Chapter 39: Risling Business “Acting?” I repeated, my eyes narrowed, locking onto Demitra’s. My body thrummed with leftover adrenaline, but a new kind of tension was settling in—a cold, skeptical anger. “That’s the best you’ve got? After all that, after the cryptic calls and the weird vibes? You’re telling me this is some NYU drama club nonsense?” Noah shifted his weight, glancing between us. He still looked a little out of place, like a substitute teacher who’d wandered into the wrong classroom. His newly dyed hair was definitely a choice. “Look, man, it’s…method acting, okay? We were really trying to get into character.” “Method acting with a *gun*?” I gestured towards the prop on the table. “Seriously? What’s next, a reenactment of *Goodfellas* with actual chainsaws?” Demitra’s expression was a mix of pleading and exasperation. “Jim, please. It’s just a prop. It’s not loaded, it’s not dangerous. We were being careful.” “Careful? I walked in here thinking you were about to get murdered. My bad for caring, I guess.” I shot back, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “That wasn't very cash money of you dude,” Noah said, trying to lighten the mood with the quote from one of those video games, but it fell flat, dying off mid-sentence. The air in the room crackled with unspoken words, the echoes of past promises and the weight of present doubts. I folded my arms, trying to project an air of detached amusement, but inside, the gears were turning, trying to reconcile the logical explanation with the gnawing feeling in my gut that something was seriously wrong. “Why didn’t you tell me Noah was gonna be here? You know I was coming. You knew I was stressed. A simple heads-up would have saved me a trip to the emergency room.” My voice was quieter now, a low rumble of controlled anger. Demitra hesitated, avoiding my gaze. “I didn’t want to overwhelm you, Jim. You’ve been through so much lately, with everything… with Valeria, with the legal stuff. I thought it would be better to just… keep it light.” “Keep it light?” I scoffed. “By staging a crime scene in your living room?” “Okay, it might have been bad timing,” Demitra conceded. “But Noah is just a friend. I’ve known him since I was a kid.” “Oh, you’ve known each other since you were kids?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow and turning to Noah. “How old were you when you decided to dye your hair that god awful color?” Noah flinched, but Demitra shot me a look that could kill. “Don’t be rude, Jim. Noah’s just trying to help.” “Help how, exactly? By holding a gun to your head and reciting lines from *The Godfather*?” I threw my hands up in the air, pacing around the living room. “I don’t get it, D. I come here looking for help, looking for someone to talk to, and I find you rehearsing for community theater with Mr. Hot Topic over here.” “It’s called acting, Jim!” Demitra snapped, her patience clearly wearing thin. “And it’s important to me. I’m trying to get somewhere with this! Are you really here to support me or just to start a fight?” I stopped pacing, running a hand through my hair. “I don’t know, D. I really don’t. I thought… I thought we were closer than this.” “We are close,” Demitra said softly. “But that doesn’t mean I have to run every single decision by you, Jim.” The words hung in the air, a sharp reminder of the boundaries I was constantly trying to push. I knew I was being unreasonable, that my jealousy and paranoia were clouding my judgment. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing something, that there was a piece of the puzzle that Demitra wasn’t showing me. My eyes flickered back to Noah, who was still standing awkwardly by the table, fiddling with the prop gun. He had this strange intensity in his eyes that didn’t quite match the sheepish apology he’d offered earlier. There was something unsettling about him, something that set my teeth on edge. “Alright,” I said, forcing a casual tone. “I believe you. It’s just… a little hard to swallow, that’s all.” Demitra visibly relaxed, a relieved smile spreading across her face. “Thank you, Jim. I really appreciate you trusting me.” “Yeah, sure,” I shrugged, turning towards the door. “I should probably get going. Don’t want to interrupt your… rehearsal.” “Jim, wait,” Demitra said, stepping towards me. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem… off.” “I’m fine,” I lied. “Just tired. Long day, you know? Basketball, legal crap, emotional turmoil. The usual.” “If you need anything…” “I know, D. Thanks.” I cut her off, not wanting to get into another conversation about my feelings. I just needed to get out of there, to clear my head and figure out what the hell was going on. I glanced at Noah one last time, a silent warning in my eyes. “See you around, dude.” He nodded stiffly, avoiding my gaze. As I walked out of Demitra’s apartment, I could feel her eyes on my back, a mix of concern and confusion. I knew I was acting like an asshole, but I couldn’t help it. The green-eyed monster had taken hold, and it was driving me crazy. Back on the street, the city lights seemed to mock me, their neon glow reflecting in the puddles of doubt that had formed in my mind. I walked aimlessly, my thoughts swirling like a storm. Demitra was lying. I knew it, I could feel it in my bones. The acting excuse was weak, the timing was suspicious, and Noah… there was something about him that just didn’t add up. I needed to know the truth, and I knew I wasn’t going to get it from Demitra. It was time to do some digging, to uncover whatever secrets she was hiding. I pulled out my phone, my thumb hovering over the Google search bar. “Noah Risling,” I typed, hitting enter. The search results were surprisingly sparse. A few mentions in local theater reviews, a couple of outdated social media profiles, and… that was it. It was like he’d deliberately scrubbed his online presence, which, in this day and age, was almost more suspicious than having a ton of embarrassing photos and questionable tweets. I clicked on a link to a local news article about a community theater production of *Hamlet*. Noah Risling was listed as playing the role of Laertes. I scanned the review, looking for any clues, any hint of the darkness I’d sensed in him. The review was mostly positive, praising Noah’s “intense” and “captivating” performance. One line stood out: “Risling brings a raw, almost unsettling energy to the role, hinting at a hidden darkness beneath the surface.” Hidden darkness, huh? That was putting it lightly. I clicked on another link, this one leading to a website called “Mugshots.com.” My heart skipped a beat as I saw Noah Risling’s name listed, along with a booking photo from two years ago. The charges were minor: disorderly conduct and resisting arrest. According to the article, Noah had been involved in a drunken brawl outside a bar in the East Village. He’d allegedly gotten into an argument with another patron, which escalated into a physical altercation. When the police arrived, Noah had refused to cooperate and had to be forcibly restrained. Not exactly a hardened criminal, but still… a red flag. It showed a pattern of aggression, a willingness to lash out when provoked. I scrolled through the rest of the search results, finding nothing else of significance. It was like Noah Risling had vanished off the face of the earth after that arrest. No recent social media activity, no professional website, no mention of him in any recent news articles. There was one Instagram account that came up, but it was private. I clicked on the profile, hoping to glean some information from the bio or the profile picture. But all I saw was a generic silhouette and a cryptic message: “The truth is out there.” Great. Another conspiracy theorist. Just what I needed. I tried sending a follow request, but I knew it was a long shot. Noah Risling clearly wasn’t interested in connecting with the outside world. I stared at my phone, my mind racing. What was Demitra hiding? Why was she protecting this guy? And what was his connection to the threats I’d been receiving? I knew I was probably overreacting, that my imagination was running wild. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was on the verge of uncovering something big, something dangerous. There was only one way to find out the truth. I had to dig deeper, to peel back the layers of deception and expose whatever secrets Noah Risling was hiding. I was going to find the light I knew it was a bad idea. I knew I should probably just let it go, trust Demitra, and focus on my own problems. But I couldn’t. The need to know was too strong, the fear of being betrayed too overwhelming. I started walking back towards my apartment, my mind already formulating a plan. I needed to find out everything I could about Noah Risling, to uncover his past and expose his true intentions. I knew it wouldn’t be easy. Noah Risling was clearly a master of deception, a chameleon who could blend into any environment. But I was determined to see through his disguise, to expose him for who he really was. The first step was to find someone who knew him, someone who could provide me with some insight into his character and his motives. But who? Demitra was out of the question. She was clearly biased, unwilling to reveal anything that might paint Noah in a negative light. I thought about Andre, Greg’s homie. Greg knew Noah, he might have some useful information. I unlocked my phone. I was about to call Greg when a message from him suddenly appeared. “Yo, gym tommorow?” Perfect. “Yeah bro, after my appointment with Dr. Klein.” I responded. “What’s that weirdo doing?” Greg responded. “IDK, tryna help me out I guess lol.” “Aight bro, see you at 3 then.” “Aight bet.” I shoved my phone back into my pocket and picked up the pace, the first tendrils of a plan beginning to take shape in my mind. Tomorrow, after Dr. Klein’s appointment, I was going to casually, but effectively, pick Greg’s brain. All I needed was to find Noah’s link to Demitra, and I could save us all from a world of trouble. My team, my family, and even maybe even Demitra, who might be getting played.