Puke looked different after a few days of being held accountable as a suspect. It was clear that his chin had been shaven clean when he first arrived, but his skin was already littered with a stubble. His eyes were frantic and dark, with very small pupils. Everything about him screamed "suspect." He looked wild and deranged, a rabid animal held fast by chains.

The chair he sat in across from us at the table looked terribly uncomfortable as he fidgeted.

"Hey, Luke," I said.

He merely grunted, then turned his eyes to Harry, expecting another polite intro to conversation.

"Howdy," H said, trying for a laugh. Needless to say, the man at the other side of the table remained unamused.

"Why do y'all want me in here?" His voice is gruffer than I remembered it. Of course he was unpleasant; he may have been punished for a crime he didn't commit.

"You didn't do anything to her, did you?" Harry asked.

Puke shook his head. "Not that I expect you boys to listen to me. This is a fugging interrogation room, and y'all are only trying to weasel more 'lies' out of me." I could practically hear him grinding his teeth against one another.

"Listen, Luke," I said, "our goal is finding Macy. We have no intention of getting you locked up if you haven't done anything wrong. We want our friend back in her apartment, safe, and if you could just let us in on what really happened to her, she can return there sooner rather than never."

I thought, for a moment, that his face had softened.

Harry's arm flinched, almost as if he was going to lash out at Puke. I grabbed his arm quickly, pulled on it, trying to let him know that we could get this out of the boyfriend of Macy without violence. His arm lost its tenseness.

"Can you start from the beginning?"

"Jake, I've already told ya. We were at the Transit Museum, remember?"

"I remember," I respond, too calm for such a tense moment. "But this time, tell us the whole truth. I do dare to believe that the officers here have truth serum, should you be unwilling." Before he could combat, I filled in, "No one sweats that much when telling the truth, Puke."

"Fine," he said through gritted teeth. "We were at that museum, because she fuggin' loves the place, even though I find it incredibly boring. She'd pulled me into a completely empty car, then started talkin' nonsense. Then—"

"What exactly did the two of you say in your exchange?" Harry butted in, his words clipped and holding back anger.

He hesitated. "She started real abrupt, sayin' somethin' along the lines of her disappearing for a bit. She made me swear not to tell anyone where she was going or that she was going at all, that she didn't want to be found."

"Yet here you are, telling us about it," I mused.

"She took toward Maine. Told me not to follow her. Before she disappeared from the museum, she kissed me, then poof, gone." My stomach churned violently at the thought of Macy Kingston kissing him. Macy, whose lips I could vaguely remember meeting mine all through our freshman year at our arts school.

"Is that all?"

"She mentioned a Ginny Stockman. That's it, and no 'truth serum' or whatever will be able to suck any more info outta me."

The officer who had escorted Puke there entered again, his face solemn as he tugged the Southerner away.