Silent Echo: A Novel by J.R. Rain

Author:J.R. Rain [Rain, J.R.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Rain Press
Published: 2020-12-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

I’ve just had two espressos, put some more Preparation H around my eyes and changed into a fresh shirt when we hear the knock on the door. I am chilled now, which is a sign of waning energy, but I hand the blanket that covers my thin body to Numi. He folds it quickly and tosses it onto my bed before answering the door.

Numi nods once at the detective, who nods in return. Men of few words. Numi has made it known that he thinks I’ve had enough excitement for one day. By “excitement,” he means us going to The Coffee Bean. My body tends to agree with him. It wants to sleep the day away, or lose itself in the chaos of my scattered mind. But I don’t have that luxury. Not with the detective in charge of Olivia’s murder showing up. Not with my brother’s killer still out there.

I ask if the detective wants a drink, praying like hell he doesn’t. Like most of my prayers, this one goes unanswered. The detective asks what I have. I tell him Scotch. He says, “Good enough.”

I fight off a grimace as I rise from the couch. Numi doesn’t like any of this. But I make a show of being a good host. I need the detective on my side. I need him to open up to me. I need him to believe I am a capable worker. I am, in essence, putting on the show of my life.

I pour the drinks in the kitchen. I ask Numi if he wants one and he declines. Numi rarely drinks. I suspect my friend has given up the hard stuff to be ever alert for my needs. A good man. He has given up much for me. I should feel more appreciation, except I don’t. Mostly, I don’t understand how one man can love another so much.

Numi takes a seat on the couch so that I can have the benefit of the overstuffed chair where I can prop up my arms and sit up straight. As I finish making the drink, I see that my hands are shaking badly. I take a swig from my stiff drink, pause, collect myself, and then head into the living room with the drinks.

I will my hands to be steady as I hand the detective his drink.

“Thanks,” he says. “You look better.”

I’m surprised to hear him say this. I feel like a total wreck, but a little lovemaking goes a long way, apparently. “I am better,” I lie.

“So, what’s the prognosis these days?”

“You mean am I going to live or die?”

He drinks uncomfortably from his drink. “Well, I assume you are going to live.”

“Isn’t it pretty to think so?” I say, quoting my favorite book. “But it’s still too early to tell.”

“Or maybe you’re putting on a song and dance for me,” he says.

Numi’s eyes flash and I shake my head slightly, willing him to relax.

I say, “Or maybe that, too.”

He doesn’t say anything. He is absorbing this news.

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