--X--

The Lowdown had a disgusting stench.

It was abhorrent and nauseating- combined smells of dead animals and smoke and substances and garbage swimming in unmoving water that hadn't been touched for years and years and years.

It took about ten minutes for Connor to send the folders to my cell phone. It took about nine for me to identify the man I was now looking for- Reynaldo Mendoza Torres. Apparently, the Manila Maniac's drug dealer. Belinda was right; so far, there wasn't a name on the actual murderer.

I thought maybe I could help change that. I was scrolling through Torres's contacts and old addresses when a voice came through, in my mind, telepathically. Caleb's.

"Howdy," he said.

"Hi," I said. "You could have just called me, you know."

"I didn't want to totally disrupt you from the very important info you're looking at," said Caleb.

Telepathy felt nice. Maybe it's because I didn't have one constant human in my life until Malcolm, but it made me feel special- almost like it reminded me that someone, any person at all, would take time to communicate with me, form a bond, form a connection.

Communicating directly through telepathy wasn't bound by any "social norms." It wasn't bound by anything at all- it was you, and the other person. Nothing else came into play.

Caleb continued.

"And besides," he said. "You have a mind as beautiful as you are. It's where I want to be."

My mind was literally full of PTSD and poems that probably no one on earth wanted to hear.

"That's... funny," I said.

"I meant it," said Caleb.

I smiled. "Thank you," I said. I paused. "And I mean for last night."

I felt the delight, the satisfaction in his telepathic voice. "You had a good time?" he said.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"Shut up," I said. "Well. Yes. Whatever."

I was ready to jump off a cliff.

He laughed, and it was the nicest sound my mind could ever feel, from anywhere. And I knew I had to end the conversation.

"I meant thanks for keeping me safe," I said. "Now there's a murderer I need to help identify, okay?"

I watched a man on a dilapidated motorcycle drive off into a street to my right.

"Naw, thank you," said Caleb. His telepathic voice laughed again. "You mean the world to me, Chris."

There was this peculiar, mild burning sensation in my left hand- possibly one of the many end results of the injuries and the physical tortures we were put through in Nightingale. I wondered where Kaylee was, how she was feeling.

Nightingale...

Maybe there was some kind of chemical antidote somewhere out there, or a leaf or a fruit or a tree, for all of the sociopath-made substances and poison they pumped into our bodies, into our blood without our permission; without anyone's permission at all, really, as far as Kaylee and I knew. I wasn't sure what was worse- what they forced into our systems, or how they chose to force them into us.

"You're everything to me," said Caleb.

I followed the motorcycle from a reasonable distance.

I said nothing.

"I care about you," said Caleb.

I tried not to feel anything too emotional; I tried not to feel emotions at all, but he was making me melt. Now was not the time for marshmallow melting.

My eyes were still on the motorcycle. It was cadmium green, and it pulled over beside a really filthy, really seedy bar. I wanted to laugh and also cry because I used to work there.

"Are you and Kaylee going to visit the Port today?" I said.

The man on the motorcycle wore a tinted cerulean helmet, and he didn't remove it when he entered the establishment.

"Caleb?" I said.

"I just told you I cared about you," said Caleb.

There it was again- that feeling, that guilt. That same exact guilt I had felt the night before.

A marshmallow covered in strawberry jam, cream, shields, defenses, walls, and barriers. A recipe of me.

Best served with hot cocoa.

I didn't love it. But I was working on it, the best I could.

And frankly, the feeling itself had no point. Caleb and I... we got as close as two humans could possibly get.

Was it even guilt, or was it longing?

"I care about you, too, Caleb," I said. "You know that. I just... look, I have stuff to do. I'm sorry."

I turned my attention back to the folders on the cell phone.

"It's just nice to hear it," said Caleb.

I found facial composites and photographs in one of the files and immediately started a search for names and IDs. I hated breaking connections with Caleb. I would have spent my life with him. But I needed to go.

"Can you tell Kaylee I said thank you for the ice cream?" I said. "I mean, you know. From yesterday night."

"You mean the ice cream you never ate?"

"Yes."

"You thanked her."

"I did?"

"Yes," said Caleb. "You did."

"Oh." I was getting irritated; the stupid search was taking longer than usual. "Just tell her again, anyway. And tell Malcolm I love him, when you drop by."

"Will do," said Caleb. "I love you, Danny."

"I love you," I replied.

Within minutes I had identified a place to visit for some information. I wasn't going to find the relevant people in the hotel. Belinda's address would have to wait.