Secrets, Lies, and Double Lives

By Claire Rosalind

There’s a serial killer on the loose, or so Elijah and Zeke have been told. Zeke has spent his life working as part of a secret organization tracking and trying to put an end to the sporadic murders of the man who ruined his life. When he rescues Elijah from a murder scene, he takes it upon himself to be his protector. But Elijah doesn’t need his protection. In fact, he's not at all what Zeke expected.

As they are forced to put their trust in one another and find comfort in their growing companionship, Zeke struggles to suppress his feelings. After an attack on their safe house causes them to retreat to Zeke’s agency, all the lies they have been living start to unravel.

Will they learn the truth before it’s too late? Or will they trust the wrong people and lose the chance to remember what happened last time they tried to escape and who really brought them together and destroyed both their lives?

NOTE: This book includes suicidal references and actions, self-harm, and depictions of disordered eating.

• Language: English
• Publisher: JMS Books LLC
• Release date: Jun 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781685504403

Book preview

Chapter 1: Trapped and Terrified

Waking up in a dark room in a stranger’s bed, Elijah feels his body tense and his blood run cold, completely immobilizing him with fear. He blinks a few times, needing to force his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He has to work out where he is, or at least how to escape. His head pounds in time with his heart, the sound of blood rushing through his ears almost deafening. Realizing he’s panicking, he takes deep, controlled breaths to calm down. He inhales slowly and holds his breath for a moment to will himself out of the impending panic. Then he hears something that sends his blood cold again.

He can still hear breathing.

Desperate to stay calm and rational, he opens his eyes again and stares at the ceiling, concentrating as hard as he can on where the sound is coming from. The bed beside him feels empty, but the breathing sounds close. He’s being watched, maybe even guarded.

Maybe if I just get up and run.

Elijah scans the room again nervously, so afraid that moving will get him unwanted attention that he barely turns his head as he searches for a door he can escape through. Elijah gulps and lowers his gaze from the ceiling to the wall opposite him, only a few steps from the end of the bed is his guess. A glow of subtle light grabs his attention, appearing to be coming from under a door.

Slowly and carefully, he pulls his legs free from the blankets and lets his feet slide off the bed. He takes another deep breath, trying to prepare himself to fight his way out, before he stands up and with the power of adrenaline, runs towards where he hopes a door will be. He hears footsteps behind him on the wooden floors and feels a wall before him. It rattles as he hits it. Elijah feels around quickly for a doorknob, turns it and runs out, slamming the door behind him.

The light coming under the door is moonlight flooding in from a small window above a toilet and Elijah sighs as he finds he’s trapped himself in a bathroom. Quickly, he locks the door and stumbles backwards until he feels another wall behind him. He slides down against it to the ground, shivering in shock as he cowers between the toilet and sink.

The person on the other side of the door jiggles the doorknob and bashes on it while yelling something that sounds like gibberish. The sheer adrenaline running through him distorts every sound, making everything but the pulsing of his heart impossible to distinguish. Elijah closes his eyes and brings his legs up to his chest, hugging them tight as he tries to remember how he got here, and who brought him here.

He’d just gotten home from school to find his house open, but nobody inside, or so he thought. There was an odd smell in the house Elijah couldn’t recognize. All he knew was something was wrong. He felt eyes burning into him everywhere he was, but had been so focused on finding out what had happened and if his family was okay that he hadn’t even really thought about whether he was in danger. He walked cautiously, looking for his mom and dad, who were normally home at this time of day. There was just something wrong about everything. There was no comforting, homely feeling. He couldn’t recognize a single familiar sound or smell, and little things had stood out. The burned smell of his mother’s baking lingered through the entire house, and the silence rather than the afternoon news headlines his parents would have on while they caught up about each other’s days over a cup of tea.

The feeling of being watched intensified as he wandered up the hallway, but something kept him from daring to look. He walked into his parents’ room and found it a complete mess. The mirror that stood beside the door was smashed and the sheets were torn from the bed, pulled off to one side. He gasped at the sight of the normally neat room, but what caught his attention next was something that shattered him beyond belief.

Please open the door! I won’t hurt you. The stranger’s voice comes from the other side of the bathroom door. Elijah had forgotten momentarily about the situation he’s currently in and, at the pounding on the door, he jumps. Please open the door! The voice sounds more desperate than aggressive.

You killed my family! Elijah screams back, attempting to sound brave though he can feel a lump of fear making its way up his throat, forcing his voice to waver. He closes his eyes as he remembers what he’d seen in his parent’s room, though as soon as the memories come forward in his mind, he wishes he could forget.

The smell of the blood seeping into the carpet around their bodies, their faces, eyes open in a blank stare of fear. The image in his mind is torture, but it’s so vivid and all he can think about is his beautiful mom who he’d rarely seen with any expression but an encouraging smile, his dad protectively holding her in his arms, his white business shirt stained with blood from a series of knife wounds.

I didn’t kill them. Please, I am so sorry for what you’ve been through. You must be terrified. Open the door and let me explain what happened to them. The voice seems to be more urgent than before.

Elijah shakes his head, hugs his legs and dares to close his eyes again. He thinks again about what he’d seen.

At the sight of his parent’s slashed and blood covered bodies, he froze in shock. He put his hands over his mouth to silence himself, too aware of his danger to make a sound until he can be sure he was safe. After a few long moments of staring at the bodies before him, struggling to make sense of what he was seeing, Elijah took a step towards them, his legs shaking as he neared. He kneeled beside his mother and touched her hand, horrified to find that she was still warm. For a moment he wondered if there was any way to resuscitate her, but when he shifted his father and saw the wound in her chest, he knew there was nothing he could do. He blinked away the tears in his eyes as he bent down and kissed her cheek, whispering a goodbye before gently closing her eyelids. He looked beside her at his dad. He was just as pale as his mom, and the wounds covering his body were undeniably fatal in their multitude. He had obviously put up the best fight he could to protect them.

Though Elijah’s mind was numb, his instinct kicked in, making him feel powerful or as if he had nothing to lose. Coming to terms with the situation, he turned around and searched for a weapon, in case the person who’d killed them was still in his house. Most of the objects in the room had been broken, so he found nothing he could use. Even the mirror was shattered into such small pieces he’d barely inflict any damage with the biggest shard, and would probably slice open his own palm the moment he made impact on whatever threat might still be here.

A shiver ran up Elijah’s spine as he again felt eyes on him from somewhere. He looked around but saw nothing. He walked back out of the room that has become his parent’s tomb. Elijah looked down the hallway and headed down towards his sister’s room, silently begging that she’d gone to a friend’s house after school. The room hadn’t been touched, apart from the shoes and school bag that were dumped at the end of the bed. His skin prickled as he stepped slowly towards her wardrobe, hoping he’d find her hiding in there. Safe, but terrified. He opened the door and gulped. There was nothing but a pile of unfolded clothes, no sign of his sister. Elijah closed the door and turned, half expecting to see the killer, but instead there was nothing but emptiness. Someone was enjoying this horrible and sick little mind game with him.

Elijah walked out of her bedroom and down the hallway, noticing photos on the wall were tipped. Some had even fallen to the ground. He hadn’t noticed this when he walked in, but if it had happened while he was in the house, surely, he would have heard the smash of glass. His senses were raging now, the adrenaline making him more vigilant. He noticed blood on the glass on the floor, then some streaked finger marks on the door to the bathroom. Anticipating what he’d find, he slowly pushed the door open and stepped inside.

On the floor beside the bathtub, his sister’s school dress lay ripped and tainted with blood. He walked forward, seeing a trail of drops of blood leading into the bathtub and on the walls behind it were streaks, like handprints. There was a noise behind him and before he could turn to see what caused it, he felt a hand cover his eyes and pull him backwards with the words, Don’t make a sound, whispered in his ear. Elijah obeyed the order in the hope the person would let him go, but instead, he felt a damp cloth smothering his nose and mouth. He struggled for a moment, then heard a loud thump behind him and blacked out.

The knocking on the other side of the door stopped, but the light is on in the bedroom now. It’s obvious by the shadows under the door that the man is still waiting for him. He can feel the strong and dominant figure’s presence on the other side, making him feel even weaker as he sits shivering on the cold tiles. His heart racing as he gulps back his nerves and straightens his back a little to make himself feel stronger.

Leave me alone, Elijah screams and a flood of tears finally pours out of his eyes. He’d been trying so hard to be brave, but he’s lost his strength. The memory of what he’d seen was too much for him to handle. He hears footsteps walking away from the door and feels solitude set in. He can’t believe the guy had done what he said and left, but he’s afraid of what might happen next. The stranger might be going to get a key, or could be just testing to see if Elijah will come out. Elijah just hugs his legs tight and rests his head on his knees, then stays still.

It’s hours before the footsteps return. The sun has finally started rising, the morning beams of sunlight shining in through the window, lighting up the bathroom. Being able to see his surroundings properly, Elijah relaxes a little. Content knowing that he’s alone, and, from what he can tell, he isn’t in any immediate danger. Sure, he’s trapped, but he isn’t having to fight for his life yet, so he decides to preserve his energy for when he needs it.

He has a sink he can drink water from and though not very comfortable, he’d rolled up a towel and rested on the floor, using it as a pillow. The early morning air blowing through the tiny window is cold, but there’s a bathrobe in the room that he’s pulled on for warmth. It’s soft and the subtle coffee scent in the fabric is deceptively comforting.

In the time he’s left alone, he looks for a way out. Even though he’s petite, he’s too big to fit through the window. He considers waving a towel out of the window in the hope someone might notice and help him, but from what he can see, the bathroom must be at the back of the house. There’s nothing but dark, thick forestry in sight.

If he can just escape, it’ll be too easy to run and hide. He always enjoyed climbing trees and camping as a child, so he knows he’ll be able to climb a tree and hide from the evil man waiting for him outside the door. He’s even picked a tree he can see. It’s tall with plenty of low branches to climb, but a thick covering of leaves he can hide amongst when he gets high enough. Assuming he runs fast enough, and climbs fast enough, he could get to it and hide up in the overgrown branches until it’s dark again. Then he can come down under the cover of night and run to the front of the house where he assumes there must be a street, judging by the few cars he’d heard passing by. That’d be the logical thing to do, anyway. Elijah just has to convince himself he’s not willing to attempt to commit murder himself. He can’t deny a certain desire for vengeance is in the back of his mind.

Please come out, the voice on the other side of the door is calm as the man again attempts to turn the handle, probably checking on the off chance that Elijah had been naïve enough to unlock it in his absence.

No! Leave. Me. Alone.

Do you need anything? You must be getting hungry or something.

I need whoever the hell you are to fuck off. Leave me alone, Elijah shouts.

The silence that follows leaves him to, once again, do nothing but lie here contemplating his options. Elijah doesn’t know who is on the other side of the door, but he’s sure he hates him more than he’s ever hated anything or anyone before. He won’t be fooled by the empathetic tone in his voice.

Elijah stands up and looks out the window again, wondering how to get out there, but the sunlight reflecting off the mirror distracts him. He turns to the mirror above the sink and sighs as he sees how much of a mess he is. His blond hair is all knotted, and dirt smears cover his face. On closer examination, he realizes they are smears of dried blood, and to his disgust, with no injuries obvious to himself, it doesn’t even seem to be his own blood.

Figuring he is safe for now, he runs some water and splashes it on his face to clean himself, brushing his fingers through his hair and neatening it a little. He cups the water in his hands and drinks some, then looks back at himself, considering his next move. He shakes his head and frustration boils inside him like an erupting volcano. He draws his arm back, then punches the mirror without hesitation, with as much force as he can muster.

With a smash, the glass shatters and falls all over the counter and sink. There are a few longer and wider pieces he could use, but he’s not sure whether he wants to risk it.

What just happened? His impulsive rage has apparently gained the attention of his captor, who is again rattling at the handle, trying to get in. Are you okay?

What the hell do you care? Elijah yells back, his hand shaking a little from the pain of the impact and the cuts all over his fist. Elijah stares at his hand and grips a shard of glass that is stuck in his wrist. He takes a deep breath and pulls it out quickly, biting his lip at the pain. If he let out that he’d hurt himself, this stranger might be more determined to break in.

Look, I’ll let you stay in there and I’ll leave you alone until you’re ready to talk, but you have to promise me you aren’t going to hurt yourself.

The warning is so ironically timed Elijah scoffs, staring at his hand, covered in blood. The pain is horrible, but it makes Elijah feel a sense of pride at his own strength. Survival instinct really changes a person and what they can endure. He raises his head to look at the broken mirror and notices it was a cabinet. He pushes the broken cabinet door open and looks into it, not sure of what he’s looking for, but something is telling him the answer is in here.

There are a heap of bandages and containers of pills. He knows his first thought should be to bandage his bleeding wrist, but he’s drawn to the labels on the pill containers.

Why didn’t you kill me? Do you need me alive? Elijah licks his lips, wondering if escaping isn’t the best option. If failing to escape means his captor could kill him, or worse, then what’s the point? He can’t stand the idea of being tortured. Worst-case scenario has never been death to him. It’s the thought of being tormented on the brink of it. If this person needs him alive and there’s even the slightest chance of torture, Elijah knows what he’d rather do.

I want you to be alive. That’s why you’re here, the man says.

Part of Elijah wants to believe him. After all, he’d woken in a comfortable bed, not chained up in a dungeon. He shakes the thought from his head, unwilling to accept there’s anything but evil intent.

The warning on one of the pill containers read, Do not take more than two in the space of eight hours. Following that is some fine print Elijah ignores. He shakes it and judges by the sound and weight that there are more than two tablets in there. He’d sooner die by his own hand, than give anyone the satisfaction of taking his life.

The noise of the tablets attracts the attention of the person on the other side of the door. Can you please open this damn door? He rattles the handle again, sounding frustrated.

Elijah looks over towards the door and shrugs, then opens the container. He considers taking the rest of the tablets and sees the container is almost empty anyway. He counts them out, twelve altogether.

Seriously, open this door right now, the voice demands.

I don’t think so. You won’t get anything out of having me here. I’d rather die, Elijah says with a bitter resignation in his tone as he picks up the first small blue tablet, inspecting it in his shaky hands, wondering if he’s really capable of doing this.

Open the door. You need to trust me. Open the door and let me help you. The stranger again sounds desperate.

I’ll take care of myself. You don’t get to hurt me. Elijah quickly takes the first tablet, cupping water in his hands and sipping it to help wash it down. With a peace-willing sigh, he grabs the container of pills, pouring a few more into his hand.

I won’t hurt you, I swear, the man yells.

Elijah takes the next tablet and smiles as it slides down his throat. That’s two. Anything more than that is against the warning label. He’d seen enough drug talks in health class at school to know that overdosing and death go hand in hand.

How many should I take? Elijah asks himself quietly and frowns. To be sure… he starts, then impatiently tips the rest into his mouth, struggling to swallow them all. He smiles when he swallows the last of them and slowly drops beside the counter with the pill container still in his hand, already feeling numbness settle in, or maybe it’s just the weakness of an empty stomach, the adrenaline crash and the bleeding from his wrist all taking effect at once. He closes his eyes, feeling successful and waiting for the blissful world of eternal darkness to surround him. He feels his body becoming weaker and starts shivering again.

He tips his head back, welcoming the blackness that clouds his vision as the surrounding noises drift away, leaving him in a peaceful silence.

* * * *

When Elijah’s eyes open again, he feels groggy and sore. The floor below him is cold and he can feel the glass he’d broken earlier under his blood covered hand. He coughs and looks around, horrified and disappointed to see the bathroom he’d so desperately tried to leave.

Elijah hates himself for swallowing all the pills. He can’t move his body at all now, apart from his head. Even the thought of moving is painful. His head is throbbing, and all his muscles seem to ache. The room is piercingly bright, and Elijah figures he’d been asleep for at least a few hours in his self-inflicted coma. With a painful lurch towards the toilet, he clings to the seat and vomits, his bile brightly colored from the pills.

He hears two voices now, though one sounds as though it’s coming through a phone. He can’t quite make out what is being said. He recognizes the voice that had been asking him to open the door, then hears footsteps coming towards the door. He lets go of the toilet seat and falls back against the wall weakly then notices the pill container has rolled over to the now open bathroom door while he’d been passed out.

To his surprise, the person who appears in the doorway looks more worried about Elijah than he is about seeing this dangerous stranger. Elijah feels uncomfortably safe in his presence. This man doesn’t look much older than Elijah is. He’s dressed like he’s just come home from an office job, his short brown hair gelled back out of his face, and there’s a perplexed expression in his soft brown eyes as his gaze sweeps over Elijah.

He doesn’t look like a killer, but then again, Elijah knows all too well that looks can be deceiving. Elijah can only assume that this man, at the very least, has it in him to murder someone.

Elijah tries to move, but his body seems as though it is near paralyzed from whatever he’d taken. His muscles are too heavy to move.

Oh God. Are you okay? the man asks.

Elijah looks away from him, not wanting the man to see the vulnerability in his eyes. In his peripherals, he watches as the man picks up the tablet container that had rolled to the door.

You shouldn’t have done that, the man sounds inconvenienced more than concerned.

Leave me alone, Elijah says, his words slurring and his eyelids feeling heavy, though he wills himself to try not to give in to the pull of sleep.

The man’s lips quirk into a gentle smile as he steps forward and says, Oh, let’s not start that again.

* * * *

Chapter 2: The Overdose

Go away. Leave me alone. Elijah’s face contorts to a pained expression as he desperately tries to will his limbs into cooperating.

His effort is pitiful.

The man stops where he is, less than a step away, and nods at him.

Elijah finally gets a good look at the stranger, who carries himself with such confidence. Physically his body is more mature than Elijah’s in build. Maybe that’s what is making him come across more intimidating. The man’s attention goes to the shattered mirror on the floor, following up to the medicine cabinet. He frowns at the sight of the door barely hanging by the hinges. He steps forward and pushes the broken door closed, the slow creak of the hinges interrupting the tense silence.

Why did you break that open? he asks, shifting his attention back to Elijah.

Elijah stays silent and looks away from him again, being defiant in the only way he can with the rest of his body numb.

You aren’t going to answer me, are you? The man pauses, allowing Elijah an opportunity to respond before he speaks again. Okay, I understand you’re afraid, but you don’t have to be. Not of me. I’m not here to hurt you, all right? And I won’t force you to stay either, but right now, this is probably the safest place for you to be. The man looks him up and down as he crouches to his level. You look starved. What can I get you to eat? He gives a kind smile and extends a hand to help him up.

I don’t believe you, Elijah says, voice raspy, his mouth and throat feeling dry.

If you just give me the chance to explain… The stranger reaches for Elijah’s arm.

Don’t touch me. Leave me alone, Elijah screams.

Once again, the man stops when asked, pulling back before attempting to make eye-contact. Do you want to starve? He questions jokingly.

Well, either way, I’ll end up dead, Elijah says, staring into the eyes of the man before him. His gaze is fierce, but his captor’s eyes are soft, concerned, even.

You know it can take up to around three weeks to starve to death, right? I mean, the pills I understand trying but going for a starvation method would be one of the most strenuously drawn-out ways to kill yourself and, if I’m honest, just a little too dramatic for my liking. The man smiles. Now, what can I get you to eat?

The dark humor almost wins Elijah’s trust. Why are you being nice to me? he asks, wondering if this man is a master at deception or whether he’d judged him wrong. He’s caught between naively falling for the stranger’s kindness and stupidly pushing away genuine help. The thought of getting it wrong either way confuses him.

Because right now you’re in a position where you need someone to take care of you. The man again offers his hand. Elijah winces in pain as he lifts his heavy arm up, curious to take this offer and find out what is really going on.

With a grin, the mysterious man helps Elijah to his feet, holding most of his weight as Elijah gauges whether he’s even able to walk.

After a rush of pins and needles, Elijah tentatively takes a shaky step. Moving is going to be a slow process like this. Elijah whines as his knees buckle and he collapses against the other man.

Okay, you’ll have to sleep this off, the man says, lifting him and placing him on the bed where the morning’s drama had started. He takes the time to make sure Elijah is lying comfortably, while Elijah takes in his surroundings.

The door is open from the bedroom to the hallway now, so Elijah mentally notes exactly where it is, counting the steps it must be in his head. He wants to know all of his exits, so as soon as he gets the chance, he can escape. No more locking himself in rooms and trapping himself. As soon as this guy turns his back, Elijah wants to know which way to run. He silently curses himself for running towards the end of the bed this morning instead of the short distance to his right where he’d have found his freedom released to the rest of the house.

Hindsight is cruel.

Please let me go, Elijah begs, not caring for how pathetic he might sound. Stop messing with me. Just let me go or kill me.

You won’t get very far in this state. Maybe you shouldn’t have swallowed all of my anti-depressants.

I doubt that’s what they were. Elijah’s focus locks on the door as if it might disappear if he takes his eyes off it for even a second.

What, you didn’t even read the label?

No. I didn’t care what it was, I just wanted it to kill me.

Well, I’m glad it didn’t work. The last thing I needed was to find you dead in my bathroom. My name is Zeke, by the way. You?

Elijah risks another confused look at the man beside him. Eli-Elijah. Surprised by how difficult his speech is, something he assumes it’s a side effect of his overdose attempt, Elijah groans. The unconsciousness he’d fallen into after attempting to overdose has left him so groggy and weak, along with a migraine, he can no longer ignore his body begging for rest, no matter how hard he wants to fight it.

I hope you feel better after a good sleep. Zeke smiles and walks out, turning the light off on the way but leaving the door to the hallway open. Call out if you need me for anything.

Left in peace, Elijah attempts to reassess his situation, but his eyes are too heavy to keep open. The final thought before he falls to sleep is that Zeke might have left him on his own to mess with him. It certainly doesn’t appear that he’s being kept locked up. Zeke likely assumes he can’t walk, so maybe he doesn’t think of him as that much of a threat right now.

I’ve got to get out of here. Elijah’s eyes close, and he slips back into unconsciousness.

* * * *

Zeke stands in the bedroom doorway while Elijah is being examined. Corey, Zeke’s closest friend, is checking his heart rate and blood pressure, noting it down.

Thanks, Corey. He told me he couldn’t walk and that he felt like he was going to pass out, and that he’d tried to overdose on my meds. He threw up a lot when he woke up, so I’m hoping he didn’t do too much damage. I’ve been watching him, only left him for a couple of minutes to call you. Zeke frowns and watches as Corey packs away his equipment and walks back over to join him.

His vital signs are in normal range, blood pressure is low, but that’s not unexpected considering the vomiting and the blood loss. Make sure he has plenty of fluids. Muscle numbness and aching are typical overdose symptoms, but if his condition doesn’t improve over the next twelve hours, or gets worse, don’t hesitate to call me back. Corey tucks away his notepad.

He didn’t even flinch. I would have woken up if someone was stitching me back together. Zeke shakes his head, a little amused by the whole situation.

Corey laughs. You say that as if I’ve not run a full set of vitals on you or stitched up your wounds while you were asleep a few times. I’ve taken blood samples and set up IVs while you’ve slept, too. You get home from jobs and just pass out. There’s no way I’m waiting until you wake up to check if your health has been compromised on a mission.

No way. Zeke turns his attention back to the younger guy asleep on his bed. Is he going to be all right? Anything else I should look out for?

He’ll be all right. Expect him to sleep for quite a while and have difficulty speaking. Slurred speech is a normal side effect. That’s another reason to make sure he has plenty of water. He’ll have a dry mouth and may experience migraines. Best not to give him any pain killers though; any additional pills while his body is recovering from this kind of shock could have an adverse effect on him. He’ll probably be very sick with nausea and vomiting. If he can’t keep food and water down tomorrow, call me and I’ll try to get here to give him a drip. Obviously, I can’t weigh him like this, but he doesn’t look like he’s got much body fat to lose, and, especially while he’s still in danger he’ll need his energy, so we’ll want to keep on top of his health, in case things take a turn for the worst.

I noticed that when I picked him up. There’s nothing to him. Should I get him on some protein drinks?

It certainly wouldn’t hurt. Corey nods, looking down as a pager in his pocket beeps. I better go.

Of course. Thanks for this. You…You won’t tell anyone about this, right? Zeke rubs his forehead. He can feel a headache coming on just from the stressful last twenty-four hours.

Zeke, how long have you known me? Haven’t I proven to be excellent at keeping secrets? But are you sure this is the right thing to be doing? I mean, if someone finds out, then—

Zeke cuts in. The last time we left a survivor victim to the police to protect, he was dead within a week. He’s safer here with me. I don’t care what our policy is. If you don’t tell anyone, then no one will find out.

What about visitors? I know there’s someone that spends a lot of time here when you two aren’t working.

Zeke curses under his breath and tips his head back, looking up at the ceiling. I’ll work it out. I’ll come up with something. I can’t think right now it’s been too much of a day. I’m exhausted, he says, running his hands over his face. Thanks for your help.

No worries, that’s what I’m here for. And if you need me to check up again, then just call me and I’ll be right over. Corey pulls a set of car keys out of his pocket.

Zeke walks him to the front door, watches Corey get in his car and drive away, then he closes and locks the door before returning to the bedroom. Elijah is still asleep, so Zeke sneaks into the bathroom, almost stepping on glass from the mirror.

Great. He shakes his head at the mess and trudges down the hallway to find a dustpan and brush.

* * * *

After a few hours of rest, Elijah wakes up, realizing he’d rolled in