Three hours later, the two people staring at us might as well be strangers. Emma chose a chin-length bob, the dark chestnut color reminding me of Clara. She’s already reachedup to braid it twice, her fingers flexing in frustration before she tucks them into her pockets.
But Jansen is unrecognizable. I’ve never seen the guy with hair any shorter than his chin. But now, it’s cropped close to his head, the inch and a half long strands a midnight black that makes his paleness even more striking. It’s like all the color’s been sucked from him, leaving only the gem-like green of his eyes. Every bone on his face is in stark relief, Emma’s breath catching when she first sees him.
“Jay, you look like a cross between a fallen angel and a sickly Victorian child,” she says, and he laughs.
“More importantly, do I look like the guy who just took a bullet at Trips’ house?”
All three of us shake our heads, Walker stripping off gloves while I finish sweeping up the hair from the floor.
Emma disappears, leaving the three of us huddled together over broken tiles. Walker picks up another bag, handing it over. “I figured you couldn’t pull off a natural black, so I got you some new clothes to go with the new look.”
Jansen pulls out a collection of black pants and shirts, his laughter so welcome after all the quiet gloom we’ve been living under. “I’m going full goth mode, then?”
“Look at yourself,” Walker says. “Who else uses basic box dye to go from a natural blond to black?”
“Maybe I should learn to put on makeup,” he says, a serious look on his face.
Walker smirks, then pulls out two tubes and slams them down on the counter. “I got you eyeliner and lipstick.”
This gets even me to chuckle, my focus finally pulled from work mode.
“Do either of you know how to put this stuff on?” Jansen asks, popping the lids off both tubes and fiddling with them.
“Nope,” Walker says while I shake my head.
“Emma?” Jansen yells, Fluffington sprinting from the room, his tail up in protest.
Emma walks in, totally nonplussed, obviously used to Jansen shouting for her. “What’s up?”
“How do I use this stuff?” He holds up the makeup, and for the first time in weeks, Clara’s fun-loving friend peeks through the stress and anxiety she’s been wearing like a cloak.
“You want a makeup tutorial?” she asks with a smirk.
“Yup. I’m going goth for the near-term.”
She motions back to the folding chair he’d been perched on. “Sit down, and I’ll walk you through it.”
I go to leave, but Walker stops me a few steps out into the hallway. “RJ, we should stay here, just hang out, maybe watch a movie. Take the night off.”
He’s right. We should. Only the thought makes sweat coat my skin.
“I’m not sure I can.”
“Why?”
I stare down the stairs, Fluffington’s ear tufts barely visible from a few steps down. “It feels weird having fun without Clara. It’s like, if she’s suffering, the least I can do is suffer with her.”
“Will suffering make you do your job any better? Will it get her back to us any faster?”
I snap my eyes to Walker. “When did you get so damn reasonable?”
“You’re confusing reasonable with manipulative. I’ve always been the second one.”
I snort, Fluffington venturing back up the stairs to join us, winding between our legs. “It feels as if I stop moving, if I pause for just a second, everything will come crashing down.”
“How is that any different from normal?”
Sighing, I reach down and let our tiny panther scent mark my hand. “It’s not.”
