After James // phan

confidential pt. 7

I slid into my car and gripped the steering wheel. The text message had said 6 pm and it was 5:51, so I wasn't too worried about being late.

No, it was the staying in one place for nine minutes that I was worried about, something I had promised myself in the past three days that I wasn't going to do, just in case I saw Phil again. Phil knew. And I knew he knew. But I wasn't sure he knew I knew he knew, but he definitely didn't say what he said because he didn't know. Phil Lester, the boy I had had such a huge crush on in secondary school because of how proudly and openly gay he was, was now making my life a living hell.

When I told Louise what had happened after she woke up, she actually scoffed at me. Not just a "you're kidding" scoff, but a "you are an idiot" scoff, which was not at all the reaction I was looking for. I knew she'd be sceptical, who wouldn't, but her tranquillity was so foreign to me in my time of intense emotional distress. How could she be so calm? When she knew what danger we were in?

She told me that sweet Phil Lester could never cook up such incredible creations. Life wasn't a TV drama where every average Joe was a detective. Sure, I might have had a crush on him and remembered his face down to the last detail, but he might have remembered me slightly, like from a distant dream. Phil wasn't going to look into it, and he probably already forgot about Dan Howell.

But that didn't stop me from being probably overly-paranoid about the whole thing, glancing around corners before I walked around them, locking my door, waiting until I heard Phil leave his flat for work before I even dared go anywhere. Two days ago, he didn't even go in, and I had to stay inside. Was he sick or something? I hoped he wasn't sick. Maybe it was his day off? He went out on Saturdays and Sundays. Maybe his day off was Wednesday. I didn't know.
And, I had to remind myself constantly, I did not care.

A soft tap on my window woke me from my daze and I jumped, quickly rolling it down to find a copper pulling his sunglasses down his nose to examine me better. A normal person, one with just one name and one life, would have been nervous. But, with a glance at the dashboard clock, I breathed a sigh of relief.

"James McCloud?" he questioned. I nodded, still gripping the steering wheel.

"Sir," I replied. He shuffled through some papers in a manila envelope, finally producing a thick, paper clipped packet and handing it to me. The sticky-note on the top simply said "j.m. resume". I glanced up at him.

"I thought this was about my neighb-" I started, but he cut me off.

"We're getting to that. But first, you need to take this." I examined the packet closely, and found a resume belonging to James McCloud, computer programmer and software designer, and many references and recommendations from companies even I had heard of. I glanced up at the man, trying to find the words to ask why I needed this without coming right out and saying it for fear of someone being able to hear our exchange. Luckily, I didn't have to ask.

"For your job interview," he said, gesturing to the packet.

"Yeah," I said dumbly, turning a few more pages. I discovered quickly that the entire thing was not comprised of James McCloud's past, but also of a Phil Lester's- medical records and credit score, right down to the secondary school he went to, the same secondary school I went to. I glanced up the bobby, but he was pushing his sunglasses back up his nose and getting ready to leave.

"Wait," I asked, flipping the packet shut. He paused and I lowered my voice with another glance around the street. "How's the trial going?" He cleared his throat and rested his forearms on the open window, making me lean back.

"They apprehended the accomplices, or some of them anyway. Charlie is MIA though. He probably has a lot of people looking for you." He thought for a second. "I haven't been updated in two days so that's all I got. You did a good thing, James, you saved a lot of people's lives." I just nodded, looking forward through the windshield and letting him know I was done talking. He sighed, and pulled away, holding his hand through the window. I took it and shook.

"You're safe, Mr. McCloud. No one is going to hurt you or Darcy, I promise. On my life." I smiled weakly and pulled my hand away.

"Thanks, officer," I said, glancing at the time. Phil would be getting home soon, so I needed to get out of my car and get back into my house, ready to overthink my interview for three more days. He just nodded and tipped his cap, sauntering away to his car, which I knew would pull away about a kilometre and begin tracking my, Darcy's, and everyone else in the building's movements and run background checks on every person in the immediate area. He probably knew about Phil before I did.

Once the deputy had pulled out and tucked himself away behind our apartment building, I opened my door and tried to quickly walk to my flat, head down, quiet, avoiding social interaction. With my interview in just three days, I was in no mood for any more Phil.

But if Louise dubbed it safe, not to mention the cop, then I should be safe. Right?

Then why is there a constant fear bubbling in the pit of my stomach?

The lock, with its ever persistent vendetta against all of humanity save Phil Lester, decided now would be a great time to engage with my keys on the inside. I rattled the handle fruitlessly, then banged on the door twice, though I know there was no point. Louise was at work, being a self-sustaining human being, and I was still trying to get over the fear that the barista at Starbucks had looked at me a few seconds too long today.

"Need some help?" Phil asked. My heart dropped.

"No, thanks," I grinned, turning as if I hadn't been on the verge of crying in frustration.

"Here, Dan, let me help," he began. Both of us froze. His hand was hovering over the knob of my door, still as stone, and my hands began to shake. "Sorry," he mumbled quickly, grasping the handle and shaking slightly. "Like I said, you look like him." He went on and managed to get the door unjammed, pushing it open for me. We both smiled like everything was normal.

But we both knew what just happened.