Free No Sleep till Wonderland by Paul Tremblay Page B

I say, “No,” again, but this one is real, and then I get stuck on the phrase your condition. It sounds like a rash that simply needs cream, a little dab will do ya. Or the opposite: your condition is expansive, like he’s asking about the state of the union of me, something I’m not prepared to address.
    My head snaps up from the pillow that is my chest. I was out, but not for long. Detective Owolewa is sitting in the same position, watching. Familiarizing.
    “Are you back, Mr. Genevich?”
    I nod. Too embarrassed to be pithy, I finish what I started and say, “I took two pills last night, and it made everything worse. Still is making everything worse, by the looks of it.”
    He says, “I’m going to be straight with you, Mr. Genevich. I don’t think you’ve done anything intentionally wrong, but I also don’t know exactly what to think here. It seems more than a little odd that you’d show up at the fire that wipes out Eddie’s girlfriend’s apartment building, odd that you told the on-scene officer that you saved the O’Malley kid when a crowd saw the neighbor taking him out of the building.”
    I interrupt. “I never said I saved the kid. I helped him get off the second floor, to the bottom of the stairs.”
    “Regardless, then I find you this morning with a stash of amphetamines, the exact stuff that Eddie sells, and now you give me this stalking case involving Eddie.”
    “You’re right. It is more than a little odd. Tell me what you find out. You have my permission to wake me up, if you need to.”
    Detective Owolewa stands up and adjusts his coat. I stay seated because standing is overrated. He says, “Oh, we’re going to talk again soon, Mr. Genevich. Mind if I take a business card?” I surrender it.
    I imagine Detective Owolewa talking to Ekat and hearing about Gus, whose employment status at the Abbey probably won’t ease the detective’s oddness vibe. It’s certainly not easing mine. Part of me is screaming to give him everything I know about Gus, and not just to keep his foot out of my ass. Maybe I can’t get ahold of Gus because something happened to him. It’s hard not to think that way, especially when I’m so desperate to give Gus the benefit of the doubt, one he hasn’t earned. But he’s only been missing, or missing from me, for less than a day. I’ll keep him mum for now. Let Detective Owolewa talk to Ekat, and then I’ll talk to her, too.
    I say, “One question: is Eddie your only suspect for the fire?”
    “Goodnight, Mr. Genevich. Stay local.”
    “I’ll cancel my trip to Lithuania.”
    Detective Owolewa shakes his head and laughs. I’m not too stubborn or thick to realize that he’s giving me the benefit of the doubt, one that I haven’t earned. Where have I heard that before?
    On the way out the door, he says, “Check that call you missed first.”
    I almost forgot that Ellen called. It’s a good suggestion and it’s nice he’s thinking of me, but I’m calling Gus first. No answer. I check my messages next. Ellen left one, just checking in, wanting to see how everything is going. What she really wants to know are details about the therapy group but won’t come right out and say it.
    Calling Ellen back is not on option as I need to focus on the swirling mess around me, a hurricane quickly gaining strength, and the goddamn hatches need some battening. I go outside, grab a coffee, extrablack, from the chain donut place three doors down. I burn my lips on the first sip, but it’s all right because I meant to do that. Next, I flag a cab from the stand across from my place. Gus’s apartment is only a handful of blocks away, but it’s too nice a night to waste on walking.

Fourteen
     
    Parked cars choke both sides of West Second Street. There are too many of them, and even the newer ones have an abandoned look. All those darkened headlights and stilled engines are spooky. It’s a little after eight o’clock, and streetlights buzz and hum, the sorry-ass