Mike Omer - In the Darkness

Zoe sliced into the pancakes, forking three maple-soggy pieces. She then topped the fork with a banana and put it in her mouth. She shut her eyes, breathing through her nose, letting the sweetness flood her body. Katy obliged with the chorus of “Firework,” and there it was: a perfect moment, a peaceful second that she wished could last.

“I heard you on the phone yesterday,” Andrea said, “talking with your boss about the leak.”

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. Someone told that reporter I was—”

“I’m the leak.”

Zoe stared at her, dumbstruck.

“He was writing a book about you, and he called me. He kept talking about how if he could get a close look at how you worked, you’d really shine. And there were all those assholes in your unit giving you crap for not being an agent and—”

“Andrea, do you have any idea how much trouble this could have caused?” Zoe wanted Harry Barry to be there right now so that she could stab his eyes with her fork. “I don’t do this job to be famous. I don’t care about his dumb book or what people say about me.”

“You should. People’s opinions are important.”

“Don’t ever. Do that. Again. You understand? I can’t have you walking behind my back, talking to reporters. Especially not now, when we’re living together.”

“You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Good.” She was still furious, but it was mostly aimed at Harry. She knew how conniving and convincing the bastard could be. It didn’t surprise her that he’d managed to sway Andrea.

“I’m going to visit Mom,” Andrea said after they’d eaten in silence for a minute.

Zoe nearly choked for the second time that morning. Coughing, she took a swig of orange juice. “You’re going to do what?”

“She’s been hassling me nonstop these past few days, Zoe. She’s worried. She needs to see at least one of us face to face.”

“You can do a video chat.”

“Zoe, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Fine! Go—she’ll drive you insane in three seconds. When are you flying?”

“Tomorrow. I already bought a ticket.”

“And when are you flying back? I can pick you up if it’s not in the middle of the night.”

“I . . . don’t know.”

Zoe took another bite, feeling suddenly tense. Andrea gazed down at her plate, not eating. Her expression was guilty.

“This is not about visiting Mom,” Zoe said.

“It’s also about Mom.”

“You’re leaving.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing yet.” She raised her face. Her eyes were wet. “I need some time away. Away from this city, away from those memories, away from—”

“Me?”

Andrea drank from her glass, not answering.

“I don’t want you to leave.” Zoe felt like she was drowning.

“It might be just for a few days, Zoe, just to clear my head. Don’t make this into a big deal—”

“Clear your he ad? With Mom?”

“With myself. This isn’t just about Glover. It’s about me needing a change, okay? I followed you here without a plan, and it hasn’t exactly been great for me.”

Zoe put down her fork, biting her lip.

“I love you, Zoe,” Andrea said. “But I need this, for me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“No, Ray-Ray. I’m not mad.” She forked a small piece of pancake and put it into her mouth, chewing listlessly. “Eat your pancakes.”

When Tatum approached Marvin’s room in intensive care, his heart clenched with worry. The day before when he’d visited, the old man had been sedated, his speech slurred, his skin pale, almost translucent. Tatum hadn’t grasped the details, but there had been some sort of infection. For the first time in a long while, he’d realized how old his grandfather really was.

He was steeling himself for another difficult visit when he heard a burst of womanly laughter from inside the room. A playful shriek followed it, and then a middle-aged nurse came walking out, shaking her head, a wide grin on her face.

She paused when she saw Tatum. “You’re Marvin Gray’s son, right?” she said. “You’re his spitting image.”

“I’m actually his grandson,” Tatum said, nonplussed.

She let out a giggle. “Uh-huh. Sure you are.”

Tatum sighed. “Is he better?”

“I’d say he is. Your father will outlive us all. I think by tomorrow he’ll be able to come home.”

“Are you sure you don’t need him monitored for an additional day or two?”

“I doubt we’d be able to hold him here even if we wanted to.” She winked at him and strode away.

Tatum entered the room, where Marvin lay in the bed holding a piece of paper, frowning at it. His nose was still swollen and red, though it did look a bit better than the day before.

“What’s that you have there?” Tatum asked, sitting on a chair by the bed.

“Tell me, Tatum, is that a seven or a one?” Marvin asked, showing him the paper.

“I think it’s a seven . . . is that the nurse’s phone number?”

“Mind your own business, Tatum.” Marvin put the paper on his night table and picked up his phone. “Oh, that reminds me. If anyone asks, tell them you’re my son. It’s very important.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Sounds like you’ll be able to leave tomorrow.”

“It’s about damn time, Tatum. I can’t do anything here. I can’t drink, I can’t smoke—”

“You quit smoking seven years ago.”

“You’d think so, right? It’s all been great until they told me I can’t smoke. Now I feel like I need a cigarette all the time.” Marvin tapped on the phone’s screen. “I’ve been reading about your guy.”

“Which guy is that?”

“This Prescott guy.” Marvin turned the phone so Tatum could see the screen. It di splayed the Chicago D aily Gazette’s article, of course.

Tatum rolled his eyes. Harry Barry was milking this story dry. “Don’t believe everything you read.”

“Guy sounds like a real treat. He was the medical examiner at the s tation ? You worked with him?”

“Yup. You never can tell.”

“You should have, from the moment you met him. You don’t look into people’s eyes enough, Tatum—I already told you that. You can always see the truth in the eyes.”

Tatum met his grandfather’s gaze. “What’s my truth right now?”

“Looks like you’re pissed off.” Marvin grinned at him.

Tatum had to smile back. Marvin was in a good mood. He suspected the old man enjoyed his painkillers a bit too much. “Andrea says hi.”

Marvin’s face morphed, concern seeping in. “How’s she doing?”

“I think she’s fine, under the circumstances. She’s a tough girl.”

“Not as tough as you’d like to believe,” Marvin grumbled. “Poor kid. When are you going to get that bastard, Tatum? Why don’t you do your job?”

“I’m enjoying a bit of a vacation. A few days off, and I’ve got the apartment all to myself.” Tatum sighed again, remembering he probably had only one day left.

“Oh! Is the fish okay?” Marvin asked, his eyes widening. “Damn, I’m sorry. I didn’t feed him after I got stabbed, Tatum.”

“The fish is fine—swimming in his bowl.”

“Oh good.” Marvin relaxed. “And the cat?”

“Freckle’s fine too. Don’t worry about it.”

“Ah.” A brief look of disappointment. “Well, can’t win ’em all.”

“He misses you.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re hilarious. What about that internal investigation? Are you off the hook for making the world a better place?”

“Sounds like it. The witness is a friend of Wells’s mother. Apparently he wasn’t even there when it happened.”