today.’ Probably not any day.
‘Please,’ said Lone. ‘Try to tell me what you are feeling.’
Feelings. Jesus. Christ.
I’m so tired.
‘Do you want to know?’ said Ren. ‘Honestly? I believe that everything that happened that day was to punish me.’
Lone waited.
‘Sometimes,’ said Ren, ‘I feel like there’s a darkness inside me – a black part, like a piece of coal. Pitch-black. It’s rough and hard, and … I feel that, because of that, I should be punished.’
‘You think you deserved this,’ said Lone.
‘Yes,’ said Ren. ‘No. I … don’t know.’
‘Talk to me about this darkness …’ said Lone.
No! ‘I know I won’t be able to explain it,’ said Ren. ‘It’s … obviously, I don’t want to harm anyone; it’s not the darkness of evil.’ Yes, it is. ‘It’s not like I want to kill people.’ Really?
‘And you are taking your meds …’ said Lone.
‘I really wish one conversation could go by without you asking me that,’ said Ren. Let me spell it out again: I. Am. Taking. My. Meds. ‘Yes – I am taking them.’
I am taking them, and I will continue to take them for the rest of my life, because I believe that not taking them killed my friends, and killed my boyfriend. There’s the reality: my friends, my boyfriend, my loved ones, are dead because I didn’t open a packet of pills and swallow them down with a glass of water like a good mental patient. Because I was too busy being mental. And wanting to feel good. I was too busy getting drunk, flirting with strangers, and deliberately ensnaring the man who went on to kill my friends, and my boyfriend, and I feel sick.
She dropped the phone, jumped up, ran for the bathroom, leaned over the toilet and threw up.
I am going to choke on this reality he wants me to face …
She walked back into the bedroom. She could hear Dr Lone’s voice through the phone.
‘Ren? Ren?’
She put the phone up to her ear. ‘Sorry. I ate some crappy sandwich earlier. I need to take five minutes before I join the team for dinner. Thanks for the call.’
‘Is everything OK?’ said Lone.
Oh, fuck off. Everyone, just fuck the fuck off.
Ren showered, dressed, and stood in front of the mirror.
Ugh.
She grabbed her bag and did a quick no-makeup makeup job. She blasted her hair with the hairdryer, ran her fingers through it, left it down. It was five inches below her shoulders.
I have long hair now.
The last time I got this cut, Ben was alive.
Stop. It hurts. And it changes nothing.
Tears welled in her eyes.
Your mascara. Go.
Her cell phone rang. Gary.
‘Hey,’ said Ren.
‘You ready?’
‘Yes.’
‘Meet you outside. Paul and Sylvie are at the bar.’
Ren went out into the hallway. Gary appeared from his room, freshly showered.
Handsome.
‘Look, I know how you feel about Sylvie,’ said Gary, as they walked to the elevator.
Jesus, why are we talking about her again?
‘How I feel about her is irrelevant,’ said Ren. How I feel about Karen – your wife of almost twenty years – is ultimately too. ‘I do want you to be happy,’ said Ren. ‘Just … I can’t see how this is doing it for you.’
‘I thought I was going to die in that shooting,’ said Gary. ‘When I was laying there and I thought it was all over, I kept thinking about Sylvie. I—’
‘In what way?’ said Ren.
‘What? What do you mean—’
‘I’m serious,’ said Ren. ‘Were you thinking about how much you loved her and didn’t want to die because you’d never see her again? Or were you thinking, If I’m going to die, I want the love of my life by my side, and the face you saw was Sylvie’s? Or were you running through the showreel – thinking of her ass?’
‘Jesus, Ren—’
‘I just feel no one else will ask you the difficult shit. Your buddies aren’t going to—’
‘No one else knows.’
‘What?’ said Ren. ‘Well, that must be exhausting.’ She paused. ‘Does Sylvie think you’re going to leave Karen for her?’
He nodded.
‘And how’s that working out for you?’ said Ren. What is wrong with me? I feel mean.
Gary said nothing.
‘Oh,’ said Ren. ‘I get it. Do you think you’re going to leave Karen for her?’
He gave her a side glance, but didn’t answer.
They arrived at the bar. Sitting on the arm of a sofa, dressed in a navy-blue suit, was Paul Louderback, his arms folded, his long legs crossed. He looked like he was cut-and-pasted from an elegant drawing room. He saw Ren, smiled warmly, stood up.
My heart …
He’s married.
Ben is dead.
Nice.
Standing beside Paul, with her back to them, was Sylvie Ross, her thick sandy hair in a high ponytail. She was dressed in a white shirt, slim-fit gray pants, pointed black heels.
Great ass. Poor shoe choice.
Sylvie turned around, and her face lit up as she saw Gary over Ren’s shoulder.
God, is that what that looks like?
I still don’t know if you and Paul Louderback have slept together. Do I need to sleep with Gary to even this all out?
Everyone greeted each other, everyone was professional.
Oh, what a tangled web we weave.
Gary and Ren filled Sylvie and Paul in on the case over dinner.
‘Paul – you’ll be taking charge of the command center,’ said Gary. ‘I’m guessing the best thing for Sylvie to start with tomorrow is talking to Caleb Veir’s friends.’
Paul nodded.
‘Sure,’ said Sylvie. ‘Not a problem.’
She is freakishly intense with him.
Oh, now – I get it: yes, Gary nearly died, and Sylvie realized – uh-oh – how much she loves him.
It appears to be an alarming amount.
Sylvie started to pour Ren more wine. Ren held up her hand. ‘I’m