Page 12 of All My Broken Dreams

Pain killer or she’d never sleep tonight. What did he call it?Paracetamol. Drugs for the shoulder and an antibiotic for the cuts. She had to recover her strength as quickly as possible to find Harry before something bad happened. There was no logic to it, it was just a feeling she had that he was in danger. That maybe he had been taken and was being held against his will.

A glass shelf under the mirror held Deacon’s shaving brush, razor, and a brick of shaving soap. She lifted the soap and brought it to her nose.

It was strangely intimate, touching his things … the things that he touched every day. Like she was invading his privacy. Like she was touching him without him knowing it.

Robbie put the soap back in the dish and opened the medicine cabinet.

There was a brand of pain reliever on the top shelf that was unfamiliar to her but the wordparacetamolwas on the label. She moved some things around and found the antibiotic cream. She lifted the tube out and behind it was an orange bottle of pills.

Robbie’s breath slowed. She recognized the bottle. It was prescription medication. She had one like it in her suitcase for anxiety. What sort of prescription drug would Deacon Wake need?

“Please don’t be an antipsychotic,” she breathed.

She listened for a moment at the door for signs of life coming from the kitchen. He had music playing and she heard him singing along. He didn’t sound psychotic.

She turned the taps on full and cautiously lifted the bottle from the shelf.

It was a prescription for an antidepressant. That was unexpected. Robbie squinted at the name on the label.

Harry Listowel.

She dropped the bottle like it was on fire. It fell into the sink and bobbed like a cork under the running water.

“Dinner is almost ready,” Deacon called from the kitchen. “It’s nothing fancy. I hope you like tinned beans on toast. It’s a student housing staple.”

“Sounds delicious.”

She dried the bottle off and carefully returned it to the shelf. Her hands were shaking. Her brother’s name stared back at her accusingly. Since when did Harry start taking antidepressants and why? She stared at the bottle, trying tocomprehend how it came to be in Deacon’s bathroom. Why didn’t Harry take it with him wherever he had gone?

She couldn’t ask without revealing that she knew what Deacon was hiding. He lied about not knowing Harry. Wake knew him and it followed that he knew what happened to him.

Robbie stared at the bottle with a frigid, sinking heart. Why did she have to look at the label? Everyone knows curiosity killed the cat.

“I love your bathroom,” she said breezily when she returned. “It looks like something out of one of those old movies. You know the ones I mean?”

“Probably not, but it’s from 1923. The university has a philosophy that if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. No renovation. Take a seat. Sorry I don’t have more to offer. I usually eat out.”

Robbie lifted her fork, trying to remain calm. “Oh? I bet they serve great meals on campus.”

“They do, but not for me. The dining hall is off limits to staff. Faculty and students only. There’s a little pub I go to most evenings.”

The table is a scarred desk with two chairs positioned on either side. Deacon set down two plates of steaming food. He had beer. Robbie looked around for her sherry.

She lifted a forkful to her mouth, convinced she wouldn’t be able to eat a bite, convinced she would choke on the beans just like she was choking on his lies.

But it was delicious. Either she was really hungry or canned beans on toast was the best thing she had ever eaten.

“I’m sure Harry will be back in the morning,” she said evenly. “Don’t you think? I might even hear from him tonight. He’ll probably call as soon as he realizes I’m in the city. If he’s able to, that is.”

“What do you mean?”

The food stuck in her throat. “Well, he could’ve been abducted. There’s no other reason he wouldn’t get in touch with his family–unless he’s being held against his will.”

Deacon poked at his meal with less enthusiasm, but otherwise showed no sign that he was disturbed.

“He’s just missing,” he said. “He probably doesn’t even realize he’s missing. He might be traveling and his phone is out of range. You two sound close. Are you close?”

“He’s my half-brother, three years older than me. We have different biological fathers, but we were raised together. We are close in a way, despite being polar opposites. Harry is super smart and funny. He makes friends everywhere he goes.”

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