Page 153 of The Sound of Him

I’m getting tired again.

It’s distant, just out of reach, a sensation I can’t quitefeel, but I know it won’t stay that way.

I open another energy drink.

Travis stops by wanting advice on what to wear for his date with Carter tonight. I wasn’t really aware it was late enough into the day for him to be awake, let alone considering things like that. I don’t let that on, though. I just listen as he tells me how he wants to wear something nicer than his usual clothes, but nothing like what he would have worn as Nathan Roarke. I reassure him I’ve got it handled.

I’m a little wobbly when I go to my bedroom. I have to brace myself against the wall once or twice, blinking rapidly to get the world to stop tilting. There are a few nicer clothes in my dresser that I got from deliveries. Ones that don’t fit right but I never had the energy or time to return.

I try to focus on the task, remembering what I’ve noticed Travis wear before. I know he has at least one pair of really nice, dark jeans. I’ve got two shirts that would go well with those, especially if he’s willing to wear a nice pair of dark brown shoes I have since we have the same foot size.

Focusing on something helps keep me awake, especially if I force myself to stand as I do it. If I just push through the waves of dizziness and the creeping exhaustion, I can get things done. I like getting things done. I like being useful.

I clean first. I use my handheld vacuum on my desk chair and the couch and in Matt’s spot, smiling to myself when I see hisworry stone among his pile of blankets. Then my heart breaks, just a little, when I notice he has a few food items stashed between the back of the couch and the wall like he’s saving them for later, as if he’s worried I might stop offering them. I don’t touch those.

Loud music helps too.

I’m just about to start spraying air into my keyboard when there’s a knock on my door. I know it’s probably Travis, so I turn the music down and grab the shirts from the couch before heading over to answer it. I can tell I’m starting to drift toward the slap-happy phase of my exhaustion. It probably comes out in my ramble when I realize it’s not Travis, but Jake.

In my defense, Jake doesn’t think fashion is important, and as someone who clings to things like fashion to keep the world bright, I felt the need to correct him.

I never hit the slap-happy phase, though.

We skip right over it when Jake starts asking questions about Casey’s dad, very clearly angling toward wanting to know if Casey could get in touch with him despite the rules. He has a few good arguments. He’s definitely thought it through. I make it clear that it isn’t an option. It’s dangerous.

God, it’ssodangerous.

These guys are pushing Kellan so far. Too far. He doesn’t even know half of the things we’ve done without telling him, and he’s already done with the group. He made it clear to Keaton and I that there’s no more wiggle room. It’s the reason Keaton told Maison his best option was to get that big house for everyone. Even that will become an issue once Kellan finds out that Keaton and I won’t be severing our connection to them after they move out.

Casey’s dad is a cop, but not a cop on Kellan’s payroll. There’s a chance he would jump right on board if he found out about all of this, but there’s just as much of a chance that he would blowthe whistle on everything. Some people are just too good. They see things in stark black and white, and Kellan’s organization is the definition of shades of grey. Casey’s dad could so easily be the kind of person who doesn’t think that the end justifies the means.

We’d have to kill him, if he turned out to be one of those people.

We would have to fucking kill him.

It’s not an option. It’s not worth the risk. It’s just - it’snot.

Jake gives in, asking if we can at least look into the bastard who owned Casey instead, probably wanting to be able to offer Casey his head on a silver platter as a consolation prize. I can do that. We weren’t focusing on him, the fact that he didn’t currently own a slave and therefore no one was actively being hurt making him a low priority in comparison to the others on our list. It’s easy enough to move him to the top of the list, just beneath Elliot.

The conversation leaves me wrung out, though.

So fucking wrung out.

I have enough energy to write a note to myself on a sticky pad, so I’ll remember to look into the man - William DuGray. Kellan will want a complete file on the guy before he’ll be willing to discuss options on handling him. That’s all I have left, though. That little bit of brain and muscle power, just long enough to drag the pen across the paper.

Then I lay my arm on the desk again, my cheek resting on my forearm. I stare at the computer monitor that displays all of the indoor security cameras. If I watch those, I won’t fall asleep. I have to keep watching them. I don’t remember where I last put down my phone, so I can’t set an alarm to wake me up. I have to stay awake on my own. I have to focus on the squares. When I’m focusing, I’m awake. Simple.

Simple, except for the way the squares on the screen start to merge and swim and get blurry.

Simple, except for the way my eyelids feel sticky every time my eyes close, forcing me to practically pry them back open just to go through the process all over again.

Simple, except for the way one square lights up bright red, the air suddenly filled with the ringing of the emergency alert.

My body somehow finds a rush of adrenaline to send through me, everything buzzing back to life until my brain is sharply focused. I double-click on the box lit up, even as I’m already pushing to my feet. The box expands to fill the screen, displaying the scene unraveling in the pool area.

Jake is in the pool, swimming frantically toward a blurry shape beneath the water.

My desk chair falls over with how fast I run.