Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 71212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
“I thought I’d never hear him again,” he said, sniffing as he pocketed the phone. “Thank you.”
I nodded, as did Tristan. I had to trust that this trade-off wouldn’t come back to bite me in the ass somehow.
“Did you get to see him? The Chemist?” Tristan asked, leaning forward.
Mason nodded. I honed in on him like a hawk locking onto a rodent. “What did he look like?”
“It was dark in his house,” Mason said. “And I was really drunk. I Ubered there after the club. Grayson was supposed to come with me but got caught up eating pizza with our friends. He told me to go and have fun, that he’d be there when I got home… so I did.”
“Where did you two meet?”
“A hotel. He said he was visiting.”
“Which hotel?” Tristan asked.
“The Juniper, in Mid—”
“Town,” Tristan said and looked to me. Fear bloomed in his eyes, like a rotting rose.
That was the hotel we were staying at.
I put a hand on Tristan’s leg and squeezed. Mason’s eyes darted down at the touch. Instead of bristling, he seemed to relax a bit, shoulders shifting so that they were less tense. Unlike Tristan, who now sat like there was a steel rod rammed down his back.
I wanted to comfort him more, but there was still a job to do. I turned my attention back to Mason. “Do you remember what day? And time?”
“I already asked who was staying in that room. The hotel gave me some fake name. Couldn’t find it anywhere.”
“What was the name?” I asked.
“Marlin Brooks.”
I wrote that down into the Notes app on my phone as Mason continued. He described the incense Marlin had lit and the offer of drugs or alcohol before they hooked up. “I told him no thanks, and we took off our pants. He was tall and skinny. White, with medium-ish dark hair. I don’t even know what color his eyes are… I do remember seeing something as I was leaving, though. I think the sweat must have taken off some of his makeup.
“I noticed a birthmark on his face. It looked weirdly like a fish. Not an anatomically correct fish or anything, but like those simple fish you draw with one line in a notebook.”
That would explain the concealer and foundation we found in the hideout. “Why didn’t you go to the police with any of this?”
“Because I can’t have them looking my way… I just can’t. I’m here, supporting my mom and my little sister. If they dug around too much, then—” He shook his head and held the phone to his chest. “I wanted to. Trust me. I made it out that night by some kind of grace. But then Grayson went to see him, a week later. I was out of town. I got the call when I was about to board my flight back home; Grayson was dead, pumped up with chemicals.” He choked back tears.
Unfortunately, though, we weren’t here to help him process his trauma. We were here for information, and I felt like we were getting closer and closer to something that could crack this case. I had to push forward.
“Did Grayson mention anything about this man to you? Anything they spoke about before they met up?”
Mason shook his head. He rubbed at this throat. Looked at his watch. “Nothing. Listen, I have to get back to work. I told you all I know.” He started to stand, the wrought-iron chair scratching against the brick floor. “If I think of anything, I’ll call you.”
I was going to stop him but figured it would do more harm than good. At least this line of communication was open now.
“Mason, please stay safe. The Midnight Chemist is still out there,” I said.
“I will… And thanks for this,” he said, holding up the phone before slipping it back into the pocket of his black pants. He went back inside the hotel, leaving Tristan and me alone in the courtyard. A line of traffic honked loudly from the street, cutting off Tristan’s “holy shit.”
“That went well,” I said, turning to him so that our knees touched. I loved when our bodies connected, no matter in what way. Could be a hand on the shoulder, a knee against a knee, a bump with the backs of our hands. No matter what it was, so long as Tristan’s body touched mine, I could feel sparks fly. It wasn’t something I was really used to. Being physical with someone always meant things were leading toward sex. But with Tristan, touch was about so much more.
It felt like every brush, every subtle stroke, every tiny nudge was another drop of water onto our garden, vibrant red roses opening their thick and velvety petals whenever our bodies connected.
It was magical. I just wished I could enjoy it without the heavy cloud that hung above us since the start of our relationship.