Page 80 of Strays
The realization pierces through me like a knife. She’s right. I made that promise the day we met her, and I can’t break my word now, no matter how badly I want to.
She stands and grabs the handles of her bags. Her fingers slip for a second on one strap, then tighten again as she walks to the door.
“No!” Shane cries out, lunging forward, but Jay and I grab him, pin him, hold him back before he can stop her.
And then she’s gone. She closes the door behind her, and all three of us are crying, our chests humming loud and wild. Shane’s thrashing, fighting us. But deep down, even he knows that we can’t make her stay.
I don’t think any other aegis could watch their nyra walk out and let her go. But I don’t think any other nyra is like ours. So we have to be different, too.
I don’t know how many hours we stay in the living room, numb. Eventually, it’s dark outside, and we go out to run. We don’t stop until after one in the morning.
When we get home, we don’t sleep, despite the exhaustion. It’s not just that Jo isn’t here; we don’t even know where she is. Or if she’s safe.
I fight the urge to reach out, but when the sun rises, I lose the battle.
I know you want to be alone. You don’t have to tell me where you are. Just let me know you’re okay. I send to her.
I’m not expecting her to answer right away, but she does:I’m in Portland. I’m ok.
Relief and despair hit me at the same time. She’s safe. She managed to find a flight last night. She’s in the city she grew up in. She knows the place, has friends there, and her parents live there. But she’s also three thousand miles away, on theother side of the continent.
I show the texts to my brothers, and by their faces, they’re just as conflicted as I am.
We don’t make breakfast, like we did every morning for her. We just grab whatever we can and shove it down. A chunk of bread. A banana. Water.
It’s too early, but for the first time since we moved here, none of us want to be home, so we head to the unit.
The day crawls. At the end of the shift, Sergeant Wilsbone calls us in and says the Use-of-Force review is set for next Monday.
On the way home, we stop at the first restaurant we see and grab takeout, just like we used to do back in Greenster. We don’t even check what kind of food it is. Doesn’t matter. We’ve learned enough to cook a decent dinner by now, but none of us wants to cook. That was something we always did with her.
We eat. Then we run.
When we come back, we head straight for the shower, then the nest. I sleep a little, but not enough to feel rested.
The next day, we repeat everything.
Just like we had a routine with Jo, now we fall into a new one. Text her. Eat whatever’s left in the kitchen. Head to work hours before our shift starts. Grind through a slow day. Choke down breakroom food. Grind again. Grab takeout on the way home. Eat. Run. Shower. Sleep.
When the weekend comes, it’s worse, because there’s no work to distract us and we’re stuck in the house. Everything still smells like her, but instead of helping me breathe, her scent tightens around my chest, like I’m drowning.
By Saturday we don’t have anything edible left in the house, so we go out for groceries. It’s a relief to be out, but it doesn’t last. Half an hour later, we’re back in the silence again. When it starts getting dark, we go run.
Sunday is the first time she says anything beyond where she is and that she’s okay.
Portland. I’m ok. You?
I want to say that I miss her so much it physically hurts. That the cold in my chest is unbearable. That I understand why she had to go: to fix things with her family, to figure out who she is. But still, she hurt me. And she’s still hurting all of us, shutting us out like this.
But I don’t know how to put that in a text, and I know it wouldn’t help, so I just say:We’re fine too.
Monday morning, the Use-of-Force Review Board is set for ten o’clock. But like every day lately, we’re at the unit before six. Every second drags. By the time it’s nine-thirty, it feels like I’ve been sitting in this chair for a year.
We finally stand and walk to the conference room.
A few minutes later, Captain Spilgen enters through the side door, followed by Lieutenant Borgianni and a stiff guy in a gray suit I don’t recognize, probablyLegal Affairs.
Sergeant Wilsbone walks in last, posture tight. He gives us a short nod and takes a seat near the back wall.
