Mabel

“Are you alright?” Detective Anaya watched me closely. I could feel his gaze sweeping over me, taking stock in the way he was probably trained to do.

It didn’t take a detective to see that the signs of a breakdown were clear. A bead of sweat made its way down my forehead, but I was too concerned about the fact that I was seeing things to feel embarrassed about the way I looked. I knew how that made it seem, though—like I was even more of a basket case. Looking distractedly over at the bathroom again, I saw Santiago track my line of sight, his square jaw tight with something like worry.

“You see something?”

“No, I—”

What was I going to say? I thought I saw my dead boss in the lobby restroom over there? You might want to go check?

Instead, I ignored him and stared determinedly at the bathroom door. Maybe if I stared long enough, I’d figure out what was happening to my brain.

“Hey.” Santiago’s voice was in my ear, a firm hand on my back. “Let’s get you sitting down, okay?”

He led me to one of the cushy leather armchairs in the corner of the lobby. I let my knees bend, let my body fall into a sitting position. He crouched down next to me with knitted brows. Either I looked like I was about to keel over myself or he was worried I was going to snap and kill someone else. “Mr. Witherspoon is right. You’re in shock. Sit right here, and I’ll be right back.”

Shock was the most rational explanation for all of this, but something told me that was too easy of an answer. Santiago walked to the EMT. Straining my ears for a moment, I heard him ask for a blanket and juice or soda, something with sugar in it. That was good, because it meant he wasn’t hell-bent on the idea of me killing Maurice. For that minute, anyway. Instead he just thought I couldn’t handle seeing a dead body, which, to be fair, I didn’t think I could either.

Clara slipped into the armchair next to mine and leaned close. “Feeling any better?”

I shrugged.

She gave me a sympathetic look and squeezed my hand. “Maybe that hot detective can cure you. I thought all of the cute ones were only on TV, but damn.”

I let my mouth fall open a little. “You mean the hot detective who thinks I’m a murderer? Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“I’m just looking out for you.” Clara looked back over at Santiago and gave him an appreciative once-over. I couldn’t help looking too. She’d had the same thoughts as me, of course—we were in sync like that usually. Maybe in some very different set of circumstances I’d flirt with a sexy older man, sure, but right now flirting was the furthest thing from my mind.

“Once he believes you aren’t a murderer,” she continued, “you’ll be able to make a move. Want me to find out if he’s single? I can ask.”

I was already back to staring at the bathroom door, wondering if it really was just the trauma messing with my head. It had to be.

“Hello? Mabes?” Clara waved a hand in front of my face, and I blinked.

“Come with me to the restroom,” I said, standing up quickly. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Clara followed me as I put one hand on the bathroom door and gingerly pushed it open. It was empty.

“You’re being paranoid,” Clara said. Her mouth was drawn tight as she paced after me to and from each stall where I checked behind the doors. “You’re acting like you think someone’s going to jump out at you. Did you see someone in here earlier?”

I said nothing, and my friend stepped back toward the bathroom door. “We should tell the police. I’ll get the hot detective…”

“No!” I cleared my throat and looked down at my feet, still shoeless and wearing only socks. “No, don’t get anyone. I didn’t see anything. I guess I just thought I did.” I looked around the obviously empty bathroom. “But clearly I was wrong, so it’s okay.”

I looked up to flash my friend a smile to prove how okay I was. But instead of Clara in front of me, I saw Maurice standing between the two of us. He looked just as real and alive as before. I staggered backward and gripped a stall door as my scream echoed against the bathroom walls.