Chapter 32
CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO
At eleven p.m., after Jack had long given up on the phone ringing and he’d had enough whisky to feel his blood buzzing in his veins, he staggered upstairs after Boris, mumbling, “It’s room three-oh-nine.”
“I know what room it is,” hissed Boris, loudly enough to wake the entire floor. He clutched the nearly empty bottle in his hand. “I checked you in, remember?”
Jack raised his eyebrows, grinned a little crookedly. “I think you checked me out.”
“Nope. You’re still checked in.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Boris smirked in response. “What if I did? You gonna rat me out?”
“Hey man, I am not—I repeat, I am not—a snitch. Besides, I only turned you down ‘cause you wouldn’t remember anything.” The floor beneath him spun in circles.
Jack stopped, leaned against the wall, blinked until the world righted itself and Boris’s face came back into focus, expression a little too intense. “Also, I think I have a girlfriend.”
“You think?” Boris slurred. He stumbled, caught himself before he crashed into one of the gaudy paintings on the wall.
“I mean, yeah. I think so.”
“Lemme know if that ever changes.” There was something dark, simmering in his voice, deep and rich as velvet.
“Oh yeah, totally,” Jack agreed, eyes locked on Boris’s broad shoulders, his sculpted thighs. “Sorry about that.”
“You fucking should be. Fuckin’ Greek tragedy is what we are.”
They reached Jack’s door, and he impatiently held out his hand for the key. Jack handed it over, watched Boris fumble for a moment before triumphantly announcing, “Ah-ha!” as though he’d just solved a particularly difficult equation.
Maybe it was difficult to function after half a bottle of whisky and weeks of no sleep, Jack thought, drifting into the room after him like an exhausted ghost. Maybe he was just being judgmental.
Boris paused in front of the bed, where Jack’s notes were still strewn across the comforter. He gestured with a large hand. “The fuck is this?”
“I’m tryin’ to figure out what’s going on,” said Jack, rushing to gather the loose pages. Half of them spilled free, piling onto his feet. “Oops.”
“Huh,” said Boris, grasping a page from the mattress and staring at it as though it had personally offended him. “‘m too drunk for this.”
“Yeah, hold on a sec,” said Jack, snatching up the last of the papers. “Now you can lay down."
“It’s lie down, dumbass.”
“Fine. Lie down, smartass.”
“What’s this obsession with my ass?”
Jack gave an exasperated groan. “You started it!”
“Yeah, I know.” Boris kicked off his shoes, turned to grin at Jack. “Thanks for babysitting me.”
“You need it,” grumbled Jack under his breath as Boris slipped under the covers. “I’m just gonna watch TV and keep an eye out for the ghost, OK?”
“Never said she was a ghost,” Boris said, wriggling under the sheets.
“OK, well whatever she is, I’m going to keep watch for her, OK?”
“What are you gonna do if she shows up?”
Jack hadn’t really considered that. “Hit her with a chair?”
“You need salt,” said Boris. “Throw salt at her.”
“I don’t have any salt,” Jack said. “I’ll just hit her with the bottle.”
“Yeah, good enough,” said Boris, yawning. “I’d like to see you fight that hag.”
“Hopefully it doesn’t come to that,” said Jack in his most reassuring voice.
The hag never appeared. Jack spent the night perched at Boris’s feet, staring at the television. The nine o’clock news only just mentioned Hannah and her now-suspect husband. A search party returned with frustratingly few findings.
“Just Hannah,” Jack told himself firmly. “It’s only Hannah.”
His gaze drifted to the phone. Fingers itched to type in the number to the castle. Only Boris’s solid (and likely judgmental) presence kept him from reaching for the handset.
She told you not to call, Jack told himself sternly. She asked you to trust her.
And he did. It was Ronnie he didn’t trust.
Ronnie, who he’d never even met, and knew so little about. What was he capable of? Where was Carla now? If the time loop ended, would she be safe?
If the time loop ended, would he ever see her again?
Hours passed. The alcohol wore off. Jack began to doze. Woke with a start each time he started to slide from the edge of the bed. Not once did Boris stir.
At two o’clock in the morning, Jack reached to shake his shoulder.
“What? What?” said Boris, sitting bolt upright, looking around wildly.
“It’s two a.m.,” said Jack. “Don’t you need to let your dog out?”
“Oh,” said Boris. “Yeah, sure. You’re right. Fuck. I feel like I slept for a year.”
“Three hours,” said Jack, pointing at the alarm clock.
“Basically a year.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“These beds suck,” Boris grumbled, throwing the sheets back. “How have you been doing this every night?”
“Lack of alternatives, mostly.”
“Jeez. My car is more comfortable than this.”
“I mean, you could give me an upgrade.”
“Yeah,” said Boris, shrugging. “But why would I?”
“Because you can’t take three seconds to fill out a form?”
“Hey, my time is valuable, OK? Besides, you’d just end up here again.” Boris shoved his feet into heavy work boots, turned to grin cheekily. “I gotta go. Thanks for letting me use your bed.”
“Any time,” Jack said, and meant it, with a little too much longing for someone who kind of maybe had a girlfriend.
The door slammed and he was alone again.