Chapter 4: An Uneasy Escort

The busy workday quickly ended. Five o’clock rolled around in a blur, the office filled with the clatter of keyboards shutting down and the sticky heat of a New York summer pressing in from outside.

"Hey, do me a solid and escort Lauren home. She’s sick and you two live close by. I’m too busy to leave!" Marissa messaged me on Messenger just as I was about to clock out, her message punctuated by a winking emoji. I sighed, but I couldn’t say no.

I agreed—Lauren had it rough. She was fine in the morning, but now her face was as white as paper, her hands shaking as she packed up her things. She looked like she could barely stand, her knuckles gripping the edge of her desk. I figured she needed the help.

I called an Uber for Lauren. It was too hot for a walk, and there was no way she’d make it to the subway. I ordered the car through the app, grumbling about surge pricing, and we waited in the lobby, the air thick with the smell of cleaning fluid and the low hum of the vending machines. The driver made small talk about the Yankees game, but Lauren just nodded, eyes closed.

Marissa had clearly told her as well, and she didn’t refuse. She got in the car, leaning to one side, pressing her hand against her lower abdomen. Her face was pinched, and every time we hit a pothole, she winced, clutching her stomach tighter. The AC was blasting, making the car almost too cold.

Seeing how uncomfortable she was, I said, "If it’s really bad, maybe we should hit up urgent care. They’re open late."

She shook her head, eyes still closed. “A day of rest will help. I’ll be okay.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper, and she didn’t open her eyes again until we pulled up in front of her building—a row of brownstones glowing orange in the sunset.

Half an hour later, we arrived. The sun was setting, painting the apartment complex in a warm, heavy light. The neighborhood was quiet, the kind of place where you hear kids playing basketball in the courtyard and the distant whir of window AC units.

I escorted Lauren upstairs. At her door, I didn’t plan to go in—just wanted to finish the task Marissa had given me. She fumbled for her keys, her hand shaking so badly she dropped them twice. I hovered awkwardly, not wanting to overstep.

But just as I was about to leave, Lauren suddenly called out to me. She grabbed my sleeve, her voice a little shaky. “Wait, can I ask you something?”

She looked at me, her eyes wide and anxious. “I can’t get it out of my head. That dirty water—it has to mean something’s wrong.”

I blinked, thrown off by her sudden intensity. “What are you talking about?”

She was wringing her hands, her voice trembling. “I’m telling you, it started right after that. First the smell, then this—” she gestured vaguely at her stomach. “Ever since that dirty water dripped, I’ve felt off. First I suddenly smelled bad, now my period is all messed up...”

I tried to sound reassuring, but honestly, I just wanted to go home and collapse. “Don’t overthink it. Get some rest. I’m heading out.” I made sure she was inside, then headed for the elevator, telling myself she’d be fine after a night’s sleep and a hot shower.