Free Down the Darkest Street by Alex Segura

texture, bruises, and tics. Soon, like muscle memory, their bodies moved in a rhythm that neither had found since Emily got into that cab, years before. It was in this moment that Pete allowed himself to push past the nervous energy, the rush of paranoid thoughts, and the constant overthink that had invaded his brain since he’d stopped dulling it with alcohol. She was quiet, letting out soft, slight moans in response to Pete from time to time. Both of them focused on what they were doing to each other—and for each other. A momentary respite from the dirge-like existence surrounding them: the darkness, the rejection, the failure, and the sadness that Pete had seen in himself and in her was carefully placed on the shelf for a minute while they dealt with other feelings that had collected a coat of dust: pleasure, affection, comfort, love.
    Pete didn’t believe his phone was actually ringing until the third chime, and with that, he let out a loud groan. Emily, still on top of him, grabbed both his hands and pinned them down on the bed, willing their bodies to continue.
    “Do not answer that,” she said, her voice almost hoarse. “I will kill you if you answer that.”
    Pete pulled her close and kissed her. She smelled the same. She moved the same. He took comfort in the familiarity. Everything was clearer. The phone continued to ring.
    “Let it go to voice mail,” he said with a smile, as he picked her up and flipped her over, kissing her neck, finally appreciating the moment. It rang twice more.
    “Good boy,” she half whispered. His fingers, sliding over her face, felt the smile on her lips.
    The phone started to ring again. Pete let his eyes glance at the display—it was Kathy. She wasn’t a phone person—the fact that she was calling him twice back-to-back meant it was important.
    Pete untangled himself from Emily and grabbed the cell phone on his nightstand.
    “Hey,” he said, out of breath. “You OK?”
    “Um, I’m fine,” Kathy said. “I guess. You sound like you’re not, though. Are you OK?”
    “Yeah, I’m fine.”
    “OK, well, you may want to get down here,” she said.
    “Where? The Times ?”
    “Yes, The Times ,” Kathy said. “I’ve been stuck here all night. Have you not watched the news at all? I figured you’d be the one calling me.”
    Emily stirred. “What’s going on?”
    “I don’t know,” Pete whispered to her, then returned his attention to Kathy. “What happened?”
    “Is someone there with you?” Kathy said. “Jesus. OK, whatever. It’s Alice.”
    Pete’s heart sank.
    “They found her? Is she dead?”
    “Yeah…Yes,” Kathy said. Pete could hear her voice crack. “It’s just… It’s terrible. Terrible.”
    “What happened?”
    “She’s dead,” Kathy said. “Stabbed all over. I’ve never seen anything like it. They found her—most of her—in a lake. Whoever did this…I can’t even describe it. She’s dead. Alice is dead.”
    Pete dropped the phone and let his eyes drift up to the ceiling as Emily pulled him closer. He couldn’t hear her, but he knew what she was asking him. As he closed his eyes for a moment, the sliver of moonlight creeping into the room went dark.
    ***
    They didn’t talk during the half hour drive from the house to the downtown offices of The Miami Times . They’d gotten dressed, throwing on whatever was around. Pete in a T-shirt and hoodie sweater with blue jeans and sneakers, Emily in Pete’s Pixies reunion shirt, jeans, and sandals. They looked just like they felt—a couple interrupted. Pete had a playlist he’d put together months ago playing off his iPhone. The third track kicked in, Neko Case. She sang about wanting to die at the drive-in. Emily flicked off the stereo. He looked over at her. She was staring out the window.
    “You OK?”
    “Yeah,” she said.
    He thought about reaching out a hand, but he wasn’t sure what to make of her. Had their connection been just a thing that happens when you mix toxic