Raj visited the Starbucks down the street wearing the same clothes for the third day in a row. He was too scared to shower, and from the looks of the people around him, it showed. He tried drinking his coffee at his usual seat by the window, but he felt too exposed there, so he closed up his new MacBook and walked through the crowds instead.
Two blocks later, he was a wreck. He wasn’t the tallest one around, and every woman he caught a glimpse of, every tank top that looked half-familiar, it gutted him in an instant as his mind prepared to die. He couldn’t take it anymore. He made a quick run for home, checking behind him every step of the way.
He took the stairs up, checked down the hall for a heli, or a noise, or a vengeful face. He rushed down to his door, key at the ready, but bounced back a bit when he noticed the door was chained.
“Raj,” said Beth through the crack, and he jumped back so suddenly his coffee sprayed all over him. He dropped the cup on the ground and fell against the far wall.
“Y-y-you…” he stammered.
“You have to go somewhere else,” she said coldly.
He was frozen, his mind playing through a thousand possible replies, but unable to choose one.
“I pay the rent here, so there’s no reason I should be the one to leave,” she continued. “I don’t want to make this harder than it already is, but I think it’s for the best.”
“You…” Raj whimpered. “Detective Warner is…”
“Yeah, I appreciated that,” Beth sneered. “But honestly, Raj, I’m not getting into that here. Not here, not now. You want to go blaming me for your problems, that’s your business. Good luck getting people to believe you.”
She slammed the door and locked it. It took him a minute to make his legs move, and he carefully slid down the hall, back to the wall, eyes darting between the door and the elevator, terrified of either direction.
Just then, the door unlocked and Beth leaned out, eyes narrow and vengeful.
“Raj!” she called, and he froze.
She reached inside, pulled back, and he threw himself to the ground… just before a small plastic bag bounced on the ground beside him. Inside was his toothbrush, toothpaste and deodorant.
“Good luck, Raj,” she said, and closed the door again.
He scooped up the bag, shoved it in his pocket, and went out into the stairwell, pausing again to listen for the sound of buzz saws. A few minutes later, he was back in the crowds, letting himself be shepherded wherever the flow chose to bring him. Random was his friend. Predictability would be the end of him.
Outside a restaurant he’d never seen before was an old British-style phone booth, its red paint chipped and battered. He ducked inside, lowered himself out of sight, and scrolled through his iPhone’s address book.
“Hey,” said the answering machine. “I’m out right now, but if you leave your name and phone number and a good reason to call you back, I might just try.”
Raj checked around himself as the beep sounded, spoke quietly into the receiver.
“Hi, it’s… it’s Raj Aubrey. I don’t know when you’ll get this, but… but anyway, I’ll call you back in a few hours. Don’t call me. I… I need a place to stay, and I really don’t know who else I can call.”
He looked out through the graffiti on the booth windows, saw the rain start to fall.
“You’ve gotta help me, Ziggy. Please.”
