On The Run

Chapter Eight - "There's Something About Mary"

Jake frowned, “What are you doing?” he asked, his hands held out and apart in question.

“Carla. Don’t you have to go?”

He looked at me like I was crazy. “What, and leave you alone and unhappy?”

“Carla’s alone and unhappy,” I said, déjà vu setting in.

“Well, Carla doesn't come first, you do. So, unless you have a problem with it, I’m going to do everything in my power to turn that upside-down smile right side up,” he said with a smile, pulling me back up.

And then, I could suddenly see why Don had broken up with me only three hours earlier, and I really didn’t blame him.

Depression? What depression? Jake and I ended the night on the roof of his apartment. And for the first time I started to see Jake less as my partner, my friend, my colleague, but simply as Jake. I can’t explain it.

Every time Jake dated any woman after Carla – they broke up a few weeks later. I’d always wondered what would happen when he found the woman who came before me, and because of that, each time, I felt a pang. Some would translate it as jealousy, but I don’t think that was it. It was simply a fear of becoming insignificant. Especially with Jake. Anyone but Jake.

Present Day

I expected the Boston Conservatory to be more high-brow, with a parking lot full of high-powered cars, but it was just . . . plain, and simple. Jake slid into a spot next to a silver Toyota, and we stepped out into the stillness of dawn.

It was the morning after we’d driven through the storm, and the air was still cool around me. Jake and I had taken turns driving, but that didn’t make me feel any less drowsy. We strolled up through the revolving doors, and made our way up to the eighth floor. We’d called ahead to ask to speak to the head of the conservatory about an employee. So that way, it was more of a casual interrogation, rather than an official one. Official meant warrants and Addie Torres, both of which we weren’t acquainted with at that moment.

“Mr. Finchley, Miss Parks, come on in. I’ve been expecting you,” Ollie Burrows said, pumping our hands as we stepped into his tiny office. The storm had slowed us down, making us almost a half hour late.

I took in the unexplainable equipment, and piles and piles of files lying on his desk; I felt my face scrunch up uncomfortably.

“Hi Mr. Burrows,” Jake said, plopping into the seat across from Ollie Burrows.

I gave him as pleasant a smile as I could muster, even with the distracting smell of chlorine and some other chemicals with names that I probably couldn’t even pronounce.

“So, what’s this about?” he asked, trying to clear up his desk, but his attempts were futile. It seemed to be creaking under the weight of the books.

“Well, it’s about your February lecture on ‘The tales of biochemistry in a more modern world’,” I put in, really wanting the entire thing to end as soon as possible.

He beamed, “Ah. We analyzed the future of biochemistry with quantum physics; fascinating findings, I tell you. Using powerful supercomputers to analyze the interplay of the dozens of electrons that whirl in clouds about these molecules, a team of physicists led–”

I cut him off, “Actually, it’s about your attendance list,” I said quickly. In my half-asleep state, I wasn’t ready to hear him go on about things that I could care less about.

“We wanted to know if you’d seen this girl,” Jake said, passing Mary Santiago’s image over the piles of files.

Ollie Burrows scanned the image with a frown, probably taking in her long porcelain-skinned legs. I cleared my throat, and he looked up, red in the face.