Read Boreal and John Grey Season 1 for Free Online Page B

Could it be this John Grey?
    Dave . She was sure he knew more than he let on. Simon would’ve made him sing easily; he had Dave wrapped around his little finger.
    Damn, she needed Simon by her side. They’d always worked together, since she first arrived at this town and started her training for the Bureau.
    Looking down at her filthy clothes, she realized she had to do laundry and soon, but she kept postponing it. Since Simon had vanished, she lived in a strange vacuum, a bubble in time where all she could do was search and wait.
    She only had to find him, and the world would be right again, she was sure of it. Clues were what she needed, and there was a place where she might find them.

    ***

    Late next morning she stumbled blindly out of bed, found the bathroom and took a quick shower. She pulled on a knee band, threw on jeans and her favorite purple tee, holstered her gun and sheathed her knives, and set out to visit Simon’s apartment. Dave would have a fit if he knew where she headed, but she hadn’t been called on a case yet. Her free time was her own.
    She hadn’t been at Simon’s place in a while — not, in fact, since their aborted fling a year back. Leaving her car down the road, she cautiously made her way through a verdant garden to Simon’s entrance. Elegant, typical of the high-end neighborhood, the building always made her feel out of place, dirty and uncouth. She’d always stuck out like a sore thumb around Simon’s friends. Probably one of the reasons it hadn’t worked out between them. She bet Sarah had fit right in.
    Let’s hear it for self-pity .
    Grimacing, she entered the lobby and climbed the stairs to the third floor. A police seal covered Simon’s door, yellow and black, and it brought a lump of fear to her throat. She tore the damn thing off and unlocked with the key Simon had given her back when they’d dated. He’d never asked for it back, and by implicit agreement she’d kept it in case of emergency. Though she’d never thought it would be this. No, never this .
    Quiet. A fine layer of dust covered the furniture and the orderly rows of books on the shelves. A bunch of withered red roses stood in the vase on the coffee table. Simon’s drawings of nudes covered the walls. A dirty mug and a kitchen towel sat on top of the counter by the stove. Simon’s last breakfast in his apartment.
    She looked away.
    What was she searching for? Some sort of clue as to where Simon had gone and what had happened to him, but everything looked in place. Nobody had attacked him there; nobody had disturbed the military order Simon kept. His bedroom was cast in darkness, the light from the open door showing his neatly made bed and his slippers by the side. She went in regardless and opened the drawer of his bedside table, rifled through his clothes. Then she stood by the window and looked through the slats at the street below. What happened to you?
    She wandered back into the living room and sat at his small desk. His laptop was missing. Taken by the police to search the files, as per procedure. They’d taken his papers too, the boxes with his notes and bills. She put her elbows on the desk, propped her chin on her hand. What now?
    A folded piece of paper under the leg of the coffee table caught her eye. A support? She couldn’t remember the table listing. It was an expensive one, made of massif wood and glass. She bent over and pulled the paper out.
    Smoothing it out on the desk, she stared at Simon’s scribblings. Looked like a page torn from a notebook. It was covered in cartoonish characters, circles and dots, as if Simon had it by his side while talking on the phone. Nothing important.
    She was about to get up and look around the kitchen, when she flipped the page and froze. She sank back in the chair. A spiral was drawn in the center. She traced it with her fingertip. The pen had been pressed deep into the paper, leaving an indent. In the center of the spiral, a stick figure had been inked, a