I call the number. It rings and rings. I half think he won’t answer. I half hope he won’t. But then—
“Who is this?” my father demands.
It takes me a second to make my voice work, long enough that I hear my father mutter as he pulls the phone away from his ear.
“It’s me,” I reply before he can hang up. “It’s Elio,” I clarify, stomach twisting. “I … I want to come home.”
My father is silent. Shocked. Then: “Where are you?”
“I’ll be at the Spring Street Park by the statue in thirty minutes if you want to meet me. I have to go.”
I hang up before he can ask me anything. I silence my phone so that I won’t have to hear if he tries to call me. Then I pick up the gun and get back in the elevator.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Andre
Something’s wrong. I can feel it even before I’m fully awake. Something is fuckingwrong.
My eyes fly open. There’s enough ambient light to show me the dim stretch of the empty bed. I sit up, throwing the covers aside. I look toward the bathroom, but it’s dark. Everything is dark.
I get out of bed and turn on the lamp, wincing at the light. I don’t call out because I can fucking tell …
I prowl through the apartment turning on lights. My heart is racing so fast that I get dizzy. I find my phone and pull up the camera footage, scrolling back a whole goddamn hour to see Elias get up and get dressed and leave with his phone.
“What the fuck,” I mutter.
I track him with the hallway camera to the elevator, which he takes up to the office. I only have one camera in there, which is pointed at his workspace. It catches a glimpse of him as he walks to the mess of my overturned desk. I lose him there, but I have audio. He’s rifling through the mess.
After a while, I hear Elias say, “It’s me. It’s Elio. I want to come home.” Then a moment later: “I’ll be at the Spring Street Park by the statue in thirty minutes if you want to meet me. I have to go.”
What thefuck.
I pull up tracking on his phone and find him at the northern edge of the city and moving fast. He’s in a car.
I catch myself against the kitchen counter. I almost drop my phone.
My thumb hovers over the call button, but I don’t know who he’s with.
Except … I do, don’t I?
Elio, he said.
I want to come home, he said.
I can’t fucking breathe. My vision goes out. My ass hits the ground and my phone clatters to the floor.
I pick it up. I make a call.
“Andre?” Noah says, then when I don’t reply, “What happened?” Then, “Take a breath.”
“Elias is gone,” I gasp.
“Take a fucking breath.” When I do that, he says, “Another.” Then, “Tell me what happened.”
I tell him. I stumble through it, but his questions help me focus.
When we get back to the present, I ask, “Why would he …” I can’t finish the question, and it’s not something Noah could answer.
