by Kris Ripper
“I didn’t— That’s not—”
“Uh-huh. But did you meet up there? Or did you go there together? Because that makes a difference.”
I frowned. “We went together.”
Troy nodded sagely. “Yep. Douche move, Ed. Harsh but true. Just tellin’ it like it is.”
Why use one cliché when you can use two?
Another nod. “I bet she forgives you. The first time, at least.”
“She was pretty pissed last night.”
“Well, yeah. Wouldn’t you be?”
“If she wanted to hang out with friends for a little while and I did something else? No. I think that’s healthy.” Though her last words had worked their way into my brain and wouldn’t let go. Honey would be glad I was looking for her killer, wouldn’t she? She’d think that was a priority. Except Honey was the queen of impermanence, with her matches and her Robert Frost poems. She might not kick my ass for letting myself become a little obsessed, but she’d definitely give me a stern talking-to.
She’d tell me that this thing with Alisha was good for me. She’d probably also tell me that everyone dies, and losing out on a relationship because I was trying to solve any murder, even hers, wasn’t worth it.
“Okay, yeah, I get that.” Troy squinted, rubbing his eyes. “But is she saying she doesn’t want you to ever hang out with your friends? Or is she saying—”
“Never mind,” I snapped. I was not going to take relationship advice from a fucking hipster who’d been so high on “something” last night that his roommate kicked him out of their room.
“Whoa, man, chill. I’m just sayin’. Seriously, I wish I knew what happened last night, but parts of it are shaky. Whew.”
Last night. Theme night. Maybe everything was fine today. No one had called my phone, so maybe everyone was all right.
“I gotta go,” I said.
“Hey. For real.” Troy looked me straight in the eye. “Thank you for the coffee, man. Solid.”
“You’re welcome.”
I filled my coffee to the top and retreated to my room, lifting the lid on my laptop before I’d even sat down. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone to sleep without looking at my computer, but last night I’d gone straight in and eaten my burger without doing anything else. No podcast or video or website or book.
See? I wasn’t addicted to electronics. I’d spent, like, half an hour without using them. So there, I told the imaginary Alisha in my head.
Imaginary Alisha pointed out that since I couldn’t remember the last time that had happened, I’d actually just proved her point. Whatever, Imaginary Alisha.
I loaded Togg’s site and held my breath.
Damn it.
Fifth Body Found at the Waterfront. Killer strikes again.
I clicked through to the article and read it as slowly as I could. I didn’t know Felipe Farraway. My immediate relief was quickly overshot by knowing that someone else was staring at this article as stunned and horrified as I’d been when it was Honey.
The comments were a shit show of rising intensity, and I stopped reading them before I’d gotten past the first ten.
Felipe Farraway. I knew of a guy named Felipe, but I didn’t know if he was the same one. A big teddy bear of a guy with a smile for everyone. But if I were a killer, would I pick a big guy? Though Honey hadn’t been small.
Was this person, whoever they were, escalating? Picking harder targets?
The Times-Record site had a hundred words about the murder, but it was almost an exact duplicate of the stub they’d run when Stephanie Hawkins had been killed, with the names and pronouns changed.
I went back to Togg’s site. Twenty-three more comments had dropped since I switched tabs. I didn’t look at them. After a moment of deliberation I shut down my browser and went back to the kitchen.
JP and David had joined Troy at the table.
“Whoa.” Troy squinted at me. “Dude, you look bad. Did she dump you?”
“What? Oh. No. No, someone died.”
“How many dead people do you know? Didn’t someone else you know die recently?”
JP hit him. “Dude.”
“Wait, who broke up with you? Your girlfriend?” David’s eyebrows rose like he was interested.
“You’re not her type,” I said.
“Dude! Not fair. What’s wrong with me?”
I briefly imagined David hitting on Alisha and almost laughed. “Alisha’s queer,” I said, and waited.
David and Troy blinked at me blankly.
JP sighed. “You guys are embarrassing.”
“What the hell do you mean, she’s queer? You’re not a chick.”
“I’m not a chick. I’m trans. It works for us. But she only dates queer people.” When they just stared at me, I added, “I don’t think she’s into cis dudes.”
“Wait, uh, what’d you call us?”
“‘Cis,’” JP said. “It means we aren’t transgender.” He caught my eye. “I had a friend in college. Uh. Anyway, I apologize for them. No one will be hitting on Alisha.”
“She can take care of herself. And we didn’t break up, anyway.” I hope.
“But you know someone else who died? Are you all right?”
“I didn’t know this guy. We just sort of hung out in a few of the same places.”
“Hold up. This is that gay basher, right?”
“Well, serial killer. But targeting queer people. You know about that?”
JP looked affronted. “Dude, come on. I read the internet. I saw it on Facebook.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
I wasn’t that into Facebook. “It’s the same person, I think. The killer.”
“There’s a killer in La Vista, holy shit, you guys.” Troy shook his head. “Seriously, like, holy shit.”
“Yeah,” David said. “That’s fucked up.”
“Pretty fucked up.” I passed them to get another cup of coffee.
JP poked my arm. “Why is Alisha breaking up with you?”
“She’s not! At least, I hope she isn’t.”
Troy assumed a very serious expression. “They went out last night, and Ed totally ignored her the whole time.”
“Hey!” I protested.
JP winced.
“I didn’t— It’s not like she was sitting in a corner bored. She was dancing with friends.”
“Uh-huh.” JP didn’t sound all that swayed to my side.
David frowned. “You turned down dancing with Alisha?”
“I didn’t turn it down. We dance. It’s like she wants the world to be rosy and cheerful all the time, when bad things actually happen, you know. Like this killer is actually happening and it’s like it’s not important to her at all.”
Troy put his head down on the table. “But, dude. Is she saying it’s not important? Or is she saying she wants to dance, you know, anyway?”
“Right,” JP agreed. “And are you really saying you wanted to talk about murder instead of dance with her?”
David shook his head. “Yeah, but I see what Ed’s saying. You can’t just pretend bad stuff doesn’t happen.”
Great. David was Team Ed. David of the “hot-girl zone” theory was the only guy on my side. That was . . . humbling.
“I think we might be too different,” I said to the panel of hipsters in my kitchen.
They looked up attentively.
“She’s great. She has all these plans, you know? All these places she wants to go, and she wants me to come with her, but I have responsibilities. I can’t just quit my job like she did.”
“Why’d she quit her job?”
“Because she didn’t like it.”
Troy nodded, like this was normal. “Jobs. Yeah.”
Because of course they wouldn’t understand.
“It’s totally ridiculous to quit your job because you don’t like it.”
“Only if you don’t have a plan B,” JP said. “Is she still paying her bills?”
“Yeah. I mean, I guess she must be.” I thought about her travel money, the money she didn’t spend on other things. “I think she has a lot of savings.”
JP raised his eyebrows. “I guess I think it’s cool she saved her money and quit her job if she hated it that much. Why’s it piss you off?”
“It doesn’t piss me off, it’s not— People can’t live that way. Normal people can’t live that way. It’s irresponsible!”
He held up his hands. “Whoa. Okay. But it doesn’t actually sound irresponsible to me. Did she ask you for money or something?”
“God. Never mind.” Screw it. “Anyway, she didn’t dump me, or break up with me, so whatever.”
Troy whistled. JP hit him. David opened his mouth to say something, but JP hit him too.
I turned around and left the room.
It took me all day to work up my nerve to go by the house. Saturday evening, so there was at least a chance that my parents would be out and Abuela would be in. But when I got there, my father’s car was in the driveway.
I didn’t know why I knocked, since it could only end badly. There was always a chance Abuela would be the first to the door . . . Or maybe, after a day of hating everything, I just didn’t care.
I knocked, and waited, holding my breath, rehearsing Hi, Dad. Is Abuela here? Cool, calm, totally unemotional.
The second he opened the door I lost my words.
“Ana.” He looked me up and down once, lip curling into a sneer.
My old name hit me like a blow, and I half stumbled back. I couldn’t breathe. I wasn’t breathing. My lungs were frozen, refusing to expand.
“You will be welcome here again when you act normal, Ana. None of this—disruption.”
This disruption. The disruption of myself, being who I am. This inconvenience of my gender.
He was waiting for me to respond, to get angry. I’d been angry a lot in the last few months I lived there. We’d screamed at each other all the time, two people yelling in the face of a storm neither of us could control.
I backed away from the door and climbed into my car, hands shaking on the steering wheel. I didn’t look back. If I went to Alisha, she’d hug me and tell me I was all right, but there would still be all that shit unresolved between us, and I’d know she was putting it aside because I was freaking out. I didn’t want pity. And I didn’t want to go to Club Fred’s tonight, where everyone would be in mourning.
I drove to the Rhein instead.
I told the kid at the door that I was only there to talk to Cameron, so she let me in. Cam, in mid–ticket rush, opened the door to the booth for me and gestured me to the far corner, half-hidden behind the wall.
I slid to the floor, tucked myself under the desk, and began to cry.
Crying’s one of those things I tell myself isn’t really gendered, but doing it always makes me feel vulnerable, the way being called “miss” used to make me feel vulnerable. I guess because it’s externalizing something that can be seen as weak; crying isn’t inherently feminine, but it’s considered a visible sign that you aren’t strong. Even knowing it’s bullshit doesn’t help.
Of course, usually I liked to cry alone. Not sitting on the floor of the ticket booth at the Rhein during the rush to buy tickets for the evening showing of whatever.
I was distantly aware of everything slowing down, but I kept hiding and Cam let me. I could hear him typing, mumbling to himself occasionally, but until I crawled out from under the desk, he completely ignored me.
Once I did, he passed me a bottle of water and waited.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay. That’s a pretty good spot, though I don’t think I’d fit in it anymore. You want me to ask if you’re okay so you can pretend you are?”
I slumped. “No. I’m definitely not okay. Alisha and I had a fight, my hipster roommates took her side, and I just tried to see Abuela and got Dad instead.”
Cam’s angular, handsome face contorted into a grimace. “I’m sorry. Is that the first time since you moved out?”
“Yeah. He told me to come back when I can act normal.”
“Normal,” he repeated with distaste. “Can you imagine aspiring to whatever your dad thinks is normal?”
“Yeah. Been there, done that, have the self-loathing to prove it.”
“Short of finding someone to Strangers on a Train him, I don’t know what else to say.”
“Too bad I can’t harness this douche bag serial killer and point him at Dad.”
Both of us froze.
“Oh my god. I can’t believe I actually said that.”
“It was a bit . . . darker, than you usually aim. No matter, Ed. I’m showing Jaws tonight if you’re interested.”
“No. I think it’d just make me wish a mechanical shark was available to eat me. Fuck, I don’t know.”
“Sorry. I do not have Bruce available. But.” He opened the bottom drawer of a small file cabinet. “I do have these.”
Dark chocolate truffles. I took three. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“I think it’s important to be prepared.”
I ate the first two and took a break. “So I had a fight with Alisha and decided we aren’t meant to be because she wants to be happy and totally in denial that anything bad happens in the world.”
“Really?”
I sighed. “It’s not just that. She said I try to keep her in a bubble where I don’t have to think about other things.”
Cam raised an eyebrow.
“Fuck. I think . . . I did that a little. She didn’t want to think about anything dark, anything real, so I wrapped that around myself like it could insulate me when we were together. Except I don’t think that’s actually true. I think being determined to find happiness and adventure despite all the bad shit that happens in the world is maybe the bravest, scariest thing I’ve ever seen, and that’s why I can’t deal with it.”
“Do you want to do that? Not everyone does, which is okay too. It takes all kinds, you know?”
I wanted happiness and adventure, yeah. I definitely didn’t want to be the downer boyfriend bringing up Bad Things to shit on her plans.
“I don’t want to live in ignorance. But I don’t know if you can think about how truly terrible the world is and also see it the way Alisha does, like it’s full of wonder and opportunity.” Except that went back to balance again. “And I’m fucking afraid to try, Cam. If I don’t try, then I don’t have to live with the idea that I fail at happiness.”
“Okay. So reframe it. It’s not pass/fail. It’s ongoing. And you must get better with practice, like anything else, right?”
“Practice at being happy? Come on.”
“Not at being happy. At taking a chance that you could be. Practice at hope.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what I would have done in your place, growing up with people telling me how . . . wrong I was all the time. Or knowing they felt that way even if they weren’t saying it. School was hard enough, but my parents casually accepted a lot of my strangeness, and I had no idea how lucky I was.”
“You’re not strange, Cam.”
He offered an amused twist of his lips.
“Well. All right. Maybe you’re a little strange. But you don’t act like it. It fits you.”
“I am perfectly strange, thank you very much. I guess I’m just saying I think your battle is a bit more uphill, but that doesn’t make it impossible, and it definitely doesn’t mean you should give up. People learn from each other in relationships. Maybe being a little more spontaneous is something you’ll learn from Alisha. If you want to.”
“I think I want to have an adventure.”
Now he smiled fully. “Then you should. That is something I probably couldn’t do easily, at least not with the staff I have. Go on an adventure. Send me postcards and I’ll put them up in the window.”
For all of La Vista to see. “Maybe I will. Thanks for listening to me cry and ramble and wring my hands.”
“I hope for your sake it won’t be a
habit, but anytime, Ed.”
Cameron hugged me tightly before I left. I may have leaned into it for a minute, just to put off the inevitable a little while longer.
This time I drove home determined and ready to take action. And I might have felt the faintest stirrings of hope.
I spent all Sunday planning. I went through all my bills, paid everything that was due in the next few weeks, calculated everything I’d need for next month, and took stock of what was left. I didn’t make a lot of money, but my biggest frivolous expense was the occasional round at Club Fred’s; everything else just sat in my savings account, waiting for the car to break down or the paper to panic and lay everyone off.
The idea of spending any of that hoarded gold filled me with dread, but each time I thought about it, I remembered what it was like to stand on a cliff in the rain with Alisha, that sensation of endless possibility. Money felt like security, but what was the point of having all that security if it manifested in my day-to-day life as cement shoes, keeping me from doing anything more fun than going out on Friday night?
I also looked up how to expedite a US passport, but it would still take weeks. I didn’t plan to wait that long, so I started filling out the forms and located a drugstore that would take decent pictures. We had plenty of time to get our passports and plan big, international trips. There was a lot we could do in the States. Alisha would have ideas.
And anyway, she hadn’t agreed to go with me yet.
Trying to figure out what I’d do if she said no was harder. Obviously, the ideal thing would be to go on a trip by myself, to spend the money and stage my own adventure. I didn’t know if I actually wanted to do that, though. Part of the fun was definitely imagining the two of us somewhere; thinking about myself alone was nowhere near as intriguing, but it might be worth doing anyway. If I had time off, I didn’t plan to spend it in La Vista.
Getting time off was Monday’s problem. I was desperately tempted to wait until I knew if she’d come with me before talking to Potter, but that was missing the point. If I was going overboard with this story—and I remembered what Rodriguez had said about needing other people around to remind him not to get too lost—then I had to be willing to reel myself in, with or without Alisha’s adventures.