“Barely.” The corner of her mouth tips up slightly, playfully.
“That counts,” I concede, fighting the urge to try and talk her into moving out of the neighborhood. All of these cases werewithin just a six-block radius of this block. It doesn’t necessarily mean she’s in danger being in this neighborhood, but it doesn’t rule it out either.
“You got what you needed?” she asks. I hear her word choice. Needed, not wanted. Fair.
But it’s there, the reason I came. Or the excuse to anyway. “Some of it.” It’s not a lie; it’s just not the whole truth.
Her eyes narrow a fraction, pinching the chocolate brown circles into tight ovals. She knows the difference.
But she doesn’t push.
“Let me know if you think of anything else. Or encounter any more patients like that. And make sure to get PD involved if you do if they’re not already involved. We need a paper trail, contact information, all of that.”
She nods along with me while I list everything off. “And I’ll let Alice know as well.”
“And if any patient makes you feel off. Trust your gut.” I don’t think I need to tell her that, I’m sure it’s part of being a paramedic. But I have to make sure.
Her expression shifts, more serious now. “It all felt off,” she says. “That’s kind of the problem.”
Yeah, because we’re stuck in something much bigger than either of us. And I hate that she’s being pulled into this. But it’s her neighborhood and she’s responded to these calls and these patients. These possible victims.
And now it’s too late to keep her out of it.
“I’ll keep an eye out,” she adds.
It makes a band tighten around my chest. Because I know what “keeping an eye out” looks like for her. It means stepping closer, not backing away.
I’m glad that she’s willing to, but she shouldn’t have to. And I almost want her to keep her nose down when it comes to thingshappening around her. I don’t want to risk her being noticed byanyonein this damn neighborhood.
“Liv,” I start, calculating my next words before they leave my mouth. “Be aware. There’s a difference.”
She holds my gaze, “I know.”
I’m sure she does and she’s choosing anyway.
That’s worse.
“Goodnight, Alex.”
“Goodnight.” I step out into the hallway. Her door closes behind me with a soft click. I just stand there for a long moment. Listening to her apartment, the sounds in the hallway, the noise through the window at the end of the hallway. Like it can tell me something, anything.
I get nothing in response.
Then I move.
The night air hits colder than it should, the chilly nights becoming more common. Or maybe I’m just more aware of it now.
I take the front steps of the building two at a time, stepping onto the sidewalk and automatically scanning. The corners, the windows, an idling car across the street with no one inside.
There’s always something if you look long enough. That’s the problem. You can’t unsee it once you start looking for it.
Her building sits behind me, unremarkable but vulnerable. My jaw clenches tight. Everyone deserves to feel safe in their own home. I meant it when I told her that, I just didn’t expect it to matter this much.
I tuck the papers inside my jacket, throw on my helmet, and hop on my bike. I’ll bring them to Mason tomorrow morning but for tonight, there’s someone I need to talk to. I need someone else to bounce all of the things fighting for prevalence in my head off of.
I need to talk to my dad.
Family is supposed to be simple, or at least that’s what they told me in foster care. The first family I remember living with acted like I was the problem for not fitting into their dynamic as easily as those baby toys with shaped holes that you push tiny, shaped blocks through. But what they didn’t understand is that they were expecting a triangle to fit into their circle of a home, and they expected it to be as easy for me as it was for the circle shaped other kid. They’d gotten lucky with their first foster kid; he was just like them. So, they just thought that they were really good at it and that fostering was easy.
