are being held at animal control. One was a German Shepherd and the other was a Yorkie mix. Neither dogs looked threatening from the photographs. In fact, they looked terrified and malnourished—a far cry from the rabid beasts I’d pictured gnawing on our skeletons. I wonder what kind of horrors Earl subjected those poor animals to.

At least they had each other.

I grab my cell phone off the side table when it starts to vibrate, not overly excited to see Mandy’s name staring back at me. And that makes me feel even shittier than I already do.

Mandy: Can’t wait to see u later babe! Pick u up at 7  🙂 🙂

Mandy is hosting her annual New Year’s Eve bash tonight. Usually, we host it at my townhouse because it’s bigger than her modest two-bedroom apartment, but given my current state of harrowing misery, we both agreed it would be better if she took care of the festivities this year. I honestly had no intention of going—ringing in the new year with a handle of vodka and my progressive rock playlist sounded far more appealing.

But Cora will be there.

I haven’t seen her since that confusing, hangover-infused post-Christmas morning, but we’ve talked on the phone every night since.

We don’t talk about how we woke up in each other’s arms, spooning, our legs impossibly entwined and my hand up her tank top.

The timeline of those early morning hours is hazy at best. I vaguely recall an Uber ride with a driver I was convinced was Kurt Cobain, and I kept asking for his autograph, followed by the smell of Cora’s daffodil hair quieting my demons and her warm breath against my neck lulling me to sleep. I remember a nightmare forcing me awake. And I remember eventually falling into the most comfortable sleep I’ve had in almost two months… despite the raging migraine I woke up to at almost noon the next day.

When Cora finally untangled herself from my arms and our eyes met, there was an unspoken promise that we would never speak of it again.

So, we haven’t.

And sometimes we don’t speak much at all—simply knowing the other one is on the opposite end of the line, breathing and alive, safe and warm, is a solace in itself.Ccontent © exclusive by Nô/vel(D)ra/ma.Org.

“Oh, my God, Dean!”

“You look good!”

“Thank goodness you’re okay!”

I wouldn’t say I look good, but I did manage to find a clean shirt that didn’t smell like last week, and I finally made the effort to shave, leaving just a shadow of stubble along my jaw.

And I wouldn’t say I’m okay. But I’m here with a fake-as-fuck smile on my face, so I suppose it’s a step in the right direction.

As familiar faces and curious strangers crowd me with questions and compliments, I clench the spout of the beer in my hand, wondering if I could crack the glass with just my fist.

After all, my hands have broken far worse.

Mandy slides up behind me, snaking her arms around my midsection and holding tight. I feel her press kisses into the middle of my back, and I raise my unoccupied hand to pat her clasped palms. “Good party,” I mutter.

I’m lying. The party is awful and my head is pounding, and I feel like everything is spinning. There are people here I used to consider good friends that I haven’t given a single thought to over the course of the last seven weeks. Are they even my friends? Am I completely desensitized to human connection?

I turn to see Cora walk through the door with her friend, Lily, bathed in sparkly silver and skinny jeans, her hair glowing with fresh highlights and a look in her eyes that resembles a cornered animal. My heart does a funny flip inside my chest, and I know that I’m not completely desensitized.

Cora puts the brakes on after stepping through the threshold, grasping Lily’s hand and tugging the brunette backwards. The music is too loud to hear what they’re saying, but Lily scrubs her hand up and down over Cora’s arm, comforting her in some way. Likely telling her that it’s not so bad. It will be just fine.

She’s a liar, Cora. It’s a trap.

Mandy notices her sister’s arrival and unlinks her arms from my waist, making a tipsy, enthusiastic jog over to Cora, who still appears frozen and ashen in the entryway. I sip my beer, watching the scene from afar, taking in the way Mandy pulls Cora in for a hug like life is raining down with sunshine and puppy dogs.

Cora’s eyes meet mine over Mandy’s shoulder and I lower my beer, offering her a small, understanding smile. She sends the same one back to me. But before I’m able to approach her to say hello, I’m sucked into a conversation with one of my good friends, Reid. He slaps my shoulder, looking genuinely happy to see me, and we spend about fifteen minutes catching up—well, he catches me up. I’m certain Reid has no desire to hear what I’ve been up to since we last saw each other in October.

When I break away to grab another beer, I find Cora in the kitchen clinging to her red plastic cup, engaging in conversation with Lily and a familiar looking guy I presume to be Jason. I pull a fresh beer out of the cooler and glance in their direction, deciding that I was absolutely correct: I don’t like Jason.

He’s wearing a turtleneck for fuck’s sake.

And he keeps reaching out to touch her—her arm, her hand, her hip. He even pulled a piece of invisible lint out of her hair. Cora is all smiles and niceties as she nods at him, but I can see her grip on the cup is tightening and her knee keeps bobbing up and down. Lily is laughing at whatever bullshit he’s spouting off, and hey, I think Lily and Jason would be perfect for each other now that I think about it. Let’s make that happen.

I decide to insert myself into the conversation.

Cora’s eyes dance over to me, lighting up when I push my way into their little three-way circle. “Dean,” she greets, a big smile pulling at her perfect, cherry-stained lips.

“There you are,” Lily says, leaning in for a one-armed hug, while her other hand clutches her own beverage. “Cora said you’d probably be here. How are you?”

“I’m doing good. Things are getting better.” It’s easy to lie when it’s all you ever do. “What’s new with you?”

Lily chatters away about her job as a pharmacy technician, but my eyes keep darting over to Cora. Jason is playing on his cell phone as he nurses a beer, occasionally looking up to nod and smile. I’m only half listening to Lily when I decide to blurt out, “Cora’s not interested.”

Lily stops talking. Everybody stares at me.

Jason clears his throat, sucking down the rest of his beer and tossing the bottle into a nearby trash can. “If that was directed at me, I’m pretty sure the woman can speak for herself.”

“I’m sure she can, but as her soon-to-be brother-in-law, I have a responsibility to look out for her, and she’s in no way ready to jump back into the dating pool. So, it’s my strong recommendation that you take your flirtation elsewhere.”

Jason lets out a laugh that sounds anything but amused, while Lily tries to stifle her own laughter—hers definitely sounds amused, though.

Cora crosses her arms over her chest, glaring daggers at me. Her cheeks are flooding with color, her jaw tight. “What the hell, Dean? I’m standing right here.”

“I know.”

Jason turns to me, his hands planted on his hips. “Listen, man. I know you two went through some shit together, and I get that you’re looking out, but—”

“Some shit?” I repeat, twisting around to face him. This flippant motherfucker. “We were chained up like dogs for three goddamn weeks, kept alive with turkey sandwiches and well water, forced to do fucked up shit, while Cora—”

“Dean!” Cora interrupts.

Jason holds his hands up. “I’m not trying to downplay anything. I was just talking to the girl.”

Before I can get another word in, Cora snatches my hand and starts dragging me away from the kitchen. “Excuse us,” she says over her shoulder.

She pulls me into Mandy’s bedroom and slams the door shut, pressing her back up against it. “What. The. Hell.”

I let out a sigh, feeling a little regretful. Maybe those four beers hit me harder than I thought they would. “Sorry, I was just trying to protect you.”

She sets her cup down on Mandy’s dresser and takes a step closer to me, her eyes stony, her features taut. “You embarrassed me.”

“I wasn’t trying to.”

“Jason is a nice guy. He’s always been polite and respectful. Besides, my sex life is none of your damn business.”

“Sex life?” I arch an eyebrow as my insides spike with something that feels like jealousy. “You want to have sex with him?”

Her cheeks tinge brighter, her eyes floating away from mine. “Whether I do or I don’t, it doesn’t concern you.”

I swallow. “You looked uncomfortable. I was trying to help.”

“I don’t want your help, Dean. You don’t need to protect me anymore.” She releases a slow breath, tipping her gaze to the ceiling. “And maybe I was uncomfortable. Being here makes me uncomfortable. I’m still trying to get acclimated to people and noise and living again,” Cora explains, her tone strained with telltale emotion. “But I don’t need a babysitter. I just need to rip the band aid off.”

“You think of me as a babysitter?” I try to downplay the audacity in my voice by looking at my feet.

Cora is silent for a long time, prompting me to glance up. I find that her eyes are fixed on me. We hold for a beat before she replies, “I have no idea what you are to me.”

At first, I’m offended. I’m outraged. After all we’ve been through. I’m about to respond, flustered and angry, when I realize… she’s absolutely right. What the fuck are we?

We’ll never be friends. We’re no longer enemies. We can’t be lovers.

Where does that leave us?

Soldiers at war. Kindred spirits. Two lost, wandering souls with nothing, and everything, in common.

Or… maybe not.

Maybe we aren’t something meant to be labeled. We transcend titles.

And that, I fear, is the most powerful thing of all.

I lower my gaze to Cora’s chest, noting the locket dangling between her breasts. She carries a piece of me with her.

She carries a lot of my pieces with her.

I chew on my cheek, scuffing my foot against the tan carpeting. “Have you seen the recent updates on the case?”

Cora looks taken off guard by the change of subject and starts scratching her wrist, her knee bobbing once again. “Yeah. It’s all over my newsfeed.”

Dammit. I was hoping she hadn’t. “It’s all sorts of fucked. He was grooming these couples to fall in love or some shit before he killed them… it’s sick and twisted.”

Her eyes are wide and glazing over, her breath hitching on the inhale. “He said our time was almost up. Did he think…?”

Our eyes meet.

And I’m dead certain we’re both thinking about what happened against that pole before I tore Earl’s face off.

We both jump, startled, when there’s an incessant pounding on the bedroom door. “Cor? You in there?”

It’s Mandy.

“Be right out,” Cora says, her voice clipped.

“You little hussy! Are you with a guy?” Mandy teases, then barges in, apparently not giving a crap if Cora is getting it on with some guy. She stops in her tracks when she spots me. “Oh. Hey, babe.”

I stuff my hands into my pockets. There’s a flash of suspicion in her eyes and it makes me feel itchy. I know Mandy has seen the news reports about Earl’s true motives, but she hasn’t interrogated me yet. I gulp. “Hey. We were just talking.”

A weird, awkward silence settles between the three of us, and I kind of want to just fall over and play dead like those goats do.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Mandy says, coughing into her hand as she tugs down her hot pink dress with the other. “We’re about to play flippy cup.”

I used to love flippy cup.

I used to love a lot of things.

“Okay, that sounds fun,” Cora says, reaching for her discarded beverage and sparing me a glance. “Count me in.”

The women walk out, and I stand there alone in the middle of the bedroom—in the middle of my fiancé’s bedroom—confused, rattled, and out of sorts.

What the hell did Earl see?

It’s almost midnight and I can’t find her.

I know it’s wrong, I know it’s twisted, I know I’m beyond wasted at this point, but it’s almost fucking midnight. It’s almost a new year. And I know, I know, I should be looking for Mandy right now, the woman I’ve rang in the last fifteen years with.

But I need to find Cora.

We went to Hell and back this year—together. When the clock strikes twelve, it’s a clean slate. A metaphorical new beginning.

“Ten… nine… eight…”

I scan the partygoers who are chanting and smiling, their drinks splashing around in their hands as they wave their noisemakers.

“Seven… six…”

I turn to the small balcony off the kitchen, and that’s where I find her. She’s leaning back against the rail, facing me.

“Five… four…”

I make my way towards her, pushing through a mass of bodies, and reach for the sliding door handle, pulling it open.

“Three…”

A wave of cold air hits me, and I watch as her hair is set in motion from the wind. The sparkles on her blouse twinkle beneath the moonlight, her eyes doing the same.

She’s waiting for me.

“Two…”

I’m about to step out onto the balcony when I feel fingers curl around my elbow.

“There you are!”

I’m spun around in a circle.

“One!”

A mouth meets mine as celebratory cheers ring out around us. Mandy links her arms around my neck, pulling me in for our traditional midnight kiss, and my body wants to protest, push back, disengage… but I just stand there, my arms at my sides, and I allow her to kiss me. I’m too drunk to put up much of a fight, and besides, what would be the point?

Sorry, babe. I kind of wanted to have some one-on-one time with your sister instead. Maybe next year.

I’m a fucking asshole.

Mandy smiles as our lips part and she taps our noses together. That was our first real kiss since her birthday party on that fateful Saturday night.

“Happy New Year, Dean. This one will be better… I promise.” She leans in for one more peck before adjusting the collar of my shirt and stepping back. “Want another drink?”

I want to say yes, but I’m already seeing double. “I think I’m good. I’m going to get going.”

“Okay, I’ll drive you.”

“No, I’ll call an Uber. You’re the party host, Mandy.”

She’s about to argue, but Cora is suddenly beside me, her shoulder brushing up against my arm. “I can drive him. Lily’s hitching a ride with Todd, and I’m getting tired anyway.”

Mandy puts on her gossip face. “Ooh, scandalous. I’ll need details.” Then, as if remembering our encounter in the bedroom earlier, her face falls and her eyes dart between us. “Are you sure, Cor? I don’t mind.”

“Don’t be silly. You can’t leave your apartment unattended.”

Mandy nibbles her lip, looking conflicted, until one of her friends starts calling her over for jello-shots. “Yeah, okay. That works.” She glances over to me. “Call me in the morning?”

I nod.

Cora fishes through her purse for her car keys, then tips her head to the door, encouraging me to follow.

It’s a silent ride to my townhouse, five miles on the other side of town, and I almost fall asleep. But I’m too preoccupied with thinking about the last time we were in a car together, and every time we hit a stoplight, I half expect the window to be smashed open and for a new nightmare to begin.

She helps me into the house a few minutes later because things are starting to spin at this point, and I make my way to the bedroom on stumbling legs, unbuttoning my shirt as I walk. “Come on,” I say to Cora, who is lingering in the doorway, quiet and unsure.

“I should get going. It’s late.”

I pause to face her. She looks nervous, but not the uncomfortable nervous—not the Jason nervous. It’s something else. “Lie down with me.”

A bold request. Goddamn alcohol controlling my tongue.

“Dean…”

“It’s not like we haven’t before.”

She blinks. “That was a mistake.”

I take a step towards her, my shirt hanging open. “I guess if you want to call the best sleep we’ve had in almost two months a mistake, then sure. Okay.”

Cora ducks her head, lowering her eyes to the gray rug in my entryway. “You know what I’m talking about. It’s not appropriate. Especially because we’ve been…” She clears her throat. “Intimate.”

“Those were fucked up circumstances. We didn’t have a choice.”

“I know, but we have a choice now. We have our free will back, and it’s telling me it’s not a good idea to get in bed with my sister’s fiancé. It’s wrong, Dean.” She lifts her eyes back to me. “I’m sorry.”

I can’t argue with her. I can’t argue with any of that. I’m being torn in two directions, my mind telling me it’s not right and that Mandy would never be okay with it, and my fucking soul wanting nothing more than to feel Cora pressed up against my chest, the sound of her beating heart singing me to sleep like a goddamn lullaby.

I’m so fucked.

I nod my head slowly, pressing my lips together. “Yeah, you’re right. Happy New Year, Cora.” I shoot her a jaded smile and begin to turn around… but something stops me. Something that has been bugging me for weeks. I stop her before she slips out the door. “Hey, wait a sec.”

Cora turns to me with curious eyes. “Yeah?”

I scratch the back of my head. “That thing I said in the car that night… about the way you were dressed. About opening yourself up for unwanted attention…” I force my eyes up, noting a perplexed frown etched between her brows. “That was shitty. I don’t ever want you to think that what happened to us was your fault or that you brought it on yourself. It was a fucked up thing to say, and it’s been bothering the hell out of me. I just… you looked so fuckin’ pretty, and I guess I’ve always felt this weird protectiveness over you. I see the way men look at you and it drives me crazy.”

Cora is wringing her hands together, biting her lip so hard I’m afraid she might draw blood. “Oh. Um… thank you.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome.” I massage the nape of my neck, my chin to my chest. “Well, goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Dean. Happy New Year.”

I look up at her just as she shoots me the sweetest smile that makes my heart do things it really shouldn’t, and then she’s gone. I think about that smile as I crawl into bed a few minutes later, and I know I won’t sleep well tonight, but I’ll definitely sleep a little easier.