The Key Chased the Blade

John was locked up inside his room. Rico took us to his own room and we told him everything. Simon showed him his notes. Rico was silent for a long time before he said anything.

"John says that he didn't do anything and he picked up the rope on the side of the street," Rico said. "He also says he's not coming out of his room until he's sure no one is going to do anything drastic."

"So what are you going to do?" Simon asked.

Rico rose from his seat. "I'm going to call the police. Noah, you're staying at Simon's house tonight."

We didn't say anything to that.

After Rico left, Simon put an arm around me, and I just cried. And I couldn't believe that I was crying again. Simon rested his head on my shoulder and murmured something I couldn't understand, but I knew it was meant to be soothing. Jesus Christ. I was crying so hard. And I wasn't a crier. But maybe I actually was and I just never had the chance to cry. This was just too much.

"Noah, I'm going to call my parents and tell them you're spending the night, okay?" Simon asked softly. He lifted his head and rubbed my back with his hand before getting up and dialing his house number on his cell phone. I sat there and didn't even try to wipe the tears away from my face. Jesus. This was really not okay.

"Mom, Noah is having some family issues and she needs to spend the night here," Simon was saying. "No, yes, that's what I mean. Yes. Yes, it's bad. Mom-"

I stopped listening. I got up and stared out the window. The goddamn sun was still out. I closed the blinds with a hearty swing and broke some of the shades, but I figured Rico would forgive me for that.

"Yes. No. Yes, Mom, it's fine," Simon said. I went over to him and pressed my forehead against his back. "Mom, I have to go now, I'll see you soon, okay? I love you. Tell Dad Noah is coming over. Bye." Then he ended the call.

"Simon?" He turned around and I looked up at him. His expression was so pained it made me cry even harder. I didn't even think that was possible. I was crying enough already.

"Yeah?" he asked.

But I couldn't say anything. I just stood there and cried like an idiot.

"It's okay, Noah," Simon whispered. "My mom said you can come over and she'll probably make you a cake or something, okay? Things will sort out."

He reached over and slipped his hand in mine, as if to reassure that statement. I let my hand hang limp like a dead fish.

"I saw your drawing in your sketchbook," I said.

"What?" He suddenly frowned.

"The washing lady. I see her too."

Simon's expression slowly transformed into fear, and his hand squeezed mine hard enough to hurt. I just stared at him.

"When we get to my house, we're going to look this up," he said. "But only after things get sorted out, okay? There's enough crazy things happening already."