“No fucking shit.”
He looks me over. “There was a funeral today. I didn’t realize my blues would cause this. I won’t come back unless I’m in street clothes.”
“You won’t come back again,” I say, remembering that this man was one lever that Trips’ dad was going to pull to control the two of them.
“Is Clara here? I’ve got a question for her.”
RJ’s hands have moved from his hair to his knees, the strange keening noise fading as he rubs the fabric between his fingers, a step hopefully in the right direction.
“She’s not here. And she won’t be for a while.”
“Where can I find her?”
I turn to the cop. “Listen. I know what she was doing for you. She insisted she give you more info this spring. I figure you’re probably here to ask for another list. But you can’t show up unannounced in your damn dress uniform.”
He sighs. Then he pulls out his card, scratching something on the back and handing it to me. “Have her call when she has a chance.”
I pocket it, then march into the house, pushing the door shut behind me.
Goddamn cops.
RJ’s staring at the ceiling, his breathing almost normal.
“Water?” I ask.
After a second, he nods, and I grab him a glass, setting it next to him on the stairs. I wait for him to take a few sips, then for him to feel comfortable enough to look at me. I ignore the shake in his hands. “Almost back to yourself?”
“Yeah,” he croaks.
“If you need to go rest, do it. I’ll work on Jansen.”
His eyelashes flutter closed. “I want to help.”
“Dude, your body was just primed to fight a lion. You need to get that adrenaline out, to calm the fuck down. And I don’t think talking Jansen into going to the hospital is going to fit the bill.”
His face grim, he pushes to his feet, the glass of water tight in his fist as he slumps up the stairs. Once the door to his room closes behind him, I take the breath I need, my trembling hands something I kept hidden from him.
He’s not my biggest concern in the house right now, though, so I’ll leave him to figure out what he needs. Jansen’s my priority. Only, when I push into the living room, I don’t find him in the middle of the floor staring at the ceiling like he has been for hours.
He’s not in Clara’s room, or his own.
Not in the kitchen or the attic.
Shit. Where the hell could he be? I pull up the tracking app, only to find he’s not even in the house.
For a split second, I wonder if he went to class. But zooming in, it’s clear he’s on foot, and going somewhere far away from campus.
What the fuck?
I’ve searched all the normal spots in this random park the tracking app brought me to, but there’s no Jansen. Which means he’s probably in the tower rising out of the trees like a misplaced storybook destination. Wandering the base, I find a door, and with a bit of a struggle and muttered threats about repercussions if I break in and he isn’t there, I get both locks open. Winding my way up the stairs, the interior cooler and damper than the late summer sun outside, I lose control of the worry I’ve been ignoring.
Why would Jansen come here? What am I going to find when I get to the top of this tower?
Am I capable of talking someone off a literal ledge?
The stairs end in an open observatory, stone arches creating beautiful vignettes of the city and river beyond. And if I didn’t have so much fear gnawing at me right now, I might give the view more than a passing glance and a promise to return with a sketchbook another day.
Instead of being taken in by the view, my attention locks onto my roommate strolling on top of the railing, his body bisecting one open arch, the goddamn cat weaving between his legs. I have no idea how to talk to him without startling him. One good scare and he’s gone. Luckily, he seems to have heard me, because he speaks without turning. “Hey.”
