The Guy Next Door

Chapter 4

4

ZANE

S itting at my laptop, I watch the surveillance footage around Leif’s place.

Five cameras, one for each side of the house and an extra one in the back, since as I anticipated, that seems like the most likely point of entry for an abductor if he doesn’t want to be seen by any of Leif’s neighbors.

“See how we can keep an eye on the perimeter?” Dad said, displaying the different viewing screens on his laptop. “That way, we can see anyone coming.”

One of the cameras allows me to see into Leif’s bedroom, but he’s kept his blinds closed since our chat, and I understand why. Despite turning away whenever he’s changed or stripped down, that doesn’t change that what I’m doing is wrong, especially with where my mind goes whenever I see him grab the hem of his shirt and pull it up to his chest, revealing that tight body. Although, I feel less guilty about all this now that I know it’s all been worth it. That I actually intercepted someone’s fucked-up plan to carry him off for whatever sick reason this monster has in mind.

It’s a little after seven. That’s about three hours before Leif usually heads to bed, and he’s in the kitchen. He just finished cooking his dinner. Feel like I can still taste the kick of that stroganoff he gave me earlier.

I didn’t waste time after he gave it to me. I hurried home and warmed it up on the stove before cherishing the kick of paprika and Dijon mustard.

It’s hard to make out what he’s cooking tonight; he’s got it in a clay pot that’s been cooling on top of the stove. He glances around uneasily. He’s done that a few times since our talk. Figure it freaks him out knowing I’m watching, which I feel like shit about. He’s packing some of it up in Tupperware, even before eating, which isn’t the norm. And he’s made more food than usual, maybe to have some throughout the week.

He packs the Tupperware into a backpack on the counter. He slings the backpack over his shoulder, then grabs the clay pot with two pot holders before heading for the door.

What is he doing?

Soon, he’s out the front door, on the move.

I can tell from Camera 1 that he’s making his way through the yard toward my place.

“Fuck,” I mutter. I hurry to the bathroom and check myself in the mirror. Glad I fucking took a shower earlier. I throw on some extra deodorant, and the doorbell rings.

What is wrong with this guy?

I hurry downstairs and open the door, and I’m sure my confusion is written all over my expression.

“Care for some spaghetti squash chili?”

“Uh…sure,” I say with a shrug.

I step aside and let him into my place. For the guy who kept pepper spray on me throughout the morning, he sure as hell doesn’t seem afraid of me now.

That’s a mistake.

He leads me into my own kitchen.

“What are you doing here?” I ask as he sets the pot on the stove.

“Figured I’d give you an update after my visit with the cops.”

“Yeah, I sort of…”

“Followed me to the station? Yeah. I’m more aware since our chat.”

After our visit earlier, I’d tailed him to the station, parking nearby while he met with them. But I thought I was doing a good job keeping my distance.

“I was half expecting them to raid this place,” I say, “but all I got was a voice mail from Detective Roth, asking me to call her back.”

“Funny ’cause no one’s contacted me.” He doesn’t sound happy about that. Like he’s having to come to terms with the fact that the cops aren’t going to take this as seriously as they should.

“What happened?”

He smiles, and I can’t imagine what he has to smile about with everything he has going on. “I hope you like corn bread. I also brought over some coleslaw I made the other day.”

“It’s like getting a visit from Jamie Oliver. Are you avoiding my question because the cops are about to bust down the door?”

I’m joking. I assume they wouldn’t send him into danger if they thought I was a threat, but why isn’t he just getting to what went down?

“I’m only doing what you did to me this morning,” he says. “I wanted answers, and you were…less than forthcoming.”

“Yeah, I was there,” I remind him.

“So why don’t you sit at the table, and I’ll fix us some plates?”

“Okay…”

I take a seat at the table, anxious as fuck. His vengeance is cruel but just. Probably doesn’t hold a candle to what I did to him, so I need to take it on the chin. I’m sure I can safely assume he didn’t tell Roth the truth about last night; otherwise, there’d already be a police vehicle outside my door, not a voice mail. But the details of what he shared matter. If he didn’t say the right thing and the cops interfere, he could fuck this up for both of us. For himself because I won’t be able to keep him safe, and they won’t either. For me because this is my only chance to save my brother.

If he’s even still alive…

“How did you like the stroganoff?” He makes himself at home, searching through the cabinets.

“It was very good,” I confess. “My stomach is incredibly appreciative.”

As he pulls out plates and bowls, he glances over his shoulder, smiling. God, that’s a fucking smile. Between what happened last night and what I told him today, how can he still have such a killer smile?

And that fucking beanie. There’s a shift in my pants. Oh fuck, now’s not the time for a boner. That’ll really freak him out.

“You’re not even gonna give me a hint about what happened?” I ask as he continues prepping.

“Well, I told my parents about the break-in, alerted the Neighborhood Watch, and then got a locksmith to change the lock.”

“You know that’s not what I’m asking about. And that I already saw the locksmith drop by earlier in the day.”

“Which drawer is silverware?”

Fucker.

I direct him, then lean back in my chair, taking advantage of a meal being served to me. Been a long fucking time since I’ve had that.

He fishes some pepper and salt from his backpack and seasons our chili bowls before bringing his concoction over to me, the bowls and silverware set on the plates. He’s not as standoffish as he was this morning, setting my plate and bowl right in front of me. Then he places his on the opposite side of the table and takes a seat.

“This is good timing,” I say. “I wasn’t sure what I was gonna do for dinner. Wanted to order a pizza, but kind of got to save up my money to stay here. My rent before this was only six hundred, and this is a little under two thousand.”

“You like pizza? What kind?”

His head jerks subtly and his face twists up, like he realized what a weird question that was. Almost seemed instinctual, like something he would have asked anyone. Then he realized he was asking the creep next door.

“I usually go for something pretty basic, like pepperoni. If I’m real adventurous, I’ll do chicken Alfredo. Really very basic guy. I mean, I have my steel oats for breakfast, and then I’ll make a roast beef sandwich for lunch. Maybe eat some canned soup or chili for dinner.”

He stares at me, looking serious, as he did when I was telling him all that messed-up shit earlier.

“What?”

“I can’t imagine eating like that.”

“This is how we ate as kids, so I guess it’s normal to me.”

He’s still staring at me, like he’s trying to make sense of why kids would eat like that, so I try to get him off it.

“Bon appétit,” I say, and he watches me take a bite of the chili.

I close my eyes as a piece of spaghetti squash hits the roof of my mouth, the bottom of the spoon sliding over my tongue. There’s a hint of spice; I’ve only had two meals from him, and I can tell he likes spices.

“Fuck,” I say. “This is even better than the stroganoff. Not that it wasn’t good. It was amazing.”

“If you’re real good, I packed another cookie.”

“Then I guess I’ll be real good.”

He chuckles, and I’m wondering how the hell this is happening. What’s going on? Maybe this was how he was feeling all through our chat this morning.

I lick my lips and take a drink of the bottle of water he set out.

After we’ve both taken a few bites, I’m still on edge. Want him to put me out of my misery. “Am I gonna have to finish before you tell me?”

He swallows some coleslaw, then says, “I went to the station like you told me to. Talked to an officer who added some notes to the incident report and took the flash drive. They said they’d pass it all on to Detective Roth.”

“And you haven’t heard from her?”

“Nothing yet.”

“Interesting because she called me earlier. I didn’t answer because I wanted to wait and see what you said before I start lying my ass off.”

“I found a happy middle ground between the story you suggested and something closer to the truth. Said I met you, and you told me about the post. That we got to talking and you moved in next door before this thing happened.”

“That was clever.”

“Figured no reason to commit a felony by lying to a cop.”

“Yeah, that’s how I play it.”

It’s a relief to hear. Not that Detective Roth isn’t going to give me hell about this, but at least we don’t have to get into the specifics of how we actually met…and they have some reliable evidence that could help them get their act together and do something to make sure Leif’s safe.

“I don’t know what was in my head,” he goes on. “I guess from watching so much TV, I had this thought that they were gonna swoop me into an interrogation room and try to get as much information as they could, but they just gave me Detective Roth’s card. Told me she might give me a call.”

“Like I said before, it’s so little to go off of, and Roth isn’t convinced the two disappearances are connected. Young guys, they go missing sometimes, that’s what she told me. If we had that fucking letter, I think we’d have something, but—”

“You didn’t mention Michael was your brother.”

I’m quiet.

Very quiet.

I take my first bite of the coleslaw. The shift in conversation has sucked some of the joy out of the flavor, but it’s still good.

“Yeah,” I say after swallowing. “I knew you were gonna find out sooner or later. I preferred for it to be later, and not to have to be the one to talk about it. It does…get me emotional.”

I’m waiting for him to make a comment, like others have, about the fact that I don’t appear very emotional, but he wears a warm expression as he says, “I’m sorry. I don’t have any siblings, but that must have been hard.”

“You have to take care of Mike,” Dad said, his eyes wild and wide as he hands me the gun. “You have to always be there if anything happens to me. It’s all on you, bud.”

I nod. “As you probably already saw, we’re very close. When I heard about this letter, I was surprised he hadn’t mentioned it because we spoke on the phone pretty much every day. I guess he thought it was nothing, but God, if he knew how big this was going to get, I’m sure he would have taken a pic or something.”

“So you’ve looked for the letter?”

“I checked his room at the apartment he was staying in. Nothing.”

“It’s eerie hearing you say that mine is similar to your brother’s. It sounds like this person is trying to make someone feel special but then gives the same bizarre compliments to different people.”

“Definitely sounds like a creeper. Not that all creepers are bad.”

I immediately regret making the tasteless joke at an insensitive time, but Leif snickers, and it’s nice that, despite not knowing each other long, he seems to get my weird sense of humor.

But just as quickly, he quiets, surely freaked out about the possibility of being a serial abductor’s next victim.

“I should probably go,” he finally says.

“You haven’t really eaten.”

“I put some in the fridge at my place, and I’m not really hungry right now. You can store the rest of the chili and bring back my clay pot when you’re finished.”

“Okay,” I say as he starts to grab his plate.

“I’ll do the dishes, since you made the meal.”

“Oh, thanks.” He grabs his backpack off the chair.

I hop up, and we head for the door. “Keep me posted if you hear anything from Roth,” I tell him, mostly because I don’t know how to make his exit less awkward.

“For sure. And you…keep me posted if…I guess if someone’s trying to kidnap me.”

Silence stretches between us.

Another fucking awkward moment, and he tugs at his beanie before heading on his way.