Unlike Linda, Maxine had a practically encyclopedic memory when it came to clients of the agency, could rattle off names like it was nothing. Linda could look up each person, see what she came up with in their files. But Maxine would be faster.
Her assistant studied the list and mumbled to herself before she addressed Linda. “Well, I think I see a connection, but I’m not sure. Seems loosey-goosey…”
“Okay…”
“Well, they’re definitely all part of the ‘hurting-inside brigade,’” Maxine said. “As you know I like to call them. Those clients who didn’t need a private investigator as much as they needed care, to talk to somebody who gives a damn about them. Like Mrs. Bartlett, who should’ve just sat with her shit, right? Have some introspection. The types of clients with whom you’d share that folder of yours, referrals to counselors, therapists… encouraging them to get help. I’d say these are folks who actually might have decided to follow up on your suggestion.”
“To get in contact with professionals who could help them out…
okay… yeah, yeah, I see the connection. Max, you’re a doll, as always. Let’s continue to go through the list, pull up each client’s individual file, see what else comes up.”
“Naturally, darling, on it. And are you okay?” Maxine hesitated. “You… you look tired. I’ve been reaching out to clients as you requested, letting them know we need more time to complete cases. Most have been understanding, some have left town. I’m so sorry about the Samuelson bloke, Linda. I know you. I know you wanted to get to the bottom of this… before… I hope you know that what happened, it’s not your fault. None of this is your responsibility.”
Linda refused to go there. “I’m good. We’ll get through this. For real, thank you.”
Her assistant gave a salute. “Call me whenever. I’m here.”
Linda hung up and sat through what Maxine had come up with. The whole “hurting inside” connection between the names they’d found on the listwasa loosey-goosey idea, truth be told, uninformed by the data-driven intel and hard facts that Linda relied upon to deliver the goods to her clients. But… it was something. She thought a moment about what her ask for Elton would be and then gave him a call. He didn’t pick up.
Linda texted quickly.
E, big favor. I need you to run the names of the Afflicted through any sort of database you have of psychotherapists, counselors, life coaches… anyone who’s in the field of mental health, self-care… that sort of thing. I need to know what names come up, if the Afflicted have anything in common in terms of the type of facilities they might have visited, who they might be seeing. I just have a hunch. Call me ASAP with any questions.
Linda was surprised by the speed in which Elton responded to her text. Less than twenty minutes.
Wasn’t sure what you were getting at with your request, but I had my assistant do several searches. We came up with something. Apparently at least twenty-five of the Afflicted had been in contact with a particular therapist, which was a surprise…
Linda stopped, held her breath, and looked at the name that Elton had texted over.
Rayo Courant.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EVELYN
You got this, girl,” Evelyn mumbled for the umpteenth time as she made her way down Fourteenth Street, the eerie silence broken up by the occasional car or bus that passed by. She needed to be brave, told herself she had nothing to fear as she walked toward U Street Metro. The station’s entrance was guarded by a cluster of National Guardsmen in fatigues, one of whom nodded to Evelyn as she walked by. She descended into the station’s belly, the only person on the escalator. The last time DC had been so deserted during prime-time hours? The pandemic. Folks didn’t want to risk joining the ranks of the Afflicted. Several stores were closed, iron gates down. A few people trickled into restaurants. Even Ben’s Chili Bowl lacked its usual bustling crowd spilling out onto the sidewalk.
The streets weren’t safe. The air wasn’t safe, as if something could descend from above and wreak havoc. As if whatever had beset the demon eyes had floated through the ether and infected their minds and bodies, as easy as catching a cold or the flu. That’s what folks were assuming. That’s what was keeping folks inside. The death of Pastor Samuelson had become a city-wide specter.
People were losing it. Yesterday evening, a finance VP was arrested andaccused of second-degree murder after he’d bludgeoned his wife to death with a rock on the streets of Silver Spring because he thought he saw a flashing red glow beneath her shades. Multiple reports were coming in of folks forcing roommates or romantic partners or children or parents from their home for acting weird, for having something “of the devil” about them. One Bible-waving woman who was popular on the feeds had kicked her husband out of their house. “I’d rather let that sinful mofo live on the streets than have whatever’s consuming his soul take me,” she declared.
Evelyn decided she would carry a bottle of pepper spray anytime she went outside, something she hadn’t done in years since she’d left Baltimore. The train she stepped into was almost as empty as the streets. A few people were headed home from work, those who couldn’t telecommute, she assumed, or those who weren’t afraid. She suddenly recalled she’d run into a disheveled Pastor Samuelson on the Green Line. Evelyn wondered if she’d been one of the last few people to see him out and about before he succumbed to… whatever he’d succumbed to. A thought she pushed aside.
She switched over to the Red Line at Fort Totten, got off one stop later at Takoma. Less than twenty-five minutes after leaving her studio, she’d reached Trevor’s four-story walk-up, an older renovated building that she suspected had been built in the ’50s. Trevor buzzed her in and she walked up to the second floor. He opened the door, gave a grand bow in nothing but loose white shorts… shorty shorts that clung to his upper thighs, to her delight. A towel lay on his forearm and he held a silver tray with a flute of bubbly orange liquid. A mimosa?
“Trevor, we don’t have to do the whole love-scene thing anymore.” She picked up the flute and took a sip. Definitely a mimosa. It felt off to indulge in something so frivolous, considering what was happening to the district. She hadn’t even paid her respects to Pastor Samuelson. Hadn’t gone by Ebenezer, a place that could’ve easily been her church home if shelived closer by, just to be with other folks. Last she saw on social, a mountain of flowers rested outside the sanctuary, laid there in his honor. What right did she have, to prioritize pleasure?
Trevor tucked the tray under his arm and helped Evelyn take off her jacket. “Why not? Maybe this isn’t special. Maybe this is just what it’s supposed to be like between us every day. Nice threads.”
Underneath Evelyn’s jacket, waiting to be revealed, a blue two-piece romper patterned with white butterflies. Another outfit she’d only had the courage to wear in a store dressing room and her apartment. Cute, but showed off her curves too much, made her look fat. But now she wanted to show what she had, wanted Trevor to see everything that he could devour.
Evelyn leaned in for a kiss, for their embrace. Their wonderful, sweet embrace that felt like it was sprinkled with honeyed raindrops, with dust from the stars. That made the anxieties and uncertainties of the past few days disappear. She felt the magnetic pull of Trevor’s arms, his skin against hers, could tell from how he held her that the pull was there for him, too. An embrace that was gentle yet passionate. Maybe even a bit desperate, like he had to exult in her energy because he wasn’t sure when he would see her again. An electricity that circled her, that made her feel supported, strong… alive. The times when she was in Kent’s arms… an increasingly fading memory… a mercy… their hugs fast, furtive. An overbearing mountain making its presence known. Evelyn understood the subtle message; she was to make herself small.
She rubbed her nose against Trevor’s neck. Let her fingers trail the curve of his slick, smooth back. Evelyn wanted him badly.
She forced herself to step away and noticed the dark circles under his eyes. Had he been up late?
“You okay, sweetie?” Evelyn asked. “You seem a bit tired.”
