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on
the display. V’s eyes scanned back to the blackened fireplace. By
the looks of it, Delaney hadn’t touched the fireplace since she
moved in. She would have to do something about that. It was the
perfect spot to dispose of unwanted items, whatever that was.
    Running her finger along the edge of the
thick spine of a book, V placed the first camera on the top of it. The World According to Garp . She had never read it; she
wasn’t much of a literary study anymore, not since she was a
teenager. The inconspicuous camera blended into the dark space.
Satisfied, she picked up the silver case and moved down into the
hallway to Delaney’s bedroom. She stepped onto the cracked floor,
skimming the room for the drop before narrowing in on the desk
tucked against the wall. It had a direct view to her bed. She crept
forward, placing the silver case onto the surface.
    Her eyes scanned the contents of the desk.
She picked up a frame with a picture of smiling people sitting
close together as if they actually enjoyed each other’s presence.
Their happy faces looking back at her, one by one. Taunting her.
The girl had taken after her mother - blue eyes and long, wavy
hair. Yet, the two boys didn’t look like the parents. Both had
light hair, contrasting to the dark strands of the parents. They
had rounder faces and their deep eyes were wider, set further into
their skulls. The two boys weren’t theirs. They couldn’t be. She
set the frame back down, slipping out the second camera from the
case. Placing a piece of tape on the back of the camera, she
adhered it to the frame before bending down to see the angle it
would capture. Flawless.
    V turned her attention to the bright green
filing cabinet next to the desk. She pulled it open, exposing a
handful of files that she shuffled through. There had to be more.
As she dug further, she felt a fistful of lace and silk. She
sighed, digging the bras and underwear out of the drawer and into
her bag. 1:28 p.m. There was more than enough time. She turned back
to the living room to begin the process of cleaning the
fireplace.

 
    11
     
    DAY 2:Friday, December 19 – 3:15 p.m.
     
    Delaney squinted as she looked out the
passenger window into the blinding glare of the sun’s reflection.
She turned to look at Mark’s profile in the driver’s seat. His eyes
were covered in sunglasses, the lenses staring ahead at the road.
She had waited two hours for Mark to pick her up, huddled in a
fetal position on the carpet of Joe’s office for the first hour,
willing Gunnar’s face out of her head. But she couldn’t remove his
face, his eyes. They plagued her just as Mr. Rowan had. Her body
had finally released, allowing her to crawl to the vending machine
to almost empty its contents. She had stared at the grease soaked
cat while eating far too many bags of junk food that exceeded their
“fresh by” dates. She blamed the uneasiness in her stomach to the
stale pretzels and chocolate melted and solidified several times
over. That made sense to her.
    She had been unable to dial 911, although
she had tried several times. Her finger convulsed over the last
digit, but she had nothing to say. No details to give about Gunnar.
The license plate was a blur. His accent, imperceptible. His
knowledge about Mr. Rowan, unfathomable.
    Only two people had known about that night
and now, one was dead and the other, herself, was a silent doll.
The police wouldn’t find Gunnar. The man was obviously a trained
killer, plunging the knife in the precise location to minimize the
blood loss in the most efficient stroke. Gunnar had also made it
exceedingly clear that he would have no problem finding her because
he already had. Her body toyed with the twisted sense of relief
that the only living, breathing connection to that night had been
immortalized in the trunk of that car.
    The Ford truck blazed through what snow
remained on the road after the blizzard had ceased. The snow
crunched beneath the wheels and spurted out the