Maybe if I was in my right mind, I would have felt bad for the others living in the apartment complex. After all, sirens filled the air, and authorities bustled around the halls and in Macy's apartment. Detectives were loud, as were the paramedics.

But frankly, I don't care how many people woke up in a fuss. All I cared about right then was that no one knew what happened to Macy Kingston, but she had an open head wound, and her entire living space had been demolished. The cross looks of the other apartment-dwellers followed the posse of officers and Harry and me out of the building.

If anything bothered me, it was the mess that had no clear explanation, the one which left my dearest friend's hair tainted red with her own blood.

•••••

Harry and I had to stay in the lobby of the hospital for a while. I tried using OneDrive to work on my cover letter more, but my mind was racing too fast to think about something so trivial as a letter for my creative writing class. All I could see was the blood and the mess, not so much the words about my first draft.

"What if that shitty boyfriend of hers did it?" Harry speculated, referring to the guy we met a few weeks prior. It'd been a sort of way to get us to approve of her new partner, which was a spoilt attempt. Neither of us liked Luke Brown (otherwise known as Puke Frown).

"As much as that would back up our reasoning for disliking Puke, let's just leave it to the officials."

And as if we had summoned the Devil himself, the guy walked through the doors, looking fairly distraught. He caught our eyes, then gravitated to our corner in the waiting room. He didn't seem to pick up on our distaste in him. He was clothed like a Southerner, with croc-skinned boots, worn denim jeans, and a plaid flannel. Not the sort to be expected in New York.

"Hey, y'all. Heard about Macy." He was tight-lipped, and his stance was more rigid and guarded than it had been the few times we had been around him before then. By those observations, I began to wonder if Harry might've had a good point.

Puke plopped down next to Harry, who seemed to dislike his situation more than anything in the world. Harry spoke up at this, and said, "Yeah, but I wish we knew who did it."

Puke was oblivious to the shot fired at him. "I'll wring their neck, so help me God. That's my babe. Ain't no one goin' to mess with her without me comin' in to throw some hands."

His Southern speak was lost on me and Harry. After an awkward moment of silence, we all turned to our phones.

A text from Harry made mine buzz.

You're the expert in body language. Keep an eye on him.

I gave him an odd look, but reluctantly responded: Fine, but don't expect much.