“Why do you think it was him?” I asked, dragging her back against my chest.
“They got into a fight this morning. Derek punched him.”
Heads swung in Derek’s direction.
“I didn’t do it! I’ve been—” He glanced at Warren before continuing. “I’ve been rehearsing in the practice room.”
What kind of place was this, anyway? What had Eve gotten herself into? I pulled her tighter against me as sirens screamed in the distance, and my shoulders relaxed infinitesimally. The police would sort this out.
They had to.
There were cameras and a building full of people who might have witnessed something.Surely, they’d be able to figure out who killed that man in the middle of the day in a building full of people.
I didn’t know shit. About police investigations. About security cameras. (Apparently, most of them don’t record when there’s no electricity). About how long it took to solve a damn crime. Evidently, crimes aren’t solved in an hour like they are on TV, as the smart-ass detective pointed out to me.
They’d kept us all in the building for hours, questioning us all individually about our whereabouts, who we’d seen, what we had been doing. And damn if I didn’t flush beet red when I told them how Eve and I found the dead body when we were messing around in the little theater.
They gave us all a once over with the black light, looking for blood splatter, I suspected, since there had been so much blood on the stage and in the orchestra pit. I had overheard one cop say they found some blood on one of the emergency exits. So maybe the murderer had gone out for a smoke or maybe he’d fled the scene right after killing the guy.
How much longer would producers let this go? Would they just keep rehearsing, even knowing there was a killer here?
I had convinced Eve to come and stay with me for the night. She didn’t put up too much of a fight about it. I didn’t want her sleeping alone, and truth be told, I didn’t want to sleep alone either. The idea of her being out of my reach for even one moment after what I saw today was nearly intolerable.
After showering and scrounging up some food for us both to eat, we lounged on my couch and pretended to watch a baseball game. If anyone asked, I wouldn’t have been able to name the teams.
I couldn’t endure the silence much longer. Things with Eve were never quiet. The amount of time she’d gone without speaking was unnerving.
But what did I want her to say? That she was okay? That everything was fine?
Nothing was fine.
The entire production was turning into a complete clusterfuck. Two members of the cast and crew were dead, and they hadn’t even made it to dress rehearsal yet. They still had potentially months of performances after that, and Eve’s safety was at risk every time she went to that job she loved so much. And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
She’d go back to rehearsals on Monday and then what?
I needed to dosomething.My skin was crawling, and as the minutes ticked by, I grew more and more agitated. I couldn’t sit here doing nothing. I needed to move.
I could go for a run, but that would leave Eve alone in my apartment, and I didn’t want to do that.
“Ben?” she said, finally breaking the silence.
“Yeah?”
“You haven’t stopped fidgeting since we sat down on the couch fifteen minutes ago. Are you okay?”
Had we only been sitting here for 15 minutes? It felt like an eternity.
My inability to sit still had always gotten me into trouble at school. As an adult with an ADHD diagnosis, I managed just fine, but stress made it worse. And the day had definitely been stressful.
“Sorry.” I got up and paced the length of the room. “Am I bothering you? I could go for a run. It’s hard for me to sit still after everything that happened today. I feel like I’m going to explode out of my skin if I do. And my mind won’t relax. I just keep wanting to solve all of this, so you don’t have to worry about it.”
She gave me a weak smile. “You’re not bothering me.” She pursed her lips like she was thinking. “Do runs usually help?”
I shrugged. “For the most part. Any sort of movement and exercise helps, not running specifically.”
Her face brightened. “Don’t go for a run. I have a better idea.” She scrolled through her phone and then pointed at my small coffee table. “Move that over there,” she directed, gesturing to the far wall.
I did as she said, curious to see what her idea was. Some Shawn Mendes song played through her phone speaker, and the tension in my body eased a little. Music always helped to slow the racing thoughts.
