Chapter 11 #2
Leroux isn’t shaken at all. He lets his eyes flick to meet Wren’s for only a second, almost too quick to notice, but Jeremy clocks it. The detective looks confused, knitting his brows together. “The criminal-to-civilian language barrier is worse than I anticipated. Who are you referring to here?”
Jeremy rolls his eyes, crossing his arms in front of him. “You know the one. The Salem job.”
Both of their eyes visibly widen. Leroux clears his throat and tilts his head. “Now,” he says calmly, “how would you have that information?”
“I’m hurt,” Jeremy says, clutching a hand to his chest in faux outrage. “I may be physically confined, but that doesn’t affect my ability to be ten steps ahead, Detective.”
“Because you’re just so charming?” Wren asks, looking at him as if he were a particularly disgusting creature. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s the guards who are fucking with you.” She sneers.
Jeremy laughs, holding his hands up in a show of surrender. “You’re right. I have such a proven track record of being a na?ve dolt.”
Wren eyes him. “Your claims sound a little exaggerated.”
“They can sound like wind chimes, but it won’t change the fact that he’s experienced. He’s perfected whatever it is that he does.” Jeremy looks at his hands, inspecting them for dirt.
Leroux lets a grin tug at his mouth as he responds. “So now Pastor Philip is a serial killer?” He chuckles. “Come on, Rose. Is the confinement getting to you? Usually you’re better than this.”
Jeremy shrugs, clasping his hands together. “Let’s just say I’ve seen him around a handful of dead bodies, and the only revulsion I’ve detected was when he was cleaning up someone else’s mess.”
“What does that mean?” Leroux asks, suddenly interested.
“It means exactly what I just fucking said. He doesn’t like cleaning up toys he didn’t get to play with. Otherwise, he’s perfectly at home.”
Leroux sighs, letting his eyes drop to the table and rubbing his temples. He’s attempting to collect himself. He’s getting riled, which is exactly what Jeremy wants.
“This is all very interesting,” Wren says abruptly, her voice dripping in sarcasm.
Jeremy quickly aims his gaze at her. He lets a smile form and says, “Are you just here for the nostalgia, Emily?”
She stares back at him and seems to try to project strength, but he can see how badly she wants to run. She doesn’t know how to answer his question. He knows it’s because something in her wanted this, to be this close to him again and to feel the rush of adrenaline. She just can’t admit it.
He continues, tilting his head to the side as he speaks.
“You’re not a detective, so why are you here?
You’re just a deviant with a medical degree.
That’s all,” he says slowly. “You play with guts for a living. You just do it under the guise of professionalism.” His eyes never leave Wren’s, daring her to flinch.
He watches her swallow hard, but he wants more.
He wants her to strip her soul bare and show him her pain. He wants John Leroux to leave.
“Still mad about that degree, huh, Jeremy?” She doesn’t miss. Her expression doesn’t change, and despite the gleam of sweat forming on her forehead, she won’t fully let go.
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead he lets her scoff and sit back in her chair like she won something.
He watches her expression as she looks over at Leroux, silently communicating something he doesn’t give a shit about.
Suddenly, one moment from the past pushes its way into his thoughts.
As he watches her fake bravado, he lets his mind wander to the memory.
Pouring out of the lecture hall with all midterms completed, everyone whooped and hollered like they had accomplished something incredible.
It was loud. Jeremy didn’t feel the same sense of catharsis as everyone else.
There was always more to come, so stopping to celebrate something as banal as midterms felt foolish to him.
“Cal! We’re going out!” Emily grabbed his arm, a look of absolute relief washing across her features.
Taken off guard, he shot her a look of anger before letting it fade into a manufactured smile. “Who is going out?” he asked.
She pointed to the group of usual suspects: Eric, Meg, and Ben. They made their way over, and Eric slapped his hand onto Jeremy’s back. “Cal, you comin’?”
Before he could answer, Meg interjected, “Hitting Cat’s Meow because I need to dance this information right out of my brain.” She grinned, bringing her hands up to her head and gesturing like her mind was exploding.
“I don’t know. I’m really tapped,” Jeremy said, rubbing one hand through his hair.
Everyone in the group protested at once, making it hard for him to keep his irritation inside.
He always had a strange feeling like he didn’t belong to this group even though they had gone out of their way to invite him places.
He had decided it was likely his own head that wouldn’t let him accept their kindness.
He didn’t really want to anyway. They wanted to get too close.
Ben stepped in front of him, holding a textbook out before dropping it to the floor with a loud slap. “We are all tapped, man! That’s the point! Let’s unclench our jaws for the first time in months.” He laughed.
“Eh, I might just sleep for two days,” Jeremy responded.
Everyone collectively groaned, but Emily grabbed his arm again.
She always did that. Pulling him closer to her height, she gazed up from under her lashes and exaggeratedly pouted her lip.
“Please, Cal! I want to see you let loose just this once. We earned it!” She waited for a response, but he just looked down at her in fascination.
“Cat’s Meow. You’re coming!” she declared.
He dropped his gaze for a second as he tried to decipher what he was feeling.
A part of him was extraordinarily put off by her insistence.
He hated being pushed to do something, and he hated being grabbed even more.
She was doing both of those things, but somehow a part of him was still excited to know she wanted him there so badly.
After a moment of over-the-top pleading, he gave in.
“Fine. I could use a drink,” he said coolly.
Emily grinned, squeezing his arm before releasing it. “Yes! I need this so bad, guys. What time are we meeting?”