Page 152 of Strays
Behind us, I catch a glimpse of Jayme and Renner. Jayme’s talking to one of the clerks, probably handling post-verdict procedures. Renner steps aside to shake the foreperson’s hand. The gallery is starting to empty, but no one rushes us. Jo’s uncles linger near the edge of the aisle, faint smiles on their faces.
We finally pull apart enough to breathe. Jo wipes her eyes and gives us a half-laugh, still choked up.
“I just need a second,” she says. “Bathroom. I’ll meet you out front.”
Jay nods. “You good?”
She chuckles. “Good doesn’t even cover it.”
A court officer points her toward the hallway restroom.
We head toward the front steps. Outside, the sun is setting and the crowd is waiting for us. Sônia and Fontes are right by the entrance, Sônia waving both arms the second she spots us. Alice is beside her, beaming. Behind them, the packs from the garrison stand in a loose semicircle. They nod and smile at us.
The press is clustered near the barriers, cameras raised, mics out, eyes like sharks. They shout questions the second they see us.
Renner steps forward fast, his voice clipped and sharp. “No comment.”
Jayme’s right beside him, blocking the path with a casual, practiced ease. “Move aside. They’re not giving statements.”
Our eyes scan for Jo. I check the sidewalk, the crowd, the steps, expecting her to be threading her way through, maybe lost behind someone taller. But she’s not there.
It’s uncomfortable being away from her right now, even for a few minutes. We wait in silence, my anxiety growing by the second, my brothers’ faces mirroring the unhinged feeling twisting in my chest.
“I’ll go check,” Jay says after a while, turning back toward the doors.
Shane and I follow him back through security, and into the corridor that leads to the restrooms. A couple of staff glance up, startled, but don’t stop us.
The hallway is quiet now, drained of urgency, like the trial had been a storm that’s already passed.
Jay knocks lightly on the bathroom door. Then harder.
We all freeze, tuning in. Listening. Sniffing. No footsteps. No water. There was not a single sound from inside. Her scent lingers faintly in the hallway, a fading thread. She was here, but she’s not anymore.
Shane pushes the door open. It’s empty, and her scent’s gone. Not faint, gone.
“She never made it in,” he says.
Jay’s already scanning the corridor. “Maybe there’s another bathroom,” he mutters.
We move. Jay heads toward the elevators to sweep the upper floors and staff-only access. Shane doubles back to the main hall, checking each open office and conference space. I head toward the restricted witness corridor, checking the path, doorways, even the small jury deliberation area.
I pass a cleaning cart. A bailiff chatting with another officer. And then, my heart skips a beat and a wave of relief washes over me as I catch her scent. It’s faint, but still easy to follow. I move faster, holding onto that thread.
The scent gets a little stronger, warm and familiar, and my chest loosens. She has to be right there. Just behind that corner.
I round the corner. And stop cold.
It’s not her.
The source of her scent is her purse, lying on the floor in the middle of the corridor.
I force myself to breathe as I kneel and run my thumb over the leather. Her scent clings to it, sharp and recent. I stand and push open every door in the corridor, one after the other. Each one empty, not even a hint of her scent.
I don’t let my mind form the thought that explains why her purse is here, but she’s not.
My hands start to shake. I grip the purse tighter, then turn and bolt back toward the bathrooms. Jay and Shane are already there, converging at the same moment I come around the corner.
They look at me immediately, and I know it’s because they’ve picked up her scent, but then they see I’m alone and their expressions crumble.
