Page 11 of The Same Flesh
“Well, it’s a podcast,” Amy said.“It’s very popular.We ranked—”
“Can we help you with something?”Jem asked.“It’s late.And please don’t take this the wrong way, but we’re not interested in being interviewed.”
“Oh my gosh.Oh my gosh, no!That’s not why I’m here.I’m here because— Can we sit down?”
Jem gestured her to a chair, and he settled onto the sofa.Tean stood behind him, one hand on Jem’s shoulder.His fingers curled around the collar of Jem’s shirt; Jem didn’t think the doc even knew he was doing it.
And then no one said anything.Amy’s smiles and laughter and cooing noises had all faded.She sat with her knees together and her hands in a knot, and she stared at the coffee table, her mouth moving like she was practicing smiles.Finally, with a watery breath, she said, “I’m trying not to cry.”
Tean got her tissues.Then he took his place behind Jem, and his fingers curled under Jem’s collar again.
“Thank you,” Amy said, but she didn’t press the tissues to her eyes; she wadded them in a fist so tight that her knuckles were white.
“Is this about River?”Jem asked.
“I—I don’t know.”And then her breath hitched, and she said, “Yes.I think so.”She smiled as tears started to roll down her cheeks.“I feel like I’m going crazy, actually.”
Tean’s hand tightened around Jem’s collar.
“Did something happen?”Jem asked.
She laughed again, but it was more like crying.“That’s the thing.”But she sat up straighter, did a quick dab with the tissues—wouldn’t want to ruin all that contouring—and her voice firmed up.“You aren’t familiar with our podcast, I guess.”
Jem shook his head.
Tean’s voice was almost a whisper.“No.”
“Right.Well, I’m going to tell you a little about it.For context.”That wide slice of a smile flashed out again as more tears fell.“It’s a true crime podcast.And it’s been a hit.We started out with a broader focus.I have a degree in criminal justice, and River was interested in prison reform—” She stopped.“That’s not really important.The important thing is that we realized pretty quickly that the episodes that did the best were the ones where we looked at real crimes.River was always so smart about stuff like that, so she suggested we switch to true crime, and it’s been a hit.”
“I thought River was a journalist,” Tean said.
“She was.A good one.But she was independent, understand, which meant she had a lot of different projects.And all that stuff—researching, interviewing, investigating—it was perfect for looking into real crimes.She could get an angle nobody else had.She could find something new.One time, the stuff we turned up even led to a conviction.”
We, Jem noted.And he didn’t miss the way her voice got bright.
“I’m telling you this because when people find out about the podcast, they make assumptions, or they make jokes, or—or whatever.‘I bet you hate walking through a parking lot at night.’Or ‘You probably have a lifetime supply of Mace.’Or ‘Doesn’t that stuff freak you out?’”She tried for the big smile again, but this time, it collapsed.“Having my best friend murdered, yeah, that freaked me out.”
It was like a light went on at the back of Jem’s head.He leaned forward.“They don’t believe you.”
He wasn’t even sure what it meant.Not entirely.But he could feel it, the same way he could tell, sometimes, when he was running a game, when he was riffing, what someone wanted, or what they were thinking, or what they wanted him to say.It was something just below the surface of his brain—his gut, or whatever you wanted to call it.And he was right.
Behind the heart-shaped glasses, Amy’s eyes got huge.
“Who doesn’t believe you?”Tean asked.“What does that mean?”
“Everybody,” Amy said.“The police.My friends.My dad.”She laughed, but her fist tightened around the tissues again.“Take your pick.”
“What happened?”
“I know this is going to sound crazy.”And for a moment, she was about to cry again.But somehow she didn’t, and she said, “I know.I really do.But someone is following me.”
Tean’s hand, still wrapped around Jem’s collar, was tense now.
Jem ran the backs of his fingers across his beard.Then he said, “Shit.”
“Who’s following you?”Tean asked.
“I don’t know.That’s the problem.I don’t even know if I’m being followed, not really.It’s—it’s little things.There was this black truck—”
