She rummaged through the drawer, prising up the false bottom, her fingers scrabbling below for the small plastic bag. Not many left now. She’d have to text Luke Eaton again soon, ask him for more, those burner phones lined up and ready.
What happened to one last time, then?
Pip swallowed the pill and bit her lip. These last months had been filled with one last times and just one mores. They weren’t lies; she’d truly meant them at the time. But she always lost, in the end.
It didn’t matter, it wouldn’t matter soon. Because she had the plan, the new plan, and after that she’d never lose again. Everything would go back to normal. And life had handed her exactly what she needed. Those chalk figures, those dead pigeons, and the person who’d left them there for her. It was a gift, and she should remember that, prove Hawkins wrong. One last case, and it had landed right on her doorstep. It was her against them this time. No Andie Bell, no Sal Singh, no Elliot Ward or Becca Bell, no Jamie Reynolds or Charlie Green or Stanley Forbes, and no Jane Doe. The game had changed.
Her against them.
Save herself to save herself.
There was a kind of thrill in it; watching someone when they didn’t know you were there. Invisible to them. Disappeared.
Ravi was walking up the drive to her house, and she at her bedroom window where she’d been for hours, watching. His hands were in his jacket pockets, his hair morning-messy, and a strange movement in his mouth like he was chewing the air. Or singing to himself. She’d never seen him do that before, never around her. This was a different Ravi, one who thought he was alone, unobserved. Pip studied him and all the subtle differences to the Ravi he was when he was around her. She smiled to herself, wondered what he was singing. Maybe she could love this Ravi just as much, but she’d miss that look in his eyes when he was looking back at her.
And then the moment was over. Pip faintly heard his familiar knock, long-short-long, but she couldn’t move, she needed to stay here and watch the drive. Her dad was here, he would let Ravi in. He liked his small moments of time alone with Ravi anyway. He’d make some sort of inappropriate joke, segue into a conversation about football or Ravi’s work experience, finishing off with an affectionate pat on the back. All while Ravi took off his shoes and neatly lined them up by the door, stuffing the laces inside too, with that special laugh he saved for her dad. That was it, what she wanted: to live those small, normal moments again. The scene would change, somehow, if she were there to disturb it.
Pip blinked, her eyes watering from staring too long at that spot on the driveway, the sun glaring through the window. She couldn’t look away; she might miss it.
She heard Ravi’s gentle tread up the steps, his clicking knees, and her heartbeat picked up. The good kind of fast heart, not like that other trigger-happy kind. No, don’t think about that now. Why did she have to ruin every nice moment?
‘Hello, Sarge,’ he said, the creaking sound of him pushing the door fully open. ‘Agent Ravi here, reporting for boyfriending duties.’
‘Hello, Agent Ravi,’ Pip said, her breath fogging up the glass in front of her. The smile was back, fighting her until she gave in.
‘I see,’ he said. ‘Not even a glance back, or one of your scornful looks. Not a hug, not a kiss. Not an Oh, Ravi, darling, you look devilishly handsome today and you smell like a spring dream. Oh, Pip, my dear, you are too kind to notice. It’s a new deodorant I’m trying.’ A pause. ‘No, but seriously, what are you doing? Can you hear me? Am I a ghost? Pip?’
‘Sorry,’ she said, eyes straight. ‘I’m just… I’m watching the driveway.’
‘You’re what?’
‘Watching the drive,’ she said, her own reflection getting in the way.
She felt a weight on the bed next to her, gravity pulling her towards him as Ravi lowered to his knees on the far side of the mattress, his elbows up on the windowsill and eyes to the glass, just as Pip was.
‘Watching for what?’ he said. Pip dared one fleeting look at him, at the sun lighting up his eyes.
‘For… for the birds. The pigeons,’ she said. ‘I’ve put bits of bread out there on the drive, in the same spot I found those pigeons. And I put little pieces of ham in the grass either side of the drive too.’
‘Right,’ Ravi said, drawing out the word, confused. ‘And why have we done that?’
She gave him a quick jab with her elbow. Wasn’t it obvious? ‘Because,’ she said, over-emphasizing the word, ‘I’m trying to prove Hawkins wrong. It can’t be a neighbour’s cat. And I’ve laid the perfect bait to test that. Cats like ham, don’t they? He’s wrong, I’m not crazy.’