Chapter 5: Burnt Salmon

The bite had already healed to a silvery crescent by the time Jamie found a mirror.

He stood in the primary bathroom, naked, wrapped in a grey blanket that smelled of the man who wasn't there, and turned his head to look.

Four small neat marks on the back of his neck, pale as thread.

He touched them with two fingers, and something low in his stomach flipped over.

It was a flash, gone almost before it came, of the heat on his skin and a hand flat against his spine.

"Okay," he told his reflection. "That's insane."

His phone was on the nightstand, and it showed one notification.

*Pacific Crest Family Partners: $50,000.00 deposited to your account.*

He sat down on the edge of the bed with his heart going.

He called the collection firm first, with shaking hands, and said his mother's name and the account number.

He heard the woman on the line type, and stop typing, and say, "Sir, I'm showing a balance of zero."

"Not the whole thing yet," Jamie said. "A first payment."

"Sir, the whole thing is paid."

He hung up and put his forehead on his knees.

When he could breathe again, his phone buzzed.

*Carly Bannister: DID YOU SURVIVE. BLINK TWICE.*

*Jamie: Alive. Debt's gone. I'll explain never.*

*Carly Bannister: I'm coming to Malibu with a bat.*

Jamie laughed so hard it hurt, and put the phone face down.

Then he saw the note on the other pillow.

It was written in square black capitals on a studio notepad.

*GUEST WING IS MADE UP. GROUND FLOOR, EAST. THE UPSTAIRS IS MINE. DINNER AT 7. R.A.*

Jamie read it three times.

"The upstairs is yours," he said to the empty room. "Very romantic."

He found his duffel by the door, where somebody had set it neatly, and dressed in jeans and his grey hoodie.

In the guest wing there was a bed, a desk, a bathroom with real towels, and a bowl of oranges on the dresser.

He sat at the desk and opened a notebook.

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