“I really don’t appreciate you snooping around me when I’m asleep,” I grumbled, tossing back the covers. A quick glance at the clock clued me in to the fact that it was past eight. I’d been asleep for nearly six hours.
“Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“We had a fight. I went for a walk. You were asleep by the time I got back so I decided to let you rest. That was before I knew about the nightmares, though,” he said, brushing the back of his fingers against my cheek. The gesture made me jump. I then realized that there were tracks of tears drying on my skin. Shit.
I wiped my face and stood up, pretending not to care. “Well, you should have gotten me up. We still have work to do.”
He was still staring at me with that soft expression. I let out a frustrated sigh. “Oh, don’t give me that look. I thought we had mutual disdain for each other. Don’t go ruining it by actually caring about me.”
“It’s high time someone did.” His voice was hard to place so I couldn’t tell if he meant the comment or not. I sifted my fingers through my hair and walked towards the door without answering, partially because I didn’t know what to say and wasn’t sure I wanted to continue the conversation.
“Did anything happen when you went for that walk?” I called over my shoulder, sitting in front of the laptop and tapping it awake.
“Not really. I went around the park a few times. Decided not to murder you in your sleep,” he added with a small smirk.
“How kind of you. Aha!” I discovered that Vincent had indeed emailed me back.
Michael leaned over my shoulder. “I knew I wasn’t the only person who says ‘aha.’ Is that what I think it is?”
“Yep. Your address.” I copied and pasted the address into a Map Quest tab I’d opened and set about copying directions. Still hadn’t gotten around to buying that printer yet.
Once I finished, I folded the paper and slipped it in the back pocket of my jeans, then went to the fridge to get a drink. “Hey, Jordan?”
“Yeah?”
“Did I thank you?”
I thought about it. “No, I guess not.”
Michael gave me a small smile. “I will.”
I couldn’t resist a grin. “At least we know the movie quotes part of your memory is back. Desperado? Really?”
“Aw, c’mon,” the poltergeist protested, adopting a faux hurt look. “I thought that sounded cool. It’s classic Robert Rodriguez.”
I took a long swig from my water bottle and replaced it on the shelf, shutting the fridge door. “If you say so. Hold on, I’ve got to grab something before we go.”
Normally, I didn’t need to resort to carrying the handgun with me but there was always the chance that his killer, assuming if there was one, was still in the vicinity. The gun itself was nothing fancy—a .38 Chief Special Smith & Wesson revolver. I had two copies of the permit for it: one in my home, the other in the lining of my coat. The inner pocket of the duster was just the right size for it to fit comfortably but still be able to be drawn easily. I didn’t expect I would need to use it, but better safe than sorry.
“Do you really think I’ve been murdered?” Michael’s voice was soft, but I still heard it from across the bedroom. He stood in the doorway with a rather solemn expression. Words failed me. Would he really want to hear the answer? If it were me, would I want to know if someone killed me? Maybe.
I took a deep breath. “I’ll be honest with you. It doesn’t look good. The fact that no one knows you’re dead yet makes me worry that your death might have been intentional.”
I stepped closer to him, staring all the way up into his face. “But if you want the truth, I don’t think the reason you died was your fault. You’re a pain in the ass, but you’re a good guy. I’m sorry this happened to you.”
He gazed at me for a handful of seconds before nodding and his hair slid forward into his eyes. For some reason, it was the first time Michael seemed human. He was always so amiable and confident that seeing him be vulnerable felt odd.
“Thank you.”
“Come on. Let’s go find some answers.”
Chapter 5
We made good time—a half-hour ride on the bus followed by a five-minute walk to the building. The one bedroom apartment was on the third floor. The hallway housed bare white walls and grey carpeting with eight other rooms on each side. A couple of newspapers were curled up outside of the door. I tried the knob. Unlocked. Shit.
I motioned for Michael to be quiet and fished the gun out of my inner pocket. I nosed the door open an inch at a time until the light from the hallway shone in. The first room was clearly a den with a squishy, faded black couch and a glass coffee table covered in sheet music and magazines in front of a decent-sized television set. I took slow, measured steps to make sure my feet made no noise and checked behind the couch. Nothing.
Pausing, I removed the flashlight I’d brought just in case and held it parallel to the gun. The kitchen was clear as well, sporting only dirty dishes and opened cereal boxes. The last room was to my right. Probably the bedroom. I took a deep breath and turned the doorknob.