Finding Eden(63)

I turned my attention to Detective Lowe and took a deep breath.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

I nodded. "Fine, I think . . . it's just . . . so strange seeing him again."

"I can imagine." He stood up and came to sit on the couch next to me. He turned toward me. "Hey, Eden, you're doing really great under the circumstances," he shook his head, "I can't even imagine how difficult this is, and you're holding up so well. I hope that doesn't sound patronizing." He laughed a small laugh. "But I see a lot of people in difficult situations and I just wanted you to know that I'm really impressed by your courage."

I smiled, thankful for his words. "Thank you, Detec—" I looked up as Calder moved into my vision. His jaw was hard and he put the two glasses of water down on the coffee table hard enough that a little bit of water sloshed over onto the wood. I looked up at him and his eyes widened and he looked embarrassed.

"Sorry, I'll go get a napkin."

When he left the room, the detective said, "This is just as hard on Calder, I'm sure. Take care of each other."

I let out a breath. "We will. I appreciate that." I walked him to the door and stood against it for a minute after I'd closed it behind him, considering the situation now in front of us. I wasn't sure what to think yet.

I went into the kitchen where Calder was standing with his hands braced on the counter. I put my arms around his waist and hugged him. "Hey," I said.

"Hey," he said softly, turning in my arms. He brought his arms around me and I laid my cheek against his chest.

"Everything's going to be okay," I murmured.

"Yeah," he said and paused. "Just seeing Clive's face . . ." He let out a harsh breath.

"I know."

We stood like that for a few minutes, taking comfort in each other.

"What do you think he thought?" Calder asked. "When he heard we're still alive? What do you think went through his mind?"

I leaned my head back and looked up at him. "I don't want to even try to get into his mind. I can only imagine it's a really ugly place to be." A shiver ran down my spine.

The look on Calder's face told me he agreed wholeheartedly.

After that, the media amped up their efforts to get to us—for now, it was safest and most convenient to be at my mom's house. So a couple days after we'd arrived, the police drove us to Calder's apartment so he could pack a small bag and grab what he needed for an extended stay.

When we all got to the top of the stairs, one of the policemen said suddenly, "Stand back," and drew his gun. Adrenaline burst through my system and Calder's arm shot out in front of me, pushing me back, before he positioned his body in front of mine.

The police officers hurried past us and one of them nudged Calder's door open with his foot. It was then that I understood. Calder's door was slightly ajar. My heart sank. I knew we had closed it and that Calder had locked it when we had left a couple days before.

I peeked around Calder as the door swung open and gasped, horrified, when I saw the destruction.

Calder let out a choked groan as the police officers went in, their guns drawn. Calder grabbed my hand and moved me to the side of the door as we heard the officers inside the apartment searching it. After about five minutes, they came out. "I'm really sorry," one of the officers said. "Prepare yourself. It's bad in there."

Calder held on to my hand as we both entered the apartment. I put my hand over my mouth to stop myself from crying. All the kitchen cabinets had been torn from the walls, and the beautiful flooring was gouged and looked like a jackhammer had been taken to it. The counter was smashed and all the light fixtures had been torn down. Oh God, oh no. Why? Calder had done all the work on this place himself. I looked up at him and he looked shocked, his expression blank, but his jaw hard and set.

I dragged my eyes from him and read the words written in black paint all across what had been clean, white walls: SATAN WORSHIPPERS, ACADIA DEVILS DIE, and EVIL LIVES HERE.

I choked out a horrified sob. My eyes flew to Calder's and before his eyes met mine, I saw something that looked like shame on his face as he read the words. Hector had called him evil, too. Satan's spawn. Somewhere inside, did he believe that was true? Oh, Calder.

Calder pulled me through the destruction that was the open-space living and kitchen area down the hall to his studio. I cried out again when I saw what had been done. Every painting was smashed and destroyed—completely obliterated. I looked around, bile rising up my throat. The same graffiti was all over the walls of his studio, too, but when I looked at Calder, he wasn't looking at that. His eyes were moving over all his ruined work. Devastation hit me in the gut. "Calder," I whispered, "I'm so sorry." My voice broke on the last word.