Page 11 of The Sin Eater

“He’s not talking to the dead guy, so it must be to himself.”

“That’s weird.”

She shifts in her seat again, turning toward the computer, making it clear she’s done with our little heart-to-heart. “I told you.”

“I tried to get him to go to the ER.”

Another wave, although now her attention is on the computer monitor. “Good luck with that. He’s stubborn, as well as being a little off. I’ll let him know you stopped by.”

“Maybe?” I’m not sure I want her to do that.

She flashes a grin at me over her shoulder. “Aw, come on. You’re the first person to come looking for Ezra in all the years I’ve known him. That makes you one of his best friends.”

She’s laughing, so I laugh too, although the whole conversation has left me uneasy. Geneva’s casual “he’s a quirky dude” doesn’t go far enough. I hop back on the elevator, headed for the ER. I’ve got a report to file and a hospital to reassure.

I don’t have time for chasing after weirdos.

By the time my Saturday shift is over, I’m tired of playing rent-a-cop and happy I’m going to have a couple days off.

I absolutely won’t spend my time off dreaming of a romance between me and the weirdo from the morgue, even though I can remember his scent—a mix of floral hair product and cigarettes—without trying very hard.

Sunday and Monday, I hit the gym hard. Tuesday it’s back to the grind. I take the light rail and hike up the hill to the hospital, more or less ready for action. There’s a line out the door to Brew on the Hill, so I figure I’ll wait till my morning break to get coffee. As a result, my brain hasn’t quite kicked in when I get my first page. An old, unhoused dude won’t leave the ER waiting room, even though there’s nothing wrong with him.

That’s followed by a pair of ambulances fighting for the closest spot to our ER entrance, and a guy on 5 South who thinks his mother is there even though she was discharged last week.

He’s putting up quite a fuss, and while we can tell him she’s gone, HIPAA won’t let us tell him where. I get him settled, or at least out the door, and my pager goes off again. And again, and again. It’s two p.m. before things quiet down a little and I realizeI haven’t had breakfast or lunch, so I ping Zach that I’m headed for the Brew.

Cool.He texts back.You can take some files to the morgue on your way.

I take the stairs to the ER desk, where Zach is waiting for me. Grab the files. Hit the stairs. Try real hard not to get too excited about seeing Ezra.

Funny thing, that. When I get to the morgue, he’s standing in the doorway, hollering at someone over his shoulder.

“Hey, uh, hi.” I hold out the files like they’re some kind of defense. “These are for you.”

“Give ’em to Geneva. I’m on break.” He shifts his weight like he’s going to shuffle-step around me.

I stand my ground. “Heading for the Brew? I’m going that way, too.”

Geneva, the blond I talked to on Saturday, sticks her head through the doorway. “Look, Ezra, your friend is back.”

“They asked me to bring you these... “ I wave the files and hope I’m not blushing. “I’m on my way to the Brew.”

“Coffee date it is.” She snatches the files from me, giving Ezra a little shove. “Y’all have fun.”

The door to the morgue swings shut. Ezra and I stare at each other for a minute. “How are you feeling?” It’s the only thing I can think of to say.

It’s the wrong thing, too. “Like I need a cigarette,” he snaps.

“Let’s get coffee first.” I speak slowly, like I can temper his surly attitude with calm.

He crosses his arms with a scowl that should have scared me off. “Sure,” he says finally. “Coffee first, then a cigarette.”

The idea of being trapped in an elevator with the guy has me heading for the stairs. He follows, and neither of us says anything till we hit the street.

“Um... thanks.” He’s looking out into traffic, so I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or not.

“Thanks?”