I pull out my phone and find Marcus Walsh’s Facebook profile. Surprise, surprise, he hasn’t accepted my friend request, but there’s a public post from a few days ago:Out of the hospital. Thank you all for the messages.
The knot in my chest eases. Posting doesn’t mean he’s okay, but at least he’s out of the hospital and not in police custody.
Sending him a friend request was monumentally stupid. I deserve a cosmic hand to reach down from the heavens and give me a slap across the face. Yes, my account is under a fake name so reporters can’t find me, but my profile picture is of Bob. Marcus wouldn’t know the friend request came from me, but he might remember Bob. The last thing I want is to add to any of the pain he must be feeling if he’s started remembering the things William Caine made him do. I cancel my request and return to reading.
I get through a huge section deconstructing and annotating interviews with possession survivors. The interviews vary in length and detail. Harry J has the shortest. He only answered one question and was so combative that I’m not sure why he agreed to the interview in the first place. Some survivors were willing to be interviewed on multiple occasions, like Alex W, whose interviews take up a good amount of space.
After four hours, the words swim together, and I stop retaining any of them.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” I announce, closing the book.
Nico double-clicks on his tracking pad. “No.”
I pull a face. “What do you mean, no? You can come with me and stand outside the door, but I need to pee.”
“You’re staying here,” Nico says. “Keep reading.”
I rest my elbows on the table and clasp my palms together. “Please, oh please, my mighty protector, may I have permission to use the facilities? Unless you want me to squat in the corner and blame it on Bob.”
He lets out an exhale so long it makes me want to flip this table.
“Go.” He waves at the door. “Come back when you’re done.”
I push up from my chair so fast it shrieks against the floor. I head for the upstairs bathroom since it’s the farthest one from the library and will give me a couple of extra minutes out from under Nico’s watchful glare. I hold my head up high like I’m totally fine and not bothered at all that the guy I’m obsessed with is treating me like an annoying kid asking to use the bathroom during a test.
Nico’s allowed to reject me. That’s fine, and I need to let it go, but why is he being such a jerk about it?
When I’m done, I wipe the smudged mascara out from under my eyes with a wet tissue and step back into the hallway, my feet dragging like they’re trying to give me more time to enjoy not being in the library. I notice Griffin’s door cracked open.
I poke my head in. “Can I come in?”
Griffin’s sitting in bed, propped up on a mountain of pillows with a computer on his lap. “If you can stomach the smell.”
“It can’t be that bad,” I say, but those turn out to be famous last words. The second I step inside, the smell of ectoplasm and vomit hits me. Even when I breathe through my mouth, I can practically taste it.
Griffin laughs at me. “Second thoughts?”
“So many,” I say. “But I need to talk to you.”
“About yesterday?”
I nod. I was too focused on Griffin yesterday when I stood in the doorway of his room watching Nico get him settled on his bed, to really take in any details about his room. Twinkle lights are strung around the window, casting a warm glow over everything. It’s extremely organized, and the walls are barren except for a sprawling cluster of Polaroid photos behind hisbed of Griffin and a girl who must be Bonnie. Her orange hair catches the sunlight like copper wire.
Glancing between the photos feels like traveling through time. Bonnie in braces. Bonnie and Griffin jumping off a dock. Bonnie sitting on a horse with her arms stretched up over her head. Griffin with a buzz cut and a military uniform, kissing the side of her head.
I pull my gaze away from the photos because looking at them makes me feel like an intruder. “I’m sorry. For kissing you.”
“As I remember, I kissed you.” His voice is easy, like we’re talking about borrowing his charger or something. “And seriously, don’t sweat it. You know my deal. Yesterday was never serious for me.”
I guess that’s one less thing to feel like crap over. Maybe I can get through this day without destroying every relationship I have.
Griffin sets his computer aside and gives me his full attention. “You find anything on Morrow?”
“Only that he probably still thinks we’re a couple.” I shrug. “Donny thinks he’s going to hunt us.”
“For real?”
“Morrow thinks we’re in love, that we’d make beautiful babies, and he wants to make us both pull out our teeth to see who has a higher pain tolerance,” I say. “Which, unfortunately for you, means you’re going down.”
