Page 49 of The Invisible Roommate

Sitting in the damp, gritty sand, reeds popping out of the ground and swiping across his vision, he concluded that tantrums were not cute, and running away was simply not effective.

“Hey, who’s out there?!” came a gruff voice from behind Emory. One he placed as Sergeant Adye.

A flashlight beam spliced through the darkness. Emory barely flinched. He’d been invisible for so long that it didn’t even register that the sergeant could be referring to him, but when he looked around, he remembered he was alone and done up in his visible-person drag.

“Shit,” he muttered to himself. He rose slowly with his arms raised in surrender.

“What are you doin’ out there? It’s not safe to be on the beach tonight with bad weather comin’ in. Can’t you read the sign? Turn ’round while I’m talkin’ to you,” Sergeant Adye called.

Emory did as he was told but sidestepped the light’s reach. Quickly—and perhaps foolishly—he tossed the hat, the coat, and his shoes into the bay to his right. Sergeant Adye was expectedly diverted by the ensuing splash. Emory sprinted off in the opposite direction. As he ran, he shed his sunglasses and shirt in one place and his pants in another. The bandages were the last to go, proving difficult to unwrap. He zigzagged his way back to Regina’s, so that while being pursued, the tangible evidence of his loitering wouldn’t lead to her door.

Did he want to be streaking through the streets of Iping that late at night in fifty-five-degree weather? No. But what choice did he have? He hoped the crunch of fallen leaves underfoot wouldn’t give him away as he dashed.

Eventually, he found a small, unlocked shed that he ducked into for cover. He sat atop a deflated blow-up pool catching his breath, the cloud of which he could see thanks to the chill in the air. The door to the shed provided a good cover for when Sergeant Adye ran past several moments later, still in hot pursuit.

For what felt like hours, Sergeant Adye sniffed around for clues. Emory held his breath and closed his eyes. When Sergeant Adye finally called it quits, Emory stayed behind for a while longer, just to be safe. To be certain the sergeant wasn’t hiding somewhere nearby ready to surprise him.

By the time Emory made it back to the apartment, Gerard was tucked into bed. Emory shuffled quietly inside.

“Emory, is that you?” Gerard stirred up to sitting and turned on a light. His eyes were sleep-dusted.

“It’s me,” Emory croaked out.

“What happened to you?” Gerard asked, concern audible. “And why aren’t you wearing any clothes?”

“I went out for a walk,” he said, trying to make it sound casual when it was anything but.

“In the nude?” Gerard asked. “It’s windy and cold out there, and it’s only going to get colder. It’s not the summer anymore. You’ll get sick.”

Emory’s skin was heat slicked yet frozen. His heart still whirred on overdrive. It was strange to have somebody care about his health and wellness. “There was a bit of an incident,” he admitted.

“An incident?” Gerard asked, immediately getting up.

Emory cobbled together enough words to sketch the scene and relay the chase.

“Are you okay?” Gerard asked when he finished.

“Just a little overexcited.” Adrenaline was the only thing keeping him upright in that moment.

“Did something happen before that?” Gerard asked. His gaze flicked to the kitchen. The scene of the shafted burgers. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I wouldn’t be here for dinner. Regina ran into me on the beach and insisted I come by for casserole and pie, then we got to talking about music, so she was showing me this instrument she used back in the ’70s. Did you know she used to be pretty famous?”

“No,” Emory said.

Gerard visibly pivoted. “I would’ve come up first, but Regina wasn’t having any of my excuses. I didn’t mean to stand you up, but I could’ve been more insistent and I’m sorry.”

How did Gerard say he was sorry so easily? Emory would have to Heimlich an apology out, but he’d do it. He’d throw himself over the back of the kitchen chair if he had to. “I’m…” Was he sweating again? God, this was impossible. “Sorry, too.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Gerard asked. “You sound like you’re in pain.”

His stubbornness was screwing this all up. “I’m fine. I…” Here it goes again. “I’m sorry. When you didn’t show … the food I made … my appetite … I wasn’t … No, I didn’t feel like…” His mind was a complex circus act gone horribly wrong, but his mouth was operating under the show must go on conditions. “I heard you … but I…”

“Emory.” Gerard was close now, reaching where he clearly assumed Emory’s arm might be. Emory stepped into the contact. The simple touch sent ease billowing throughout his body. “Please take a breath.”

Upset with himself for botching this, he huffed. “I’m bad at apologizing.”

“I think you can only be bad at apologizing if you don’t apologize at all,” said Gerard. “Or you’re one of those dicks who says things like, ‘I’m sorry you took it that way.’”

“It’s…” Emory paused. “I’m out of practice.”