In the meantime, information arrived from Andrew.
“Erik Fengdahl is wanted in three states for sexual assault. FBI sending a pair of agents to work with the Portland Police Department to aid in his apprehension.”
. . .
On the fifth day, we still hadn’t heard from Brandon. Christopher couldn’t wait any longer, so we drove to Brandon’s house after work. His lights were out. There was no sign of anyone from Real Tech, so we gambled Brandon was alone, if he was home at all.
Christopher rang the doorbell four times before we heard movement inside. I wasn’t sure if I was disappointed or relieved when Brandon answered the door.
His eyes were bleary and his hair flattened against the side of his head with a serious case of bedhead that reminded me of an eighties pop star hairstyle. He wore plaid pajamas and was rubbing his eyes. We’d woken him, even if it was six at night.
“It’s early, Christopher,” he said, squinting into the dark outside. “What do you want? Couldn’t you have called first? I’ve been working late for months. You know that.”
Looking at the dark of twilight, I understood how he might be confused. I often woke up disoriented if I slept at odd hours. His face changed when he saw me standing behind Christopher. His mouth pinched in and his fists clenched.
“What the hell. You brought Elizabeth here? I told you a month ago that I’d talk to her when I was ready.”
He sounded irritated, which was fantastic.
Christopher stood with his head cocked to one side. “How do you feel?”
“Well, you woke me up while it’s still dark. It’s six a.m. And you brought my ex to my doorstep. How do you think I feel?”
“Six p.m.,” said Christopher. “You sound annoyed.”
Brandon frowned at the news of the time.
“Of course, I sound annoyed. I must be coming down with something if I’m this exhausted after sleeping all day.” Brandon frowned.
He’d slept over twenty hours if he’d injected himself the night before as planned.
Giving Christopher a dirty look, he trotted down the stairs in his bare feet and hugged me. He smelled like he could use a shower.
“I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring you,” he said as he stepped back. “I shouldn’t have stopped answering your calls or blocked your number. You went to my brother? I planned to explain when I wasn’t so busy.”
This was the real Brandon.
Tears filled my eyes, and he misinterpreted the reason.
“I know it wasn’t fair to just disappear the last couple of months. I was going to call you soon and see if we could talk. I want you back. I’ve missed our talks.”
I didn’t know what to say. We’d expected Brandon’s memories to be reset, but seeing it in action was difficult. My tongue twisted into knots. I shot a helpless look over his shoulder at Christopher.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” was my lame comment.
“What?” he said. “Course, I’m okay. Can we talk inside?”
I nodded and shrugged at Christopher. The three of us went inside together.
Christopher looked torn. He jammed his hands in his pockets; his energy level was high. We’d known this conversation was a possibility. I took a deep breath, trying not to get ahead of ourselves. We’d been disappointed before. We needed Brandon to watch his video.
A weight of unexpected responsibility settled over me. I’d hoped the video would cover how long this had been, how many months he’d been in a coma, and what had happened since. Brandon and I had broken up at the beginning of last June. It was now mid-February. We’d expected his video message to pave the way for our news. We were about to hurt him. I wanted to hold Christopher’s hand for support but refrained.
“What’s the last thing you remember?” Christopher said as we sat on the couch, space between us so we wouldn’t touch by accident. One hand drummed on his knee; his restless energy unable to be contained.
Brandon was going to be confused and upset.
Brandon grabbed a chair from the kitchen table and sat facing us.
