Buzz sounds my intercom.
“Yes.”
“Are you coming back?” Elouise asks.
Shit . . . the meeting.
“On my way.”
I sit at my desk and stare out the window. People are talking, coming and going, and things are happening, but my mind is a million miles away.
On her.
Always on her.
Six weeks is a long time. Too long.
It’s not getting better; it’s getting worse. There’s a noose tightening around my neck that I can’t shake. The only time I’m happy is when I’m talking to Eddie, but I haven’t been able to reach him for a week now, and I’m getting worried. Why is his phone going straight to voice mail?
I glance at my watch. I might call the hostel to see when he’s working next. I’ll call Howard, the manager.
I google the number and dial as I begin to pace back and forth. “Hello, Barcelona Backpackers.”
“Hello, can I speak to Howard, please?”
“Just a minute.” I hear the line go through to an extension.
“Hello, Howard speaking.”
“Howard,” I reply, “it’s Christo.”
“Hey.” He laughs. “How are you, man?”
“Good, good. How are you?”
“Same shit, different day. All fine here.”
“Listen, sorry to bother you. I’m trying to get ahold of Eddie, but his phone isn’t even ringing.”
“Oh yeah . . . it got stolen.”
“Oh.” My heart sinks. I know how upset he’d be. “I wondered what happened. I’ve been calling and texting him, but no reply.”
“No point texting,” he replies casually.
“What do you mean?”
“Well . . . he can’t read.”
“What?” I frown.
“He can’t read or write. You know that.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I snap. “Of course he can.”
“Christo . . . you know he’s homeless, right?”
“What?” I whisper. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah,” he replies casually. “No shit. He’s an orphan.”
I begin to hear my heartbeat in my ears.
“His parents are both . . . dead?” I gasp.
“His father took off before he was born, and his mother died in a car accident when he was eight, or something. No surviving grandparents or aunts or uncles. He was in the foster care system for a while but got put with assholes and ended up running away.”
I drop to the chair at the desk, shocked to a horrified silence.
“But where does he sleep?” I whisper through a lump in my throat.
“In a deserted house around the corner from the hostel.”
I stand. “Where is it?”
“It’s almost directly behind the hostel. It’s boarded up. You can’t miss it.”
I stay on the line, shocked to silence.
Dear god.
“Don’t tell him I called, okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, okay.”