Page 91 of Shrapnel

“Rip it apart,” he ordered. “Look for anything that might give us insight into who this bastard is.”

Jackson cocked an eyebrow. “That was cute.”

A vicious smile slid across his face. “Help me, or I’ll call Jamie and invite him to stay here. Do you want to spend 24/7 with that asshole?”

A moment passed. “Fine. Since you asked so nicely.”

He took the ‘rip’ part seriously. The first thing Jackson did was knock over a bookshelf. Hard cover books slid across the slick floor. He picked them up and flicked through them, glancing at the covers before tossing them into arbitrary piles.

Noah moved around the desk. He wouldn’t sit in Luther’s chair—he’d probably burn it with some sage. Exorcise it, or something.

Pulling open the desk drawers he found all sorts of normal stuff. A weirdly sharp letter opener, some dossiers on Willow and Kurt that Noah made sure not to look at. He wasn’t going to invade their privacy like that. He wasn’t Luther.

Slamming the last drawer closed his eyes drifted towards the desk. An orange mailing envelope was sitting on top of all the other papers. He didn’t remember that one being there before. It was thick, the kind with built in bubble wrap. It was lying neatly on top of all the other papers.

It was addressed to him.

Noah’s mouth went dry. He inhaled shakily and reached for the envelope.

Jackson slapped his hand. “Yeah, dumbfuck, we don’t open strange envelopes.” He rolled his eyes. “Not if you want to live.”

He examined the envelope. There was no dust on it like the rest of the surfaces in the room. Harvey had dismissed all the interior staff after the explosion at the church. Noah realized with horror that that meant the murderer had been here. In person. Recently.

Jackson picked up two pens, using them like chopsticks to lift the package. Nothing happened, but something shifted inside the envelope.

“Probably not a bomb,” he said, eyes narrowed. Noah pulled out the sharp letter opener and handed it to Jackson. He sliced open the flap, lifting it where it was taped rather than stuck with an adhesive.

Pinching the corner, Jackson slipped the contents out. A jumble of Lego bricks and fine powder piled out. A rich ochre color, it moved like a living thing. Noah instinctively held his breath, but nothing happened. Jackson shook the envelope and the last item fell out.

A bruised flower petal tumbled out, it’s burned edges catching on the desk as it fluttered to the surface. Gold sparkles on the petal twinkled in the light from the window.

Jamie thanked the store clerk, uncapping the water bottle he bought. Owen was waiting for him outside the store, bouncing on his heels.

“Well?”

“Says he sells a lot of those nasty looking candies.” Jamie handed the water bottle to Owen. He took it, swallowing the tiniest of sips before trying to hand it back. Jamie glared at him until he rolled his eyes and took a bigger swallow.

“But,” Jamie took the bottle back, recapping it. “The clerk said one guy comes in a lot. Shifty looking, always pays in cash. Says he probably has dark hair but ‘the kids are dying their hair all kinds of crazy colors these days’ so who actually knows.” To make his point, he tugged on one of Owen’s orangeish strands.

Swatting at his hand, Owen stepped off the curb and they continued their walk towards the last store. It was the closest to The Cleft, but there were three within walking distance.

The tension between them had eased. After their garden discussion, Jamie had been…feeling lighter? Was lighter a feeling? He wasn’t sure. But there was a change. The ache from knowing he scared Owen was gone. What it was replaced with, he couldn’t be sure. Maybe something gooey? That didn’t make sense, but none of this did.

Hadn’t he just been telling himself that Owen was off limits? That the best thing he could do for the IT tech was to avoid him? He distinctly remembered feeling like a malignant cancer. Yet here he was, shoulder to shoulder with the one person who had successfully hurt him.

And made him feel…gooey. Or whatever.

He poked at his chest, at the warmth blooming there and tried not to think about it. Owen was taking in the sights, his fingers poking out of the sleeves of his oversized hoodie. Earlier in Noah’s room, he had looked so lost. Eyes wide with a little wrinkle between his brows. Jamie could have spent an eternity looking at that little fold of skin.

The whole thing was downright adorable. Until it wasn’t.

Until Jamie was suddenly facing Owen and he was so sincere. So real. Unabashedly looking right into Jamie, it was as if his soft eyes had completely dismantled his walls and there was a gaping, vulnerable hole right there. A perfect Owen shaped entrance that he could step through.

Jamie had to walk away. Because if he didn’t, he knew he wouldn’t. He would draw that warmth to him, thatfeeling, and he would never be able to live without it again. Jamie had barely survived cutting it off the first time. In his twisted way he had managed to co-exist with himself. But if Owen came in, bulldozing all of Jamie’s efforts with his sincerity and hamster cheeks, he would get addicted. Jamie would spread his darkness to Owen and watch someone else crumble beneath his hands.

No, the only thing that could exist with Jamie were the skeletons of his sins. They fed on things like love and warmth. And he had been starving them for too long.

“It doesn’t seem real,” Owen said, once again dragging Jamie back from the depths.