when I tried to fight him, he told me there was nowhere I could go because we were on a boat. Then he started to strangle me, and then I woke up.”
My mind went in ten different directions, reading that. I picked the easiest one to tackle first.
“A boat. Are you sure?”
Gus nodded. “Yes. Positive. Even if he hadn’t said it, I just knew. Or know, I guess.”
“In the dream.”
“Memory,” Gus countered.
I bit my lip. “And he strangled you?”
Gus nodded, blinking back the tears that had been in his eyes since he woke up. He pointed to his neck, to the bruises I could clearly see.
It made a certain kind of sense. Something had happened to his neck—and to the rest of him. I didn’t even want to imagine what the remainder of his body looked like, extrapolating from the cuts and bruises on the parts of his body that I had seen.
Because, sure, I had fantasized about his naked body the night before, but it wasn’t nearly so fun to imagine that naked body battered and bruised.
But it was also possible that this really was just a dream. That his brain was creating an explanation to fill a void, and that the dream just felt realistic.
Maybe I just didn’t want to believe that somebody would hurt him like that.
“Brains can make up a lot of things when they’re stressed,” I said gently. “And sometimes dreams can seem real.”
“How the hell else did I end up so bruised and cut up?” he wrote.
“Why would anyone want to kidnap you?” I asked. “Do you remember anything about that? Or who you are?”
Gus shrugged helplessly.
“And if you were kidnapped, how did you get away?”
He shrugged again. “I don’t know. I said I didn’t remember many details. But I must have escaped somehow. And if we were on a boat and close to shore, maybe I got into the water. And then ended up on your beach.”
I closed my eyes and squeezed the bridge of my nose, trying to sift through everything in my head. When I opened them again, Gus held the notebook out to me.
“I know it sounds crazy, but I swear. It feels real. It is real. And it’s no crazier than any other explanation.”
He had a point there. It did sound crazy. But if Gus were sure it had happened—hell, even if it hadn’t, and he just thought it had—there was one clear next step.
“We have to go to the police. If this is true, then it’s not a question anymore. We need to.”
His eyes went wide, and he shook his head vehemently.
“That wasn’t a question.” I made my voice firm. “This isn’t a conversation, Gus. If you were kidnapped, the police have to know.”
Gus shook his head again. “If I was kidnapped, then whoever did it might still be out there. Looking for me.”
“Which is exactly why we should go to the police. Look, I’m not a huge fan of the cops in general, but this isn’t something you, or I, or any normal person can deal with on their own.”
“You’re not a normal person. You have a weird secret job you don’t want me to know about and private security and a cat who would probably maul any intruders Daisy didn’t get to first. I’m probably safer here than anywhere else.”
“Jesus, Gus, this is the police’s job.” Didn’t he get that this was serious? “It’s why they exist. To deal with this sort of thing.”
I didn’t want him to leave, precisely, but it was the right thing to do. And I wasn’t going to risk his life just because I thought it might be nice to hypothetically suck his hypothetically diminutive dick someday. I couldn’t handle the weight of another person’s life on my conscience.
“Or they could make it worse,” Gus wrote. “Something in my gut says I’m safer here.”
“Your gut probably doesn’t trust anything right now, because your gut can’t even remember your name.” I gave him a pleading look. “You probably have people looking for you right now. You have a home, a life. Friends and family. Don’t you want to get back to them?”
The words tasted like ashes, but I had to say them. The thought of him going back to people other than me sat heavy in my stomach. But I’d only known him for two days, and just because I didn’t like the idea of Gus having a girlfriend or boyfriend or ten children waiting for him didn’t mean I had any