“See what?”
“The ghost,” I say. “It was going after him. It was going to kill him. I was trying to save him.”
“January,” Allyn says, starting a thought, but then dropping it. He looks away, and his face falls. He’s resigning himself to some level of defeat, and I can tell that I’ve let him down. That something he believed about me has been broken. It hurts in a way that I haven’t felt hurt since the day Mena died. I know I can be a prick, but Allyn, and his trust in me, was always a rock. Something to be sure about. I’ve worn it down to a grain of sand, and the tide is taking it away.
And I don’t even know how.
Ghosts?
Who died? What happened? Where are we? What day is it even? I can’t get the words out. They ring in my brain but my mouth operates independently of that. “It was going to kill him,” I say, my voice dropping, to a place where it sounds like I’m not even sure I believe myself.
“This is my fault,” he says, pressing his hands to his face, standing. “I knew you were in the second stage. And I figured—you’re January Fucking Cole. You’d handle it. That’s what you do. But your behavior the last few days. We should have pulled you from this when we found you tearing up that wall.”
What wall?
“Allyn, I know this is hard to understand,” I tell him. “I know I’ve been…” I drop my head. “I know I’ve been me. But you have to believe me. There’s something at play here and I think I’m finally seeing how the pieces come together.”
And? Say more about that!
“Just cool your jets here for a little,” Allyn says. “I’m going to do everything in my power to protect you. I feel like that’s what I owe you. I feel like I failed you.” The corner of his lip curls, like he’s about to offer a smile, but then he pulls it back. “I’ll do the best I can.”
He crosses to the door and leaves.
I touch the floor. Think hard about where I’m supposed to be. Somewhere else. Except my brain is all twisted.
My body moves of its own accord. I get up and pace. Touch the walls. Peer out through the small security-wired window into the office, where Allyn is talking to Nik. The panel is soundproofed so I can’t hear them, but Allyn is doing most of the talking. Then they both leave. I pace the room, looking for something. But it’s just an empty box. A big box holding me, but me not now.
Where was I?
Focus.
Concentrate.
I close my eyes. My own eyes don’t close but I close my eyes on the inside, and retrace my steps. I know nothing before this room, but I know the last time I saw Allyn, something about the sun.
The sun. Then the meeting. Going to my room.
The closet.
I was in the closet.
How did I get from the closet to here?
How do I get from here to the closet?
Now I’m sitting with a match clenched between my fingers, the flame slowly marching down the wood. Where did I get matches?
Is this it? Is this my brain crackling and popping, surging with the electricity of being Unstuck, about to blow out?
The door opens.
The person standing there is the last person I wanted to see in this moment. The worst person to see, and it…
I hit the floor hard and just barely save myself from cracking my head.
Blue carpet. Closet.
Must have stumbled into the doorframe and fallen. How did that happen?
I get to my knees, shaking. Feel something wet on my nose, touch my nostril, and my fingertip comes back red with blood. I fall back onto my knees, take a Retronim out of my pocket, and dry-swallow it. Consider taking another, but figure I’ll wait. Pull out a cherry lollipop instead and press it to my tongue. Try to find my center.
There’s something else too. Something earlier today. Tamworth’s office comes back to me. I don’t remember why. I didn’t slip while I was there, did I? It’s like there’s a big arrow pointing to it. To what? Tamworth’s warning? The brain scans?
God, I am not here for this quantum bullshit.
I sit against the wall, try to remember details for the cell, anything that could be useful, but already they’re fading. I pull out the paper in my blazer pocket and jot down what I can remember: ghosts, blood, cell, when? killed someone? can’t trust Allyn?
And someone came in the room. Who?
Damn it. Already gone.
All I’ve got are words on a page. I can’t even conjure the memory.
Because it’s not really a memory if it didn’t happen yet.
* * *
—
The nosebleed wasn’t bad, but I go to my room to indulge in a hot shower. Needed it after the gym anyway. The water feels nice pelting my skin—I took out the restrictor cap on my first night in here. The heavy flow distracts me from the way my brain feels like a truck has spent the afternoon backing up over it.
I step out of the shower and lean toward the mirror, wiping my hand across the condensation, and see a small figure behind me, long dark hair hanging in front of her face.
I yelp and nearly hop onto the sink as I turn around.
I’m alone.
Shit, how many Retronims was that? Tamworth said it could cause hallucinations. I need to cool it for the day.
Once my heart rate has returned to normal, I pull on a pair of pink jeans, a black T-shirt, and strappy boots, then pull my hair into a half-wet ponytail. I cram extra cherry lollipops into my pockets. After that, a quick cat eye. Casual day at the office, by decree of me. I just want to solve crimes and for my eyes to look good while I do it.
Still hungry—need to do something about that.
I head back down to security and find it, mercifully, empty, though as soon as I step inside Ruby pops out of its little stand and hovers up to my face.
“I got a hit,” it says.
“On what?”
“The body.”
“Finally,” I say, relief washing over me. “Can you pull it up for me? Incognito?”
It floats over to the wall of video screens, which flashes off for a few moments and then comes back red, before turning into a profile of the dead John Doe.
Whose real name is John Westin.
The picture is a mug shot, from a pop on petty larceny. He’s thirty-eight, originally from Staten Island, NY, and is carrying a couple of B and Es, one felony assault, and a few attempted robberies.
“This is a start,” I say. “Next question, what was he doing here?”
“I anticipated that,” Ruby says, and an employment history pops up. Mostly odd jobs—bartending, shipping, driving for a rideshare. But he also worked for a couple of years as a driver and cleaner for Teller Properties, which Ruby helpfully highlights in red, just in case I am a complete and total idiot.
“The file has been flagged by someone within the TEA. He was a person of interest in an ongoing investigation.”
“Whose ongoing investigation?”
“I can’t access that information.”
“Anything else you want to tell me to ruin my day?” I ask Ruby.
“That’s all I have for the moment,” it says.