Page 52 of Sapphire Spring

“What was number one then?”

“You had to sign a release form at the hotel saying youweren’t injured after you went in the pool.”

Mason felt a hot flush of embarrassment. “So where should westart?”

“We?”

“Sorry. Where shouldIstart?”

“Doesn’t matter. They’re all going to the same place.”

“Shredtown.”

“Yep.”

“It’s not a bad place to hang out for a while. It’s quiet.Private.” Mason gave Naser a cockeyed grin meant to convey exactly what he’dlike to do to him if Naser decided to close and lock the door behind him.

Naser shrugged. “I mean, it doesn’t have chrome fixtures andripple fold drapes, but you’ll make do.”

Mason hefted a box off one shelf and carried it over to thefolding table, deliberately flexing his arms so his biceps would bulgeinvitingly inside his polo’s tailored sleeves. He dropped the box with a gruntand removed the lid.

“Soyou just going to watch?” Masonasked.

“Oh, no. I’ve got errands to run.” Naser held up his phoneto show that he’d set a stopwatch timer for three hours. “But I’ll check inwith Leila to make sure everything’s going well.”

“To make sure I didn’t jet, you mean.”

“Your words, not mine. Happy shredding, Mr.Worther.”

Trying to hide his disappointment, Mason nodded andswallowed. Naser tapped the phone’s screen and held it up to show the countdownclock had started, then he was out the door, pulling it shut behind him as hewore a beaming grin. Then he was gone.

It was a strange feeling, this blend of humility andhorniness. He wasn’t used to being shot down by men or women. The truthwas,it had probably happened a bunch recently. He justcouldn’t remember it. But now that he was sober, he could feel the rejectionrippling across his skin, and it made him feel self-righteous and determined.And hungry.Sofucking hungry. For Naser.

Mason ran his fingers over the tops of the files in the boxhe’d just opened, rustling the tops of the folders like stalks of wheat.

Contributions to the stream of life,he heardShirley Baxter’s voice say as he took a seat at the folding chair and went towork. But a more recent phrase echoed through his mind after it.Cries inthe dark.His fingers tingled as if the files were giving off a strangeenergy—the pain of the callers whose experiences were documented within, butalso the surging energy of their desire to get better, to not give in to thedark.

The room was musty and warm, and the AC was old andstruggling. The dusty curtain a few feet away was covering a glass door to theparking lot in back, an easy escape should he try to take it.

A week ago, he’d decided not to run from the hard truths ofhis life.

Now he wanted to do nothing more.

Instead, he stayed put and started to shred.

17

Naser’s errands consisted of runningto his car, driving into the parking lot next door, finding a spot where hecould see the entrance to Outlive, and responding to the insane number of textsfrom Connor that had come through during Mason’s tour of the offices.

His best friend had sent an extensive photo thread ofpossible wedding locations, a sign that he and Logan were on the road andheaded home. To any lodge or hotels that seemed perilously perched on the edgesof ocean cliffs or isolated enough to be the scene of an Agatha Christiemystery, Naser gave a thumbs-down tap back. Mostly, he watchedOutlive’sfront door, making sure Mason didn’t leave.

An hour and severalWashington Postarticles later,it was time for a distracted stroll through the Spectrum mall, during whichseveral check-in calls with Leila confirmed that not only had Mason continuedworking,he’drun next door to Starbucks and boughtdrinks for everyone on shift.

At three hours on the dot, Naser foundOutlive’sreception area empty, and the sound of laughter coming from down the hall.

In the storage room, Leila and Mason were chatting away overtheir coffee cups. Several shelves were empty. What remained of their formerinhabitants had been reduced to a tower of empty cardboard boxes stacked nextto the back door and several bulging, tied-up trash bags of shredded paper. Onthe floor at Mason’s feet was a knee-high stack of papers that looked likethey’d been pulled from file folders and collated. Why, he wasn’t sure. WhenMason saw Naser studying them, he stood up. “I pulled all the staplesoutso they’d be easier to feed into the shredder nextSaturday.”

“Are you coming back with him,Nas?”Leila asked.

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