Chapter 23

I couldn’t believe my eyes when Detective Doe’s message popped up on my screen. An address, a room number, and a grainy photo of Haides stepping out of a motel room. He even sent a phone number of the burner Haides was using. How he got that I had no idea, but I was eternally grateful for the information nonetheless. My heart did somersaults, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe. It was really him, and he was within reach.

The giddiness quickly gave way to reality. A five-hour drive stretched between us, a daunting journey I wasn’t sure I could tackle in my current state of mind. The thought of navigating the endless stretch of highway, alone with my racing thoughts, was overwhelming. I needed a different approach, something that felt like me, something that could bridge the distance without my physical presence.

Then it hit me—flowers. The perfect way to convey my emotions without saying a word. I scoured the internet for a local florist near the motel, my fingers flying across the keyboard with a newfound sense of purpose. I knew exactly what I wanted: Daffodils for forgiveness, their bright petals a silent promise to move past our turbulent beginnings. Lavender for my unwavering devotion, a fragrant testament to the loyalty I felt in my core. Light pink roses, delicate and unassuming, to let him know that even from afar, I was watching, I was present. And of course, red roses, the universal symbol of love, to express the depth of my feelings for him.

I filled the virtual shopping cart, my heart pounding with each click. At the checkout, I hesitated over the card message. I wanted to pour out my soul, to tell him everything the flowers represented, but I held back. Instead, I typed out a simple message: “Come home soon,” followed by a heart. It was concise, yet it held the weight of everything I wanted to say.

As I hit ‘send’ on the order, a wave of relief washed over me. It was done. Now, all I could do was wait and hope that the message I’d so carefully crafted would reach him. Maybe once he realized I wasn’t mad at what he did, he would come home. I leaned back in my chair, the tension in my shoulders easing for the first time in days.

I hear a knock at my motel room door, a sound that sliced through the quiet monotony of my hiding. My heart rate kicked up a notch, my hand instinctively reaching for the cold steel of my gun. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and in my line of work, surprises were rarely pleasant.

I approached the door with caution, my senses heightened. I peered through the peephole, then moved to the side, pressing my eye against the edge of the window, trying to catch a glimpse of my visitor. But there was no one in sight. The parking lot was empty, the soft glow of the streetlights casted long shadows across the asphalt.

With a sigh, I stashed my gun in my belt, under my shirt, in that spot where I could draw it quickly if I needed to. I approached the door again, my hand hovering over the handle. I was met with silence, save for the distant hum of traffic.

I cracked the door open, just a sliver, my body tensed and ready to react. That was when I saw it—an innocent-looking bouquet of flowers, sitting there on the welcome mat, as if it had been dropped off by a ghost.

My initial reaction was suspicion. I poked at the flowers with my shoe, half-expecting them to explode or something. I was well aware that a bouquet could be a Trojan horse, laced with toxic powder or some other nefarious plot.

I looked around one more time, but the corridor was as deserted as a graveyard at midnight. With no way to fully check the flowers without potentially exposing myself, I grabbed the edges of my shirt and pulled it up to cover my mouth and nose. I bunched my sleeves, making sure not to touch the bouquet with my bare hands.

Inside my room once more, I dropped the makeshift mask and placed the flowers on the little table in the corner, as far from me as possible. I took a seat in front of it, my gaze fixated on the colorful arrangement.

What kind of game was this? My mind raced through possible scenarios. The flowers were an odd assortment—daffodils, lavender, light pink roses, and red roses. Each one carried a meaning, but I’m not one to dwell on symbolism. What matters was the intent behind the gesture.

I found the card tucked in the flowers and plucked it out with my covered hand. I read the simple message: “Come home soon ❤️.”

Home. The word echoed in my mind, stirring up a storm of thoughts and questions. Where did they mean when they referenced home? Regardless of where that was, what exactly was waiting for me at home? Was it Cora, the woman who had turned my world upside down? Or was this a plot from a victim’s family, a trap set to ensnare me? Could this be the sign Selena was referencing, the sign that everything was all clear? Or perhaps it was the police, trying to lure me out of hiding?

I sat there, staring at the flowers, the card clutched in my hand. The scent of the blooms filled the room, a sweet fragrance that felt out of place in the musty and old motel room.

I leaned back in my chair, my mind a whirlwind of paranoia and speculation. The flowers, the card, the silent message—they all pointed toward a confrontation that I could feel brewing on the horizon. But for now, I was left in the dark, waiting for the next move in this dangerous game. I just hoped the flowers weren’t from the puppeteer Selena and me were hunting. Because if they knew where I was currently then I was less safe here than if I turned myself over to the police.

“What the fuck?” I muttered to myself, the words barely above a whisper. I have more questions than answers, and every possibility seemed to lead to a dead end or a potential disaster.