Page 47 of Jayson
When the phone finally wakes up, he glances at it as notifications start to flood in, then looks away quickly, as if respecting my privacy.
“You should take my number,” he says, his eyes fixed on me, even as the phone keeps chirping.
I unlock the phone and open my contacts list before I hand it over without a word.
Jayson’s hands are rough, precise, and oddly gentle as he programs his number into the contacts list. He doesn’t add his name—just a single letter:J.
As he’s handing it back, a second knock echoes through the house.
Sharp. Measured. We both freeze. I look at him.
He lifts a finger to his lips, that same calm control slipping over him like a second skin. “Answer it,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not here.”
My stomach twists.
“Who could it be?” I whisper.
“Answer it and we’ll both know,” he says, already beyond the kitchen, out of view.
My hand trembles as I walk toward the door. The knock comes again—firmer this time. Impatient.
Behind me, the kettle starts to boil—hissing into the silence like a warning shot. Jayson steps out from the shadows just long enough to flick it off, then melts back into the wall like he was never there. I can’t see him, but Ifeelhim. Coiled. Watching. Ready.
Every nerve in my body winds tight as piano wire as I walk through the house. I reach for the doorknob and pull it open. Two police officers stand on the porch. My heart slams into my ribs like it’s trying to break out.
“Keira Bishop?” one of them asks, stepping forward.
“Yes,” I answer, barely louder than a breath. My voice sounds thin, foreign, as though it doesn’t belong to me.
“We’d like to speak with you about your father’s disappearance.”
The words hit sideways. I blink at them, confused.
“Disappearance?”
The taller one nods, eyes raking over my face like he’s cataloging every blink, every flicker of emotion. “We received a call from Mr. Bishop’s office. He didn’t show up to work on Friday, and no one’s been able to reach him since.”
Mr. Bishop.
NotMayor. Mr Bishop.The sum of what my father’s name has become. It hits me like a quiet slap—the title’s already been stripped. Most people cling to those labels long after the term ends. They become part of your name, stitched into your identity. But not this time. Not with him. It’s like the world’s already begun erasing him, piece by piece.
“Oh,” I murmur. “Okay.”
“Mind if we come in?”
I hesitate for half a second before pulling the door wider and stepping aside. “Sure.”
They follow me into the living room. I smooth my hands down my jeans as I sit, trying to look casual. The effort is wasted—I feel like a rabbit being measured for a trap.
“You said he’s disappeared?” I ask, even as panic echoes behind my ribs.
The officer with the notebook raises an eyebrow. “I’m surprised you wouldn’t know that, considering you live here.”
“I don’t,” I shoot back, maybe a little too fast. “I’ve been away at college.”
They exchange a look. A whole conversation in a glance.
“I just came back for a few days,” I add, trying to reel it in. Jayson told me not to offer more than what they ask, but nerves make me stupid. “To get away. That’s all.”
