Page 82 of Manner of Death
“It was to me. I screamed so much my mother had to come and pick me up early. It took me years to get over it, too.” Sawyer glanced at him. “Okay, I shared. Now you. Tell me a phobia you have.”
“Hmm.” Bashir thought about it. “I don’t know if it’s a full-blown phobia, but one summer a few years ago I decided to learn to scuba dive. It didn’t hurt that the instructor was really hot.” He went on to talk about the sensation of being underwater, and how it turned out that he didn’t really like not being able to hear things clearly. By the time they got to Sawyer’s house, he was laughing hard enough to hurt his injured arm.
“Oh my God.” He wiped his eyes with his good hand. “That’s…”
“I know. Needless to say, I never went on a date with that guy again.” Bashir came around the car and helped Sawyer get out. “How about I tackle the fridge while you put together an overnight bag? We can come back tomorrow morning to air things out and make you comfortable.”
“Thank you.” Sawyer fumbled for the keys in his coat pocket, then climbed the steps to the front door and let them in.
It didn’t smell terrible, but there was an undertone of something sour that made his stomach turn, like old garbage. Of course, because he’d missed garbage day. Ugh.
“I’ll get the trash, too,” Bashir said. “Which way is the kitchen?”
“Right over there.” Sawyer let him brave it and headed back to his little bedroom. Night clothes, socks and underwear, and toiletries all got put into a backpack that he didn’t even try to get over his shoulder. He just carried it to the front door, then turned around to go help in the kitchen.
Ding dong.
Or nope, he’d just answer that. He knew who it was anyway. “Hi Jane,” he said once he’d opened the door. His neighbor to the left, whose house was connected to his, smiled for a moment, then looked concerned.
“Oh my, you look like something the cat dragged in.”
“I know.” Shorter answers were better when it came to handling Jane.
“Well, I saw a car pull up and I figured I’d bring over your mail!” She held out a huge pile of what looked like mostly junk.
“Thank you.” Despite the awkwardness, Sawyer took it, because he knew if he invited her in she’d be almost impossible to boot out. “I appreciate it.”
“It was my pleasure,” Jane simpered. “Anything to help out. I—”
“I think I got it all,” Bashir said as he rounded the corner of the kitchen.
Jane glanced at him with interest. “Oh my!” she said again, then turned a sly smile on Sawyer. “I didn’t know you were entertaining gentlemen tonight. Is the other one still around?”
Other one? Sawyer sighed. He didn’t have time to get into it with her right now, not with a headache creeping up on him. “I’m sorry, we’ve got to go,” he said, grabbing his backpack and stepping out onto the porch. That forced Jane to step back and make room for Bashir, who came out with a rank-smelling bag of trash. “Thanks again for your help, I really appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome,” Jane replied, wrinkling her nose as Bashir headed over to where the trash cans were placed on the side of the building. “I hope you feel better soon.”
“Thanks.” With that, they made their escape, leaving Jane staring after them with a speculative expression on her face.
The rest of the evening was a blur. He was too tired to think clearly and too sore to move any more than he had to. He ate what Bashir presented to him—some sort of lemony chicken and rice soup, it tasted delicious—and, after getting his cast wrapped, took a shower with him in his oversized stall. It was his first real shower since going into the hospital, and felt incredible. Bashir washed his hair, peppering his face and shoulders with little kisses as he did so, and if Sawyer hadn’t been so damn tired he would have happily started something right then and there. But he was so damn tired, so he let Bashir lead him to bed instead.
He woke up in the morning with Bashir flush to his back, warm and comforting, and the sound of his ringing phone doing everything in its power to eliminate that comfort. Sawyer eased his good arm over to the bedside table and grabbed for his phone, groaning when he saw it was Nan. Damn it, he couldn’t just ignore her. “’lo?”
“Sawyer?” Nan sounded worried. “Are you at home?”
“Mm…no.” Not that it should matter, as he was off-duty for the foreseeable future. “Why?”
“Because we just got a call a few minutes ago for your neighbor’s place. A Mrs. Jane Simmons? Apparently her carbon monoxide monitors went off this morning—she was pretty sick by the time she realized something was wrong. She’s in an ambulance on her way to the hospital, but nothing in her house is leaking. Did you leave the stove on?”
“No,” Sawyer said numbly. Carbon monoxide? “I didn’t. But someone should go into my place and check anyway. There’s a spare key under the flower box.”
“Okay, I’ll let the firefighters know.” She paused. “Did anyone else have access to your house while you were away from it?”
“Just my neighbor, but she didn’t go inside.” And anyone who could have found your key. Didn’t Jane say something about entertaining gentlemen at your place? She had. Shit.
“I didn’t know you were entertaining gentlemen tonight,” she’d very clearly said. “Is the other one still around?”
The other one? Oh. Fuck.