Chapter 19
RJ
Walker appears beside me a block from Jansen’s hideout, both of us having taken winding routes to lose our tail.
We slip into the back of the house, the scent of fresh plasterboard making me sneeze.
Setting down the bag of food he brought, Walker shakes his head.
“That smells like construction. Do we trust Jansen with construction?”
“Better construction than most anything else he could get into.”
He huffs out his agreement, Emma walking into the kitchen, Fluffington trailing her.
He gives us a solid yowl of greeting before hopping up onto the counter to inspect the food.
Emma reaches for him, but Walker gives the cat a scratch behind the ears, and the big cat purrs before leaping onto his shoulders.
He winces as the cat gets comfortable becoming the world’s heaviest, fluffiest scarf, Emma letting it go.
“Did you get the hair dye?” she asks, already digging into the bags.
“Are you sure about this?” I ask, eyeing her barely pink-tinged hair.
Walker slaps an arm against my side. “Don’t you trust my judgment?”
“It’s not that, it’s just…”
Emma saves me. “It’ll be a change. But if it lets me leave here more often than once a week, I’ll take it. So, where are we doing this?”
Jansen bounces in, his energy almost back to normal, even if there are still deep shadows under his eyes. And besides the call from Emma a few nights ago about whether she should be worried about Jansen climbing up on the roof, we haven’t had any major issues with him. “Are we doing this?”
“Are you sure?” I ask, this being so far from what he’s used to that I’m worried it’ll start a new meltdown.
“Dude, I need to get out of here. One more day, and I’m going to be putting holes in the walls instead of patching them.”
Walker picks up the other bag, scratching Fluffington behind an ear. “Alright then. Which flooring are we happy to ruin?”
Three hours later, the two people staring at us might as well be strangers. Emma chose a chin-length bob, the dark chestnut color reminding me of Clara. She’s already reached up to braid it twice, her fingers flexing in frustration before she tucks them into her pockets.
But Jansen is unrecognizable. I’ve never seen the guy with hair any shorter than his chin.
But now, it’s cropped close to his head, the inch and a half long strands a midnight black that makes his paleness even more striking.
It’s like all the color’s been sucked from him, leaving only the gem-like green of his eyes.
Every bone on his face is in stark relief, Emma’s breath catching when she first sees him.
“Jay, you look like a cross between a fallen angel and a sickly Victorian child,” she says, and he laughs.
“More importantly, do I look like the guy who just took a bullet at Trips’ house?”
All three of us shake our heads, Walker stripping off gloves while I finish sweeping up the hair from the floor.
Emma disappears, leaving the three of us huddled together over broken tiles. Walker picks up another bag, handing it over. “I figured you couldn’t pull off a natural black, so I got you some new clothes to go with the new look.”
Jansen pulls out a collection of black pants and shirts, his laughter so welcome after all the quiet gloom we’ve been living under. “I’m going full goth mode, then?”
“Look at yourself,” Walker says. “Who else uses basic box dye to go from a natural blond to black?”
“Maybe I should learn to put on makeup,” he says, a serious look on his face.
Walker smirks, then pulls out two tubes and slams them down on the counter. “I got you eyeliner and lipstick.”
This gets even me to chuckle, my focus finally pulled from work mode.
“Do either of you know how to put this stuff on?” Jansen asks, popping the lids off both tubes and fiddling with them.
“Nope,” Walker says while I shake my head.
“Emma?” Jansen yells, Fluffington sprinting from the room, his tail up in protest.
Emma walks in, totally nonplussed, obviously used to Jansen shouting for her. “What’s up?”
“How do I use this stuff?” He holds up the makeup, and for the first time in weeks, Clara’s fun-loving friend peeks through the stress and anxiety she’s been wearing like a cloak.
“You want a makeup tutorial?” she asks with a smirk.
“Yup. I’m going goth for the near-term.”
She motions back to the folding chair he’d been perched on. “Sit down, and I’ll walk you through it.”
I go to leave, but Walker stops me a few steps out into the hallway. “RJ, we should stay here, just hang out, maybe watch a movie. Take the night off.”
He’s right. We should. Only the thought makes sweat coat my skin.
“I’m not sure I can.”
“Why?”
I stare down the stairs, Fluffington’s ear tufts barely visible from a few steps down. “It feels weird having fun without Clara. It’s like, if she’s suffering, the least I can do is suffer with her.”
“Will suffering make you do your job any better? Will it get her back to us any faster?”
I snap my eyes to Walker. “When did you get so damn reasonable?”
“You’re confusing reasonable with manipulative. I’ve always been the second one.”
I snort, Fluffington venturing back up the stairs to join us, winding between our legs. “It feels as if I stop moving, if I pause for just a second, everything will come crashing down.”
“How is that any different from normal?”
Sighing, I reach down and let our tiny panther scent mark my hand. “It’s not.”
“Then stay. Help Jansen feel a little normal. Just for tonight.”
I should. I don’t want to, but I should.
Following Walker into the bedroom Jansen and Emma have turned into a living room, while the actual living room is a nasty mess downstairs, I find the cushions we snuck over from Jansen’s meditation area scattered across the floor.
A laptop is set up with a cardboard box as a TV stand.
Jansen comes in with a swagger and dark features, Emma following with a rueful grin. He scoops up a cushion and plops down in front of the screen. “I look like a villain now,” he says, not bothering with figuring out what conversation was already happening.
Luckily, this room is full of people used to his tangents.
“Sure do,” I answer for the group. I could pass Jansen on the street, and even knowing it’s him, it’d take me a minute to place his face.
“Then I’m ready to get back to work. Put me in, coach.”
“Jay, I’m not sure you’re well enough for that,” Walker says.
He shakes his head. “Listen. I’ve got my first therapy appointment this week.
The psychiatrist has to be delayed, as that has to be under my real name, but my drugs seem to be working.
I’m sleeping, like, twelve hours a day, but otherwise, I’m stable.
I’ve even made another secret appointment. Trust me. I’m good.”
“You were on the roof a few days ago,” Emma points out.
“For fun. Not for dangerous reasons,” he retorts. “And the longer I’m cooped up in here, the less likely I am to keep it together.”
Walker and I exchange a look. “What’s this secret appointment?” I ask.
He grins. “It’s a gift for Clara. You don’t need to worry—I’m not bringing it to her. I’m saving it for when she’s back with us.”
Well, that’s good. “If you think you’re ready…”
“Trust me, I’m more than ready. Now, tell me about every moment Clara was in your sight this week. You’ve got to tide me over until I get my chance to see her.”
“And that’s my cue to leave,” Emma says. “I’ll heat some food. If you guys are staying?”
Walker looks at me, and after a moment, I nod.
This may not feel like it’s helping, but it is. We need Jansen. Jansen needs this.
And as the night wears on, all of us agreeing to watch a spy thriller in honor of Clara and our nebulous plan, it’s clear that maybe I needed a night off as well.