I can't relax until I get this report done. I can't get this report done until I know the murderer. I can't know the murderer until I know the suspects. I can't know the suspects until I know the evidence. Even with the provided evidence, there isn't much to go off of. What there is is a useless piece of paper with the letter L and a useless match without any detected fingerprints. The case itself is plain useless.
"Bye, Jen. I'm calling it," I say wearily.
"Good. You're finally going home like everyone else has. Unlike them, stay there tomorrow morning and the next morning and the morning after that." She stares blankly at her computer screen and sips out of her favorite coffee mug. "Don't come back."
"I'm coming back." I chuckle hollowly, and it bounces back off the walls of the dark room like a boomerang. I don't hear another word come out of Jen's mouth after. "Is that all you're going to talk to me about?"
"About." She smiles coldly, and I'm frowning inside. I'm motionless because I don't particularly know how to move from here. I don't feel complete because I lost the connection with my friends. I don't want to be without them on this terror struck earth because I just don't.
"I don't want to be without friends, Jen," I mutter, finally giving up on holding it inside. "If you really want me to get better, just be there for me. Loneliness is not going to help this situation no matter how much you want it to." I can hear her take another sip, lips suctioning against the mug.
"I'm not the bad guy here. No matter how much you think I am," Jen comments.
"Then step forward and take care of the problem between us. I've done my part, now you do yours." I see the computer's white light switch off, and a blinking red one replaces it. Now a blue one turns on with the red and they're spinning, synchronized.
"Do you like tequila?" They're spinning, and that's all I can focus on. They're spinning, and now I hear the cluttered voices spinning. Everything red and blue is spinning and spinning and closing me in like a box. Mom! Dad! "Landon!" I slap myself across the face, my insides shook up like a rickety roller coaster.
"I-I'm sorry, what?"
"I wondered if you like tequila. You don't look okay. In fact you look like you got hit by a bus. Are you okay?"
"You're one of my best friends. Do I like tequila?" I test her, ignoring the second question that everyone seems to want to ask.
"Yes," Jen tries.
"But . . . ?" I continue.
"You like crime shows better?"
"You'd know better than anyone. Could you turn on the television?" She gladly handles the remote and pulls up a swivel chair next to mine. Luckily, they're playing re-runs of Cops. This episode is where two police are chasing down an African-American, middle aged man that possesses marijuana. They end up discovering that he's growing it in his garden, but they don't know it till almost the end of the episode. I can relate too much to reality television: how all of us wish the culprits would just turn themselves in. Oh, how we wish certain cases would just figure out themselves. Jen drums her fingernails against the desktop as repetitive commercials are playing.
"About Lenard . . . " I begin.
"I'd rather not discuss our jobs tonight, Landon," Jen replies. "For once?"
"Okay. Then what?"
"Why are you able to speak French?" She murmurs after an ad-bucketful of watching.
"That's a random question. You listened to my depressing graveyard speech, didn't you?" I assume, and she nods. I'm really not sure how I feel about my friend eavesdropping on a personal level. I'm indifferent about it, really. "Well, I lived in France for about three years with my parents when I was sixteen. I guess I just picked up the language after being around it for so long."
"Why did you move back here?" Jen asks.
"This is where my parents' hearts were at, and it's where mine's at too."
"Can you tell me something in French?" I grin widely.
"Alors . . . tu est vraiment manifique et vraiment penible," I pronounce, the words rolling off my tongue naturally.
"Wow. That's so beautiful. What did you say?" Jen inquires.
"You are very magnificent and very annoying."
"So are you." She punches me on the shoulder lightly. "And you're still able to speak fluently?"
"God no. After an eternity, it slowly dwindles away. I say some phrases to myself out loud to reinstate it in my mind, whether I'm walking down the street or on the subway. People probably look at me like I'm mad," I claim.
"You're not mad. That's just how mad people act sometimes." I stare at her for a while, not knowing what to say next. Jen gets uncomfortably close, breathing on my cheek. I turn my head away, and Jen rotates her chair back to the screen. She laughs airily. "Why did you make a move on me?"
"What are you talking about? You wanted to kiss me!" I say.
"I don't like this! It's completely unprofessional." Jen huffs. "I'm only with you so you get better. I wouldn't be here right now if it wasn't for that," she explains.
"I know. That's why you're my best friend. My best friend. I-I should check up on Oliver and see how he's doing."
"Yeah . . . I'm worried about him." I rapidly dial his number, concerned that he's gotten into trouble already. "Olly?" I swear I can smell cigarette smoke from a mile away, or I'm just so used to dive bars that I'm imagining it.
"Landon! Buddy!" I can barely hear hear his slurred speech. Carry On Wayward Son is blasting in the background, along with other 70's and 80's hits like Come On Eileen that I don't know most of the lyrics to except the chorus. Pool balls are hitting each other, creating a quick, snapping sound. Men are chattering away by Oliver, as if they're planning on dying the next day.
"Are you drunk again?"
"I-I uh–"
"Please don't tell me. I already think I know the answer. Jen and I are coming to pick you up."
"Don't be early," he laughs. "Oops, I spilled the beeeer on my phone! Get me some pie to clean this uuup!" He keeps on laughing until I end the call on an awkward note.
"Immature drunk," I moan. "I didn't want it to come to this." I pick up my keys off the desk and we drive to Oliver's favorite place through the cold rain: Lucky's. I wait out in the vehicle as Jen pushes through the bar doors. She meanders past the old, rustic stools to where he is chatting with a younger woman, maybe mid twenties. Jen picks up his lightweight body and drags it behind where I'm seated. She carefully lies a plaid blanket over Oliver in the backseat, and shuts the hefty door once his head is curled up on her lap. "This is insane," I blurt out after the drizzling rain heaves to a shower.
"I know. Our personalities switch like day to night, don't they? From work demeanor to having to do this?"
"About like Oliver's twister of a personality." She nods in agreement.
"About."
YOU ARE READING
The Counter Born (#Wattys2016)
Mystery / Thriller(Completed) "'Do you remember that night? Do you remember that night, Landon?'" The Streepers die instantly from a fatal car accident along with their son hours later in the hospital, or so he thinks. Landon amazingly pulls through, but with long te...
