Max

---

One step inside Dev’s place, and my calm evaporates. Kate’s muffled gasp doesn’t help. It seems impossible that he wreaked this kind of mayhem on his own. That no one called for help. His downstairs neighbors must’ve heard something. It looks like he shot down the chandelier. The plaster’s full of holes where the fixture tore loose. And the impact—fuck. The floorboards are standing up like broken teeth, solid oak warped and splintered.

Kate bends and picks up a crystal teardrop, holding it to the light. My fury comes roaring back: where does she get off, touching that? Admiring it like a seashell at the beach? She left, too—hell, she was first to go. And now she’s walking through the wreckage of his life like she has every right to be here. Like everything about this isn’t wrong, wrong, wrong.

“Don’t—”

She starts and drops the bauble. “Hm?”

“Just, this place is bigger than you think. We need a plan of attack. So we don’t end up retracing each other’s steps all afternoon.” I force a smile. Bad enough I’ve brought her here. Bad enough we’re about to dig through his life to save our own asses. I’m not starting another fight.

“We should probably clean up what we can.” Kate peers into the dining room. His last supper’s rotting on the table: Thai, from the looks of it. Seafood, from the smell. “I mean, no way his grandma can handle this on her own. And it’ll help us keep track of where we’ve been.”

“There’s boxes in the laundry room.”

“And that would be...?”

“I’ll get them.” Damn it. I need to get away from her. I’m a heartbeat from ripping her a new one, and a heartbeat from sweeping her into my arms. Neither would be a good idea. But cleaning up is. It’s sweet. Considerate. Why couldn’t she have hardened into a despicable person, someone I could hate with all my heart?

The laundry room is bright and clean, after the chaos of the foyer. Whatever bomb went off out front didn’t make it this far. I close the door and lean on it, inhaling detergent fumes, and the chemical scent of fabric softener. Reminds me of Mom. Can’t count the times I showed up at school with a Bounce sheet hanging out of my cuff or my pant leg. Does anyone still use that stuff? Dev didn’t. He used a fluff-and-fold service. Which is why this place is a box repository.

My wandering thoughts bring peace. Kate’s bustling around: sounds like she’s found the kitchen. At least she’s doing something. I pile my arms high with boxes and make my way back out there.

“Whoa....”

Kate’s piled the dining room table with a bewildering array of bags, brushes, and sprays. The Thai food’s already vanished into some Tupperware. A cloud of Febreze hangs in the air. She offers me a shaky smile. “So I thought I’d start through there—” She gestures at the kitchen. “Figured you’d be more comfortable going through the personal stuff—the bedroom, whatever’s upstairs.”

Dev’s bedroom. I was the closest friend he had, as far as I know, and I’ve never set foot in there. I don’t want to face it alone. “Actually, I thought we should tackle that together. While we’re fresh. It is the most likely spot.”

“Good point.” Kate grabs the top box off the pile and fills it with cleaning supplies. I lead the way to the elevator. Her eyes widen as I press five.

“Told you. Bigger than you think.”

“I’ll say....”

We emerge in the fifth floor atrium. It’s a crime, how cheerful the place looks, with the sun streaming through all that glass. An upended rubber plant, half-toppled in the fountain, ruins the illusion of tranquility. I hurry down the hall, past the library and study, and... I think this is it. I pause with my hand on the door.

“You okay?”

“Give me a second.”

She’s touching me again. Rubbing my back, like that one moment of weakness in the conservatory made me hers. I twitch away, throwing the door open.

“Oh....”

“Holy....” I step back, knocking Kate into the wall. “Sorry.”

She waves me off, edging into the doorway again. “What—is that blood?”

“It’s not chocolate syrup.”

Kate strides into the room ahead of me. The noonday sun casts her in sharp silhouette. For a moment, she’s Athena marching to war, wielding a spear in place of a mop, a shield for a box. Then she steps behind the curtain, and she’s just Kate again, half kneeling on the bed to inspect the stain. “There isn’t that much. Maybe he....” She falters. “Maybe he tried.... Before he jumped, maybe—oh, God!”

She drops the mop with a clatter.

“Don’t say that shit.” My admonition comes out harsher than intended. “Don’t do that to yourself.” Didn’t need that image in my head, either, Dev hacking at himself, swallowing pills—this place smells like puke. How many ways did he try it, before he found one that’d be over in an instant? And now, I’m ready to kill her again. “Get the nightstand. I’ll take the desk.”

“Right.”

It’s oppressive in here. Not just the heat or the smell, but the atmosphere. The air feels thick. I can’t fucking breathe. Everywhere I look, it’s nothing but remnants of him. A pair of jeans hung over a chair, waiting to be pulled on. A scrap of paper—my heart plummets, but all it says is lebkuchen, salty shit, Kraft Dinner—food cravings, jotted down for later. A sudden compulsion to check his kitchen trash, make sure he got his treats before he went, almost has me fleeing the room.

There’s nothing in his top drawer but a dry cleaning ticket and a broken ruler. The next one down’s empty, and the one below it’s just as barren. There’s a footlocker underneath, key hanging out of the lock. That looks promising, but there’s nothing inside but a bag of lemon drops. An expired bag of lemon drops.

Kate stands up. “Anything?

I shake my head. “You?”

“Condoms, and a copy of The Overcoat.” She trashes the rubbers and starts to strip the bed.

“Wait. Isn’t that evidence?”

She pauses. “I don’t think.... I mean, there’s no crime scene tape on the door, or anywhere.” Her hand’s shaking where it’s settled on the pillow. “Half the world saw him jump. The coroner’s probably—”

“Yeah.” I cut her off before she can say done or given up, anything in that vein. The closet’s standing open, so I drift over there. Kate heads for the ensuite. The whiff of warm vomit intensifies as she opens the door. To her credit, she doesn’t so much as wrinkle her nose. I turn away to hide my own disgust. Soon, all I can smell is Lysol and dry cleaning fluid.

I unzip every garment bag, dip my hands into every pocket. I empty shoeboxes, shake shoes, unyoke socks. I empty the trash, crawl under the bed, flip the mattress. The sun moves across the sky. Kate leaves and comes back with more boxes. She empties his bookcases, flipping through every book.

I box up the last of his spare blankets and rock back on my haunches. It’s been hours, and we’ve barely cleared one room. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.”

“I know.” Kate coughs.

“You all right?”

“Yeah. Dry throat. Going to grab some water.” She dusts off her hands. “Could you finish that last box? I’ll be in the kitchen.”

“Sure.”

Kate hands me the packing tape and heads off. We need a better plan. One of us cleaning, the other searching. Guess I’ll search: I know the most likely spots. His study should be next, and if it’s not there, he did have that stupid man cave. I shudder at the thought of him reading his blackmail note on the giant screen, letters six inches high spelling out his doom.

A faint shriek rings out.

“Kate!”

I take the stairs to the first floor, three and four at a time. “Kate? Where are you?”

“Kitchen, still. Max, it’s—”

I burst through the old-fashioned swinging doors. Kate’s staring into the sink like she’s found something living in the drain.

“What is it?”

She points at the garbage disposal. “I can’t reach it, but isn’t that...isn’t that a flash drive?”

I nudge her aside. It’s hard to tell without a flashlight, but yeah. Yeah. That’s definitely a USB connector gleaming in the pipe. The drive’s scored and scarred, speckled with coffee grounds, but it’s there, and we’ve found it.

“You didn’t run water over it, did you?”

She shakes her head. “He might’ve. But we can try that rice thing, like when you drop your phone in the toilet. If it doesn’t work. And if we can get it.”

Getting it isn’t a problem. I’ve dismantled a garbage disposal before. It’s what comes next...hell. My gut’s turning sour, and it’s not the smell of old onions and drain slime rising from the pipes. Whatever’s on there, it drove him to suicide. Suicide—it’s too neat a word for what went on here. What he must’ve put himself through... He didn’t want to die. I’m sure of it, positive, and the thought of him psyching himself up for it....

I pluck out the flash drive and wipe it clean. “Look at it together?”

Kate’s head bobs once, stiffly. Her throat works.

“My laptop’s in the foyer.” I lead the way, lead-footed. I didn’t much like the answers I got from Wes last night, and this...this’ll only be worse.

Kate takes my arm again. I wrench free. “Quit touching me! We’re not—”

She recoils. Bites her lip on what might’ve been the start of a sorry. That spark in her eyes: she’s angry. I’m being an ass.

“Sorry.” I reach for her, brushing our knuckles together. “I’m—”

“I know. Me, too.” But her voice is tight. There’s an edge to her that wasn’t there in high school. She’d have cried, back then, if I yelled at her like that. Now, she turns her back on me, powering on my laptop. The password prompt pops up, and she steps aside. I type in 31-8-2007, and my desktop appears.

“You ready?”

“Do it.” She rests her hands on the table. If I hadn’t gone off on her, I could reach for one of them. Have that comfort, at least.

I plug in the drive. It doesn’t want to go at first, the scratched-up edges resisting the shape of the socket, but a quick jiggle slots it home.

Kate shifts her weight. “That second one—that’s not a text file.”

She’s right. Dev’s is different. One document—instructions.txt—and a video.

“Please. Just....”

I tap on the trackpad. The text pops up instantly:

---

*****DESTROY AFTER READING*****

I KNOW ABOUT MATT DANBURY. END YOUR LIFE BY THE END OF THE MONTH, OR YOU GO DOWN WITH EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOUR FRIENDS. SHOW THIS TO ANYONE AND I’LL KNOW, AND I’LL GO TO THE COPS.

---

Kate makes a wounded sound, deep in her chest. Her knuckles turn white. “Play—play the video.”

“Are you—”

She reaches past me and clicks it herself. It loads for a moment, but only a moment: it’s only eight seconds long.

And it’s Matt’s house—the laundry room window. Just before the fire. The timestamp spins fast, counting tenths of a second. I squeeze out the window. Kate grabs my hand to steady me. The picture jerks, bounces, and refocuses on Dev. He’s running backwards, laughing. Carson’s car’s barely visible past the garage. He’s leaning on it, looking out toward the lake. Smoking.

The picture cuts to black at six seconds. Freezes on a placard, white on black—

---

CAUGHT 10 MINS OF THIS.

30 MORE @ BEACH.

U KNOW WHAT 2 DO.

---

They saw us. Heard us. God, the beach—it hasn’t been so long I don’t remember Wes pulling his sleeve over his nose to filter the smell of the smoke. Dev crying his eyes out. Kate shaking like a leaf, and all of us, all of us, deciding we weren’t going to come clean. Because we didn’t know, never meant, couldn’t have known.

“This was—God!—Dev was murdered.” She snaps my computer shut, hard enough to crack the case. “Who would do this? Why?”

I reach for her, misgivings forgotten. If there was ever a time to hold her, in spite of everything, this is it. And I need this. Need her.

Kate clings to me. She isn’t breathing, isn’t moving at all, except to clutch at my shirt. I stroke her hair and her back, as much for my comfort as hers. I can’t stop the whirl of thoughts and images and memories, each darker than the last, but I can feel her against me, warm and alive. Feel her heartbeat, and remember there was hope in Pandora’s box, after all.

“We’ll get through this.”

She nods against my chest. I can feel her trembling, but her eyes are dry. She’s holding it together, maybe for me. “We’ll get this fucker.”

“Curbstomp his ass.”

“Fucking monster.” Kate squeezes my shoulder, almost painfully, and steps back at last. “We can’t deal with this now.” She gestures wide, indicating the chandelier, the floorboards, everything. “We’ll come back with everyone. Do this for him.”

“Yeah.” She’s right. Someone needs to tidy up his affairs. Someone who cares—not a stranger. But for now... I can’t be here one second longer. And Kate, she’s teetering on the brink. I can tell by the way she’s grinding her teeth. “Let’s go.”

She takes my hand and we walk out together. Neither of us says a word. We stay trapped in our thoughts all the way to my office. Everyone’ll be arriving soon, expecting answers. A solution. What we’ve got...it’s a nightmare.

We’ll get through this.