The site of her darkest discovery the previous spring.
She lowered herself to the hardwood and looked under the bed even though she knew the box no longer resided there. The empty space perhaps made her more uneasy, not knowing if Dayton had kept it and simply stored it elsewhere or if he’d gotten rid of it altogether.
Her knee brushed the rug at the foot of the bed and she recoiled as flashes of memories came back to her.
Stumbling in and out of the bathroom. Falling to the ground. Feeling as though she’d been drugged. How quickly it all had passed, like the episode was a contrivance of her imagination.
At the edge of the rug, Kenna noticed that one of the floor planks was loose, raised slightly above the others. But as she peeled the rug back, it revealed more loose boards. She’d discovered three by the time she cleared the area.
The longer she stared at them, the faster her heart beat.
She should’ve replaced the rug, gotten up, and walked away, but she found herself clawing at the floorboards until the planks laid beside her in a haphazard pile and she stared down into the darkened space. DVDs. An entire archive.
Dayton wouldn’t be away all morning.
She didn’t have long.
An unpleasant odor emanated from the secret compartment and she grimaced while combing through the discs. Each one bore either a weird phrase or a date. All but one, which Kenna retrieved with shaking hands.
Gray October, Sung-Min Park.
She had suspected that Dayton had been the one who’d slashed Liam’s tires, and perhaps that he’d also stolen the short film, but now she held the proof.
His appearance outside of Wagner Theatre that cold February night had, in fact, not been a coincidence.
She set the film aside and resumed filing through the discs, but staring at the collection in their cases didn’t do her any good. Kenna resolved to watch just one, if only to advance her research. She selected one at random. Its label read, ‘09.10.18.’ For a motionless moment, she studied his familiar penmanship and wondered if watching it would further tear down her faith in him, faith that had been running on fumes for months and months yet never depleted.
Deep down, she knew nothing she learned or uncovered would eliminate that faith. Not when she was the only thing keeping it alive.
Migrating back to the main area of the house, she settled in at the desk and popped the disc into his laptop.
Her heart hammered as her eyes flicked between the wall clock and the screen. Kenna could only imagine how Dayton would react were he to come home and find her screening his home movies.
It was dark and the camera was shaky but a woman soon came into focus. Her voice was high and had a breathy quality as she repeatedly said ‘no’ between laughs, holding her palms out in front of the camera to block herself from view. A larger hand reached out and softly batted hers out of the way, revealing the woman from the navel up, and every hair on Kenna’s body stood on end as a deeper voice spoke.
“That’s better. Now everyone can see your beautiful face.”
“Everyone? You promised this was just for us.”
“It’s a figure of speech, Jazz.”
Jazz. The nickname played on a loop through her head as she took note of the distinctive red bra. She was one of the Polaroid girls. Long lashes cast shadows across her face, a reluctant smile blooming as she ran a hand through her straight dark brown hair.
Jasmine.
She sat up, leaning forward, and the angle of the camera fell to the sheets, at which point Kenna ejected the disk. She wouldn’t subject herself to watching Dayton with another woman. The few minutes she had viewed were enough to add something of value to her research files.
Though she’d terminated the footage, she failed to do the same with her thoughts. Her mind wandered while she returned the disc and righted the floorboards.
If he had filmed Jasmine, had he filmed others?
She was certain he had not done that with her. Then again, she’d been asleep when he photographed her.
The metal on metal sound of a key twisting in the front door carried through the house as she staged the rug precisely in its previous position. She dove beneath the comforter, already constructing a cover story in her head. Her pulse evened out to its usual pace as she listened to the scoring of Dayton’s arrival. The clomping of shoes and thunk of his keys being dropped on the coffee table.
Soon, he leaned against the doorjamb. “I thought you’d be up by now.”
“I sleep in on the weekend. Occasionally.”