The Lancaster Murderer

Home, 2:00 AM

EPISODE XVI.

Though it stirred me from a deep sleep, I answered my ringing phone within two seconds. "Hello?" I alertly greet, mind ready to run a marathon as my body drags itself from the depths of exhaustion.

As if he's just set down a 300-pound box and stretched his neck, Lucas sighs. "Hey, Cams. I'm sorry to have called so late, but I promised, so..."

"No, I'm glad you called," I assure, waving off his concerns. "Are you...able to talk?"

"My grandfather sleeps like the dead, so yes," he promises. "I didn't think today would get so out of hand, so I'm sorry again for that."

I stand up and look around the living room. There's no sign of Izayah having come back, but perhaps he slipped in silently and headed to bed. "Stop apologizing. If I wanted you to be sorry for something, you'd know it. If anything, I should be the one saying sorry for getting him riled up." I shuffle to the stout hallways and peek inside the room, which smells of new furniture and myself. Izayah is nowhere to be seen. The oven clock in the kitchen says it's early in the morning – why isn't he back yet?

"That's true. You could always use that pepper spray."

"And bite the hand that arms me with weaponry? Never," I joke, coaxing a small chuckle from the man on the other line. When his laughter dies down, I press on. "Lucas..."

He must hear the shift in my voice because he says, "Camry, it's complicated."

"Can you come over?"

"I don't think Izayah would like that," he counters, though it sounds like a lousy excuse. This is coming from the man who openly flirts with me in front of my boyfriend.

"I would," I firmly state. "Let me talk to you in person."

There's a long silence. I watch the oven clock electronically change three times as the minutes tick by. There's no sign of Izayah and Lucas doesn't speak. At least until, "What if you don't like what I have to say? What if...what if you regret hearing me out?"

"I won't, Luca," I sigh, wishing I could reach through the phone and hold his hand. "I promise."

"I'll be there in ten."

I worry at my fingernails with my teeth, pacing back and forth in front of the door, checking my phone every five seconds for a text or a phone call. At least 20 times I caught myself started to text Izayah, but hesitating. What if he's sneaking around somewhere? What if my text gets him caught? But then again, what if he's in trouble and I have no idea? What if he's trapped somewhere and he doesn't remember he has his phone until I message him? What if, what if, what if...

Finally, I gain some resolve and tell myself that if he's still MIA by 3 AM, I'll be sending him a message.

There's a low knock on the front door. After a quick check through the peephole, I throw it open to face Lucas Fraser. His bike is parked right behind him, but even without seeing it, I can see the signs that he rode it – leather jacket, crazy hair, vaguely insane glimmer in his eyes.

But the roguish delight he takes in driving his motorcycle quickly dies down. Even in front of my door and out of his grandfather's cabin, he appears as forlorn as he was in the kitchen. Unable to help myself, I launch myself at him, gripping him in a soul-squeezing bear hug.

With a heavy exhale, he wraps his arms around me and returns the gesture.

When we pull away, I usher him inside and turn on the living room lamp. "Are you hungry or anything?" I offer. "You know Izayah's got the goods."