Page 141 of Dead Vengeance

Archer doesn’t hold me there for long. He goes right back to searching. Pulls every picture from the wall, looks behind every cupboard, gets down on his knees and peers beneath cabinets.

I adore him for it. The whole time I’m searching by his side, I never once feel like I need to apologise or explain myself. Or tell him again that I’m sorry he’s involved in this mess. He just acts. He just helps. He cares.

But another half hour passes, and we’ve turned the place inside out, scoured over every surface and hidey-hole in the office.

There’s no sign of the mirror.

I know it’s pointless, but I stride out to Ted’s desk anyway, start rifling through his drawers. Archer’s a step behind, once again, going through the filing cabinets with the dodgy contracts in them. I know his heart isn’t in it any more than mine, though.

“I don’t know what to do,” I admit, lifting Ted’s keyboard, as though he’d be keeping anything there but his list of passwords. “I don’t know how to find Gerald. I don’t have his address.”

“He’ll be in tomorrow, right?”

“I don’t know. I guess so.” I can’t hide the disappointment. Another night, another setback, and what is Tezcatlipoca doing with my brother?

Archer takes my hand up. “Hey. It’s just a few more hours.” He pulls it to his waist, where it fits as if it were made to go there.

“I know,” I manage, even though my eyes remain on the floor. “I’m just… I feel like I’m letting him down. I know I’m letting him down.”

“You’re not.” When he takes my face between his hands, I can’t help but lean into him. “You’re the one person in this life who’s still looking out for him. Even now.”

I shake my head. “I just need to be able to…” Again, that list scratches at the back of my mind. Free Jem. Find his body. Have him declared dead. Tell my mum.

My mum.

As if some psychic link was triggered just by the thought, my phone goes off.

I know it’s her.

That bit’s not exactly mystical. Who else would be calling me? Not bloody Gerald.

I step away from Archer, taking the phone to my ear. “Hey, Mum.”

Her voice comes soft over the line, flipping my stomach with how sad she sounds. I’ll take the angry version of her any day over this. “I’m just about to go to work, but I’ve left something in the fridge for you.”

My eyes dart up to the clock. Time for her to start already. Shit. “I’m sorry. I meant to be home ages ago. Some stuff came up, and I forgot you were working the night shift.”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about me. I know you’ve got a lot on with this job.”

A lot on. My gaze moves irresistibly to Archer. The only person in this world who has any idea of how much I really have going on.

He’s just casually sweeping around the room, poking into cupboards. Making this all feel normal. Acceptable.

“Listen, um…” Her voice cuts into the brief moment of calm. “Will you be home sometime tomorrow? I need to… make the call.”

My heart stutters.

‘The call.’

I don’t know how I could have forgotten. But then I barely have any comprehension of what day of the week it is right now. Certainly no actual date.

“I’ll be there.” Because there isn’t another option. All the world stops for the call. All our hopes brimming over every year, so stupid, so ignorant. Imagining that maybe they’ve had a lead and just hadn’t gotten around to telling us yet. Or that his case needed this one little push—that this reminder that he has a family waiting will get Jem’s file pulled out of whatever forgotten and dusty desk tray it landed in.

“Thank you.” The line goes silent between us as we both go over all the things we could say, that there is no point in saying, that have been said a thousand times. Eventually, she asks, “Will you be very late?”

“No, I don’t think so. I’m coming home…” Archer glances across at me. Maybe he’d hoped that somehow we could spend the evening together. He offers an encouraging smile, even if it doesn’t light the back of his eyes like his smiles usually do. “…in a bit. As soon as I can.”

“Don’t work too hard, sweetheart,” she says.