“Not now,” Gabe says. “Maybe not for a little while. Paxton is hell-bent on finding out who stole the journal and gun. Best not to be doing anymore snooping around for a bit.” He stares at me for a few moments and squints his eyes. “Couldn’t you have stolen the stuff in a more unnoticeable fashion?”

I lower my head and smile.

“You left papers on the floor,” Gabe says, “the drawer was left open, the gun was gone. If you would have just taken the journal and tidied everything up a bit, Paxton might have thought he just misplaced it or something.”

“What can I say? I’m used to chaos.”

Gabe let out a huff and started walking back toward Main Street as I walked slowly behind him. “I really do need a cigarette,” he says under his breath.

I don’t really know what time it is when I find my way back to the apartment. When I pull up the mattress, I’m glad to see that the journal and gun are still there. I don’t know why, but I felt that for some reason my apartment might have been given an extra search while I was out. As vehement as Paxton seemed, I wouldn’t be surprised. I grab the journal and tuck it under my shirt. I then reach for the gun, but my hand stops. Am I really just going to dump this somewhere? I sit for a moment, staring at it, thinking. I sigh and cover it back up with the mattress and walk out of the apartment.

I don’t stop until I’ve reached the other side of Main Street. It’s probably a really bad idea to go toward Headquarters to leave the journal, but I also know it will be the least expected move. I walk nonchalantly past the front of the building and into the alley on the left side. When I stand in front of the dumpster, I look from side to side to make sure no one is watching. Satisfied, I pull the journal from my shirt and toss it in and immediately start walking back toward Main Street. No one sees me.

When I startle awake the next morning, I feel the coolness of metal at my palms. My groggy eyes widen when I see the pistol clutched in my right hand with the hammer pulled back. I let go of it and it rests safely on the sheets. I swallow hard, unable to take my eyes away from it. I try to think about the night, but I have no memory of waking up and getting the pistol out from under the mattress. Knowing that I did that makes me sick to my stomach. I reach for it and pull the magazine out, and snap the remaining bullet from the chamber. I then let the gun drop to the ground.