Page 60 of Eternally London

Tommy and I spoke last night about his physical therapy session scheduled for this morning and his complete lack of desire to go to it. He hates going to PT.

I can’t do it anymorecould be in relation to that. Maybe he’s canceling his sessions? But why would he feel the need to tell me that he was skipping PT at six in the morning?

I just have a sinking feeling deep in my gut. I learned a long time ago to always go with my gut instinct. Intuition is a powerful tool that is too often ignored once one’s brain starts rationalizing the feeling and making excuses for it. I’d rather be wrong than sorry I didn’t act.

“Loïc?” London’s tired voice whispers from the bed. “What are you doing?”

“Sorry, babe. I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m running to Tommy’s. He just texted me, and something’s not right.”

“No, don’t go. Today’s a family day,” London protests.

“I won’t be long. I’m just going to check in on him, and I’ll be right back with plenty of time to help you and get your parents from the airport.”

“Okay. Don’t be too long.”

“I won’t.” I walk over to her side of the bed. “I love you.” I bend, kissing her lips.

“I love you, too, my mighty warrior. I’m proud of you. You’re a good man, Loïc. Tommy is lucky to have you looking out for him.”

“Thanks, babe. Go back to sleep. I’ll be home soon.”

“Okay.” London sounds half-asleep already.

I text Tommy again once I’m in my truck.

Be there soon, bud.

I’m sure I cut the usual thirty-minute drive to Tommy’s in half. The roads were relatively clear this early in the morning, and my foot was excessively heavy on the gas pedal.

I knock on Tommy’s door with my fists.

Come on, Tommy.

Open up.

I pound louder.

I remember the key that he gave me six months ago, back when London was on assignment in Africa. He went away for the weekend and asked me to stop by and feed his cat. I run down the apartment stairs and out to my truck. I start tossing papers and other random crap out of the glove box in search of the key. Grabbing the key, I run back up to his place.

I open the door. “Tommy?” I call out.

I wipe my slick palms against my jeans and breathe deep. My heart pounds loudly, and the rhythmic thud rings in my ears. I turn on the light and scan the living room and small dining space.

Come on.

Please.

Please.

I head down the hall, past the kitchen and toward his bedroom.

“Tommy?” I knock once on his door before cautiously opening it.

The anxiety balled up in my throat plummets down to my feet, taking my breath with it. I gasp for air. The sight before me is one straight from my nightmares.

Please.I send a quick prayer into the universe. It’s one word, but the need is desperate.

“Tommy.” My voices shakes.

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