Page 112 of Forever We Fall

“His doctor said fluorescents can trigger a migraine, which wouldn’t help anyone right now. Especially Arlo,” I inform them.

“Where’s Wentzel?” she snaps.

She’s asking about the detective who questioned me. He didn’t introduce himself this time, but I remember him from last year…when Arlo’s uncle went missing. This woman, though, I don’t know her. I don’t much like her either.

“He finished with me ten minutes ago.” A lie. I hike a finger toward the door as I step fully into the room. “He left pretty quickly to take a call.” I shrug. “Looked important.”

Both officers’ gazes flick to each other’s. Their brows hike.

The guy shifts from his lean on the wall. “I think we have everything we need.”

“Great,” I chime. “The nurse is on her way to check his vitals and administer his medicine.”

The woman’s lips purse. She looks at her notes, and then at her colleague, and then at Arlo. She nods and stands. “We’ll be in touch, Mr. Judge.”

“Yes, Detective Inspector Dean.” Arlo sounds tired and smaller than he was only an hour ago.

They collect their notebooks and head out.

The second the door closes, I head for the bathroom and grab a rag. I soak it under the cold water, wring it until it’s damp, and head for the bed. “I’m going to lay you back, okay?”

“Sure.” His eyes are closed, and his face is turned away from me—not fully, but enough that it twists my guts.

“Cool rag,” I warn. Something I hadn’t felt the need to do when I placed it on his head yesterday or the night before.

He sinks back into the mattress. I lay the cloth over his forehead, smoothing his hair back with my fingers, not because I have to, but because I cannot pass up the opportunity.

Arlo’s shoulders don’t fully release their tension. Heaviness weighs on his heart.

I close the bathroom door and make my way to the chair DI Dean moved from his bedside. I readjust it, close, and sit.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper.

“I think it’s the crack in my skull.” The corners of his mouth tip up in a weak effort to play off his discomfort.

“Don’t tell me Phillip knocked a sense of humor into you.”

“I’ve had a sense of humor,” he says with absolutely no inflection.

“Yeah, like my dead grandmother had a sense of style.”

A soft chuckle leaves his throat. He winces. “Don’t make me laugh.”

We’re quiet for a while, but I can see the strain in his every breath. “Please, let me in.”

He swallows. “That detective Dean, after grilling me about the incident, questioned me about my uncle again.”

“She looks like she’s trying to make a name for herself.” I suck on my front teeth to keep from gnashing them.

Arlo stays quiet.

“It’s all going to be okay. One incident has nothing to do with the other.” I’m careful what I say about his uncle’s case, even when we’re behind closed doors, locked in tight. It’s just no use in talking about something that can’t be changed. Something that could destroy us completely.

“It’s all going to be okay,” I reassure.

“Yeah.” His mouth says one thing while he tugs the covers to his chest and tucks in on himself.

I feel like I’m losing him all over again.

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