“My face is a mess and as you can hear, I won’t be bagging any musicals in the next couple of months but otherwise I think I’ll be okay.”
“Thank God!” She sighs heavily.
“Listen, I changed my flight, I’m flying back tonight.” I pause, considering how best to phrase this. “I need to go home, Cynth.”
“Of course,” she coos. “I totally understand. I’ll sort everything out with everyone over there. Just leave the apartment keys there. I’ll deal with it all.”
“The car’s—” I begin.
She cuts me off. “Don’t worry about the car, what matters is you’re safe, besides that’s what insurance is for. I’ll deal with it. We’ll sort it all out once you’re back in London. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“Okay. And Kathryn, the screening, will that be okay?”
Cynthia pauses down the line; I hear her duvet shift. “Listen…you’ve been involved in a car crash. I mean, come on. It’s perfectly understandable that you’d want to fly home, see your own doctor, be around your family. I can’t imagine it being a problem for the studio but to be honest, if it is then…well…fuck ’em, frankly.”
I feel my eyes prickle warm and sharp. I can’t express the affection I have for Cynthia right now. A smile breaks across my face in spite of everything that’s happened in the last few days. “Thanks, Cynth.”
I’m going home.
* * *
—
My bags lie waiting by the door as I fish the unused Sig from last night’s jacket. I wipe it down carefully, removing the hillside dust as well as my fingerprints. I remove the bullet, wipe it clean, and carefully reinsert it, wrapping the whole gun tightly in a clean dishcloth before slipping the snug package back into my handbag. I ball up the jacket, double-bag it, and deposit it in the trash. From what I can see, it doesn’t have any blood on it, but it’s sweaty and dusty and frankly I’d rather never see it again.
I scan the empty apartment. I’m ready. I tap out a message to Nick.
Today, 5:02pm
Are you at home? Something happened last night. Was involved in a car accident. I’m fine just bruised. I’m flying home on the red-eye tonight. It’d be great to come say goodbye before I go x
The message registers as read, gray dots pulse as he types. I imagine his concerned face, his concentrated expression. I’m really going to miss him.
OMG. What happened? You should have called me! Where are you? Hospital? Home? I’ll come over now. I had a sense something was off.
I smile stupidly at the screen; he cares about me. He has no idea how much he’s helped me already—but he can’t come here, I need to get to his house. I need to get his gun back to his house, back in its drawer, and the sooner the better.
I’m okay. Can I drop by your house on the way to the airport? Just leaving my place now.
Then I add—
We need to talk.
His gray dots pulse…
Of course, I’ll head back there now. Is everything all right? Are you sure you’re okay?
Yeah, just shaken up. I’m getting an Uber over now.
Great. See you there.
I order my Uber, jot a phone number from the LAPD website down onto a scrap of paper, then lock up the apartment and haul my bags down to the lobby. A different receptionist is working today, someone I haven’t met before. I hand over the apartment key to her and explain that I’m traveling back to London and someone will be in touch soon to sort everything out. Then I duck my head into the valet station and give Miguel the biggest hug, explaining away my departure and saying a proper goodbye.