10. Callum Maslow

Chapter 10

Callum Maslow

T here was a little coffee shop on the corner of Meadowlark and Rosewell, just like Sekani said. We arrived before four and sat where he could see everyone coming and going.

I looked around. “I know this place.”

Was it because I’d walked up and down this street for so long, or was it something else?

I felt like it was something else.

I knew this shop—the smell of coffee, the sweet scent of the bakery. I’d been here a lot.

“It’s not far from campus. You probably spent a lot of time here.” Sekani said.

I nodded but didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. Not after kissing him the way I had.

Instead, I looked around the coffee shop. Even now, students took up one of the back tables, talking and looking over each other’s work.

The chimes on the door drew my attention.

His hair was a little longer now, but it was the guy from the thumbnail. Loser Luke. And he was with another guy.

If I knew the other guy, he wasn’t someone I had pinned to the top of my messages.

Sekani watched them. He never told Luke how to find him, so how would Luke know to come to this table? Sekani wasn’t drawing his attention either. He just relaxed in the chair and waited.

Luke scanned the place as his friend walked over to the counter to order. He pulled out his phone and a few seconds later mine started to vibrate in Sekani’s pocket.

Sekani sat it on the table and Luke caught the movement; he frowned, but headed toward us and sat in one of the empty chairs. He reached for my phone but Sekani pulled it back before he could grab it.

“I guess Mrs. Maslow gave you Callum’s phone.”

“She did,” Sekani said. “It was enlightening, to say the least.”

“What? You found all the dick pics?” Luke leaned back. He was trying to look calm and in control. But he was nervous.

“Mmm. Tell me about the last time you spoke to Callum? Did he seem like he wanted to . . . hurt himself?” Sekani asked.

“Callum was . . .” Luke paused. “He was a tortured artist. He had a big project ongoing and he was freaking out as the deadline got closer.” He shrugged and looked at Sekani. “Nothing new, really. He was a drama queen.”

I frowned. I didn’t think I was a drama queen.

Did Sekani?

“How did he seem the last time you spoke?” Sekani asked, completely ignoring Luke assessment of my character. “Did you speak to him that night?”

“Sure. Not for long though. We were having one of our fights.” Luke paused when his friend put a cup of coffee in front of him and took a seat as well.

“Those happen. Did you know Callum as well, Mr. . . .” Sekani trailed off.

“Jason, but you can call me whatever you want.” He grinned at Sekani.

I glared at Jason. Was now really the time to flirt?

Sekani laughed. “Maybe some other time. What were you and Callum fighting about, Luke? I assume he was in his feelings about something.”

“I don’t remember.” Luke pulled his drink towards him.

“Sure you do,” Jason said, frowning at Luke. “Callum swore someone was stealing his work. He said he had proof but . . . then the accident happened.”

“Damn. Do you think someone was stealing his work, Jason?” Sekani clasped his hands on the table. “Was he even that good?” I frowned at Sekani. What did he mean, was I even that good? Of course I was! He saw my sketch.

But still, why would someone steal my work?

“He wasn’t that good,” Luke muttered.

“Don’t be jealous.” Jason elbowed Luke and pulled out his phone. “Callum was a genius.” He pushed his phone towards Sekani who pulled it closer, looking at the picture. I leaned forward and . . . was that really mine? If so, why didn’t I recognize it?

Sekani whistled. “Genius is putting it lightly. If he thought someone was stealing his work, did he say who? Who would he have contacted to report the theft?”

“No one was stealing Callum’s work. He was just paranoid,” Luke said.

Jason frowned again. “I mean, I don’t know if anyone was but they’d be pretty dumb.”

“Why’s that?” Sekani asked. Luke scowled.

Why didn’t he want to help? If Luke was my best friend, why was Jason giving Sekani more answers than he was? Did he know who was stealing my work? Was he trying to protect them?

“Callum was on a level of his own. And he has a signature so if you know what you’re looking for you can always tell one of his pieces. Besides, Professor O’Donnole loved Callum’s work. If someone else tried to turn it in she would know in a heartbeat.”

“That’s why I said no one was stealing it,” Luke said. “But Callum wouldn’t listen.”

“Professor O’Donnole.” Sekani said as he opened my phone again, looking through it. I looked over his shoulder. “He had a late meeting with her the night he was struck by a vehicle. He never made it. Do you know if anyone was aware he’d planned that meeting?”

“As far as I know, he was trying to finish the painting he’d been working on,” Jason said. “Our project deadline was a little over a week away and it was crunch time.”

“He said he needed to meet with O’Donnole to get the deadline extended.” Luke explained with a resigned sigh.

“Is that something typically allowed—an extension on a project like the one he was working on?” Sekani asked.

Jason and Luke looked at each other.

“It depends on the teacher and who you are. I’m sure a lot of our teachers would have given Callum extra time if he asked for it,” Jason said.

“He said he was having a hard time with the collection. The painting was the last one, he kept restarting it.” Luke said, rubbing his hand through his hair. “I told him it was perfect the first time, he needed to chill the fuck out—get fucked, smoke some weed, something. He wouldn’t listen, so things got heated. I said some pretty mean stuff I really shouldn’t have and I guess he got upset.”

“Like you said, tortured artist,” Sekani said.

I rolled my eyes. I didn’t think I was a tortured artist. I loved art. When I sketched I felt . . . at ease. At peace.

“Everyone around here thinks Callum shits rainbows because he can paint. But he wasn’t perfect. And when he really got into a project, it took over his life. He got moody and distant and mean .” Luke said.

“No one thinks Callum shits rainbows,” Jason argued. “But he loved art so when people asked for his opinion, he gave it—even if his opinion was . . . harsh. It rubbed some people the wrong way.” Jason paused before he laughed. “Remember when we all had to do those murals and Callum said all your line work was shitty and he felt bad for the wall?”

“Shut up,” Luke huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I was going for an abstract. Callum just thought he knew everything.”

“No, it was really bad,” Jason said, still laughing.

Luke elbowed him.

“My client, the one I invited Luke here to talk about, lost his memories. But he keeps drawing Callum. He’s not sure if they were friends. Or how they knew one another. Is there anywhere Callum frequented where he might have come into contact with other artists—aside from school?”

“You should check out his building. A lot of students live there and some street artists too. I think even an art YouTuber.”

“Thank you, Jason. I’ll do that.” Sekani stood. “You’ve been very helpful—both of you.”

“Hey, if you’re asking all this stuff . . . did Callum wake up?” Jason asked.

“No. I’m sorry, he hasn’t.” Sekani reached into his jacket and took out a business card, giving it to Jason. “Call me if you remember anything that might be helpful—for Callum or my client.”

“I’ll call you,” Jason said, winking and smiling even as Sekani walked away. I gave the two of them one last look and followed Sekani out the door. “Some best friend you’ve got there, Callum,”

“He’s an asshole. I don’t know how we were ever friends, much less best friends. And . . . I think he’s lying about something. I am not a tortured artist.”

“I agree. I need to see your mother again. Then make an appointment with Professor O’Donnole,” Sekani said.

I nodded before my gaze shifted to him.

If Jason did call, would he answer? Was Jason his type? Did Sekani have a type?

I shook my head. It didn’t matter. I shouldn’t be thinking about that kind of stuff right now. We needed to find some more clues.

But if— when —I woke up . . . would I never see Sekani again?

Why did the thought of not seeing him again make me . . . sad?