July 30

“Come in,” Chloe’s voice called absently from the other side of the door. Phillip hesitated. He hadn’t even had the chance to bang menacingly, for whatever catharsis could be gleaned from it. Thus deflated, he simply nudged it open.
Chloe was draped across her desk; styrofoam cups and crumpled tissues littered the floor near her wastebasket. She had changed from the dress she’d been wearing at the interrogation into a crumpled gray tracksuit. Her cheeks were even puffier than at that meeting, and she only gave a half-hearted attempt to raise her head to see who entered.
Phillip was again frozen. This was… “Uh, Chloe? Should I call you a cab or something?”
“It’s… it’s over, Phillip,” she sobbed, dropping her forehead to the desk again. She impacted with a hollow, faintly audible thunk. “We’ve failed. We’re finished.”
“It looks that way,” he said, weakly. “But I don’t see why–”
“I wanted to give them something good,” she said, rolling her head to the side; she could at least now look at him. “One last moment of glory and joy, before it all ends.”
“What are you talking about, before it all ends?” Phillip snapped. “We’re fine. We didn’t do anything to Rob, and now the police are handling Alex.”

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