One of Those Faces (75)

“You there?”

I sighed. “Yeah. Thanks.”

I heard the hiss of his lighter. “How are you doing?” he asked.

“Why do you care? I’m not your problem either.”

He exhaled. “Well, I saved your life, so you are kind of my problem.”

“I’m fine,” I muttered.

He could sense my anger. “I’m sorry about earlier. Just leave your friend alone for now for both our sakes.”

My fingers were freezing around the cold plastic of my phone. “What do you mean?”

“I wanted to help you out, but I’m not supposed to be using department resources for hunting down people’s friends.” He puffed beside the microphone. I almost instinctively coughed from the smoke. “When I talked to Erin’s parents, they weren’t thrilled that I found out she was in rehab. They threatened to talk to my supervising officer.”

“Why didn’t you just tell them she was reported missing?” What kind of parents could be angry that someone cared?

“Yeah, they didn’t care. And there is no official report or statement, so if they do complain, it’s not going to look great for me.” He laughed dryly. “Leave it for now. They’re rich assholes. They don’t like common people like you and me realizing they’re human.”

I shoved my free hand deeper into my coat pocket. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think . . .”

“I’m glad you asked me for help, but I had to take a step back.”

“I get it.” I turned around as the train growled down the rail. “Thank you for finding her.”

“You got it,” he said. “And you heard from the DA’s office about your case, right?”

I turned toward the platform. “Yeah, they called a couple of weeks ago and said I’m not a murderer.”

He chuckled. “I guess that’s the gist of it. They’re not going to press any charges against you for that bastard’s death, of course. The video evidence made it pretty open and shut, but they took their sweet time confirming it.” His voice faded at the last word as the train roared in front of me. “Jesus, that’s loud!” he hissed.

“Sorry,” I said, once the train settled and the doors swung open. “I got to go. Thank you.”

“Bye.”

I shoved my phone back into my pocket and quickly scooped up the box before sliding onto the train. I sank down onto a seat right as the train kicked back into motion. I set the box under my feet and pulled out my phone. I typed Shady Oaks Rehab into Google.

I couldn’t remember the name of her previous rehab facility. She didn’t talk about that time in her life as much as the other parts. I flipped through the pictures of the tranquil white building set in bumfuck nowhere outside Waukegan, an idyllic vision of the summer lake as the backdrop. I slid the phone into my messenger bag.

How had I missed that Erin was struggling? Maybe I’d been too caught up in my own problems to recognize hers. For all that I resented the way she treated me, I was the worst friend.

I rested my head back, lifting away and falling back softly to the metal wall as the train halted at the next station. She had been aggressive and irritable the night we’d gone clubbing, but I hadn’t seen anything in her purse that night other than the Xanax. Maybe that’s how it had started. She wasn’t supposed to be on any addictive anxiety medicine. The stuff they put her on after her first stint at rehab was much weaker but kept her from wanting more. How long had Jeremy been giving her Xanax? And where did she get it from after he died?

I scrolled through the sad string of unanswered texts I’d sent her over the last few weeks. I hadn’t even tried to help her. That night when she got plastered at the Up Room, I should’ve said something. Maybe it wouldn’t have helped. But maybe it would’ve.

At least she’s not dead.

The thought bit to my core, again triggering the unspoken dread that I had feared over the past month. After I got off the train, I carried my box up the stairs and started down Washington Avenue. My worries about Erin had grown darker each day that went by. Even if I hadn’t been there for her, someone had, and she was getting what she needed. Maybe she never wanted to see me again. Maybe she shouldn’t. I was as toxic as the other friends she’d cut off long ago. She’d tormented me, and I had stolen from her to feed my own darkness.

I punched in the code to Iann’s building, leaning the box against the wall before opening the door and climbing more stairs. I hadn’t entirely thought through the idea of carrying the box up all the flights of stairs in existence. I let the box fall in front of the door as I dug through my bag for keys.

When I opened the door, Leo raced from Iann’s room, panting and wagging his tail. I lifted one aching arm to pat him on the head before continuing to kick the box all the way to the bedroom. He thought it was a game and barked each time the cardboard slid across the wood tile. I liked having Leo around. He had a different energy than Woodstock but a similar playfulness. Only louder.

Once I reached the bedroom carpet, I hoisted the box up again and brought it into the closet. Iann had cleared out half his closet for me, and I only had a dismal collection of six items hanging. I ripped the tape from the box and searched for hangers when I noticed the bulge of clothing busting through the drawers of the dresser backed against the inside of the closet. I pulled open a drawer, and shirts spilled out onto the floor in relief right before the drawer itself collapsed to the ground. Iann didn’t have anywhere to put his stuff, so he’d just crammed it in to make room for me.