Hannah Jayne: Under Wraps

“I think I just need to lie down. I must have eaten something that didn’t agree with me.”

Eric stood up, flattened his palm against my belly. “It’s okay,” he said when I flinched. “I’m a doctor.”

“Oh, right.”

“Where does it hurt?”

Eric grinned down at me, and I thought momentarily about how nice it would be to date a doctor. Who breathed. Who came from a place with an actual postal code and who didn’t pouf! into thin air and who wouldn’t (theoretically) sprout wings when all was right with his world again.

“You know what?” I said, sinking down into my chair. “I think it passed. Why don’t we have a drink?”

Eric and I had had two rounds of cocktails and were sharing a crab appetizer when I felt my phone buzzing in my purse. I fished it out, glanced nonchalantly at the readout.

“I’m sorry. It’s my roommate. Do you mind if I grab this? It’ll just be a second.”

Eric wagged his head and I connected.

“Nina?”

“Sophie.”

I lowered my voice, hunching behind my arm. “What do you want? I’m on a date with Eric.”

“I know. Do you know where I am? At home. With an angel. Your angel.”

I dropped my voice. “He is not my angel.”

“Whatever. He’s on my couch. And he said you were coming home to talk to him.”

“I am. Eventually.”

Nina blew out a sigh. “Would eventually be before or after Glee? He might be an angel, but he’s a complete remote-control hog.”

I groaned. “I’ll be home in a few minutes.”

When I got back to my apartment, Nina, Vlad, and Alex were assembled around the kitchen table, staring at each other. I dumped my keys on the counter and walked in, hands on hips. “Okay, Alex, what is so important that you have to pop back into my life and interrupt me on a date?”

Nina swallowed hard, and I sank down into the only empty chair at the table, then slapped my palm against my forehead. “Oh, wait, let me guess—it’s Eric, right? He’s evil? He’s actually Satan or something? Of course. I meet a nice guy who seems to breathe, seems to have regular old blood coursing through his veins, and there is something paranormally wrong with him.”

“No,” Nina said, “he’s a breather.”

“And his blood is fine,” Vlad confirmed.

I grimaced. “Okay, then what is it?”

Alex’s eyes were hard. “It’s Sampson.”

“Pete?” I asked, my voice sounding small. I looked from Alex to Nina. “What about him? Have they found him? Is he okay?”

Nina hung her head, and I felt my lower lip start to quiver, felt the choking lump in my throat. “That’s what you came to tell me?” I whispered. “That Mr. Sampson is dead?”

“Sophie, I’m sorry.”

I stood up so quickly my chair flopped onto the floor behind me. “I don’t believe it.”

“It’s true. I’m sorry. I hate to be the one to tell you this. You don’t understand how hard it is for me to see you hurt—to make you hurt—again. But I needed to be the one to give you the news.”

Vlad righted my chair, and I sunk down again. “Why? Why did it have to be you? In person?”

Alex opened his coat and pulled a long, thick envelope, folded lengthwise from his pocket. “Because Mr. Sampson wanted to be sure that you got these.” He pushed the envelope across the table toward me, and I just stared at it, until it swirled in front of me, lost in a rush of tears.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s an answer to most of your questions,” Alex said.

My eyes flashed. “So, you saw him? You saw him before he died? Was he okay? What happened to him?”

Alex looked at his lap and wagged his head. “I didn’t see him before he died. This was something I had promised to do long before any of this—even any of this with the chief—ever happened.”

I sniffed and nodded my head, then used my fists to wipe the tears from my cheeks.

“What’s in the envelope, Soph?” Nina asked.

I swallowed heavily, unhooked the latch, and peeled out a tri-folded stack of papers covered in very carefully handwritten script. “It’s from my grandmother,” I said, fingering the paper.

While Alex, Nina, and Vlad looked on, I smoothed the letter against the table, licked my lips, and learned the truth about my life.