Page 64 of Gorgeous Misery

“What?” he asks. “What’s going on, Merc? Why are we here?”

I let out a long breath as I scan the line of doors, stopping to stare when I get to seventeen. “There’s someone in room seventeen I need to meet up with.”

“OK. You want me to hang here?”

“No. You gotta see this.” I direct my gaze back to Harrison. “I’m gonna ask you for some advice tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” He kinda laughs.

“Yeah.”

“Why not today?”

“Because I think we’ll feel different about it tomorrow.”

He palms his neatly trimmed beard as he thinks. An old habit, one I rather like. “OK. I guess whatever is waiting for us in room seventeen requires processing time?”

“Exactly.”

“Got it. Do we need guns?”

I pat my thigh pocket. “I got a little .380, but no. I don’t think we need guns.”

“All right. Let’s do this.”

I nod, thinking I’m ready. But then I get a sick feeling in my stomach. Like this is one of those defining moments.

“Merc?”

“I’m fine,” I say. “Let’s go.” And then, before I can change my mind, I head towards room seventeen. I knock once. It takes four seconds for Nick to open the door. And those seconds go by way too fast. Because there he is. Right in front of me. The dead man himself.

“What the—” That’s Harrison. He doesn’t finish his sentence.

Nick glances at Harrison, kinda looks him up and down, then focuses on me. “Merc.” He opens the door wide and steps aside.

I move forward, but Harrison has my arm. “Wait. Am I seeing—”

“Yes,” I say, cutting him off. “You’re seeing this right. Nick Tate, meet Harrison. I’m sure you’ve seen him around.”

Nick extends his hand, like Harrison might actually shake it.

Harrison does not shake it. He says, “What the actual—”

But I cut him off again. “Inside, Harrison. That discussion will happen behind a closed door.”

Harrison looks over his shoulder and lets out a breath. Then he looks me in the eyes and gets it. Part of it, anyway. Not all of it. But enough.

We go in, Nick closes the door, and then he turns to me. “Nice to see you again, Merc. I wish it were under better circumstances. Where’s Wendy?”

“If things go well, you and Wendy will be reunited in about an hour and a half.”

He glances at a clock on the bedside table then scrubs his hands down his face. “What do you want?”

“What do I want?” I look at Harrison and almost laugh. Harrison isn’t looking at me. He’s staring at the ghost in front of us.

“What the fuck is this?” Harrison asks, finally getting to finish a sentence. “You’re dead. I saw your dead fucking body in that FBI safehouse.”

“That was his twin,” I explain. “So he says.”