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“Either one,” I mumbled.
“And I’m Marylou,” my sister added. She had seen my fumble, and she wasn’t going the French-name route.
“What are you doing ’ere?” he asked.
I got in ahead of Marylou and started telling Gerard the story of Mr. 56E, Claude, the little suits of armor, Erique, the tiny frogs, all the way through Henri and his tale of woe, doom, and weirdness. This last bit seemed to catch Gerard’s attention, because he looked up at me the entire time I was talking, his bright brown eyes looking right into mine.
“Henri likes ’istory,” he said, but he certainly didn’t sound happy about it. I gathered Henri made a habit of talking death and mayhem and history to anyone who got near. Gerard just had that look on his face like he’d heard it all before.
“What do you do?” Marylou asked.
“I go to university in Lyon. I study psychology.”
Oh, the joy on Marylou’s face. A kindred spirit. She started rambling on about all the good times she’d had in the psych lab tormenting other students for eight dollars an hour. Gerard nodded and occasionally added a comment. I gathered that he was nineteen, had been at university for a year, and wasn’t as excited about being a psych major as Marylou. (No one could be, really.) He listened for a good solid hour, but I noticed that he looked at me a lot more than at Marylou.
Which was a bit odd. I just figured that Gerard would be more interested in the one that seemed a little older, saner, and into his subject, but this wasn’t the case. Every time Marylou looked away, his eyes met mine with definite interest, and I would twitch a little in excitement. I didn’t mind France at all with Gerard in the picture.
“This DS…DS…” he said in response to something Marylou was saying.
“The DSM-IV,” she said.
“Yes. I would very much like to see eet. You say you have eet?”
“Sure!” Marylou was out of her seat in a shot and up the steps to our room. The moment she left, Gerard leaned across the table, coming close to my face.
“Listen to me,” he said. “Eef you want to live, eef you love your sister, follow me now.”
“What?”
But with that he grabbed my phone and ran.
Okay, so. You’re me. You’re sitting there with one of the most beautiful guys you’ve ever seen. And he asks you if you want to live. And he steals your phone. And says you have to follow.
You follow him, right? Because what else are you going to do?
Right?
Maybe not everyone would have done that. I think some people would have immediately bolted the door behind him and started screaming. If I had been like you, if you’re one of those people, this story would have turned out a lot differently.
But I went tearing down the path after him, screaming his name. Gerard was fast, and tall, with much longer legs. He quickly outpaced me. I followed him all the way down to the dirt road, where he made a sharp turn, then he headed into the trees. I followed.
Then he was gone. I was just standing in the middle of the woods.
“I am not going to hurt you,” Gerard said.
He stepped out from a tree behind me. I backed up, finally realizing that following a thief into the middle of nowhere is a really dumb move.
“Oh,” I said.
“This is important, Charlie,” he said, stepping closer. “Did you tell your sister the story? The one Henri told you. Did you repeat eet?”
This was the last thing I was expecting to hear, and probably not the kind of thing a person who plans on attacking you says.
“What?”
“You must tell me, Charlie! Did you tell her the story? About the Law of Suspects?”
“Story?” I repeated. “That stupid story Henri told me? Yes! I told her!”
