The Missing Person by Alix Ohlin

“We all have different projects.”
    â€œWhat’s yours?”
    â€œRight now, to make sure you are doing all right.”
    â€œYou guys don’t seem very concerned about security.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œYou let me in, and I heard all about these felonies you’re planning. I could turn you all in.”
    Irina laughed again, and the moon-faced baby did too. I drank some more juice, and seeing the bottle was empty, she took it back and stuck it somewhere inside the sling. I wondered what else she had in there.
    â€œBut you’re a friend of Angus,” she said.
    â€œI don’t know Angus. I’m here looking for my brother. Wylie.”
    â€œYes,” she said. “Wylie. I don’t think he’s here.”
    â€œI saw him.”
    â€œDid you? What I am thinking is he is not here.”
    Around us, the buzz of the room rose and hissed and began to roil. I saw a bottle passing from hand to hand. A woman’s laughter sounded loud and shrill above the din, repeating at intervals, like a ringing telephone. In one corner a man strummed a guitar and sang a country song. It was turning into a party.
    Then the bedroom door opened and Gerald walked out through the crowd and left the apartment without speaking to anyone. No one acknowledged him, but on the other hand they all moved aside so that he could get by. When Angus came out, the music stopped and the same immediate silence fell.
    â€œReports, to me, now,” he said, then turned on his heel and went back into the bedroom, followed by three or four people. The door closed, and the party started up again. I thought I smelled pot. Irina was rocking her baby back and forth.
    â€œWhat is this?” I asked her.
    â€œJust people who want to be living differently,” she said.
    Still dizzy and hot, I leaned back against the counter and looked down at the floor, where a cockroach was nosing around the curling edge of the linoleum, its antennae languidly twitching.
    Irina put a hand on my shoulder. “You would like to go outside in the fresh air?”
    I nodded and followed her out of the apartment. After the press of bodies, the night air was blissfully cool. The moon still hung low in the sky, and the baby cooed at it. We walked slowly down the dark street, the sound of the party fading behind us.
    â€œWhat’s your baby’s name?”
    â€œPsyche,” she said.
    â€œAs in Cupid and Psyche?”
    â€œYes, Cupid is the god of love, and Psyche is the soul.”
    â€œI see,” I said.
    â€œI’m going to raise her at home and teach her myself. Angus says that what they teach in schools here is useless. The only skill the children learn is conformity to a set of capitalist rules.”
    I had a sudden, obvious thought. “Is Angus—”
    Irina tilted her head and smiled at me gently. She was very pretty. “Is he what?”
    â€œIs he Psyche’s father?”
    â€œNo,” she said. “He is more in a nature of an uncle. He helps me very much, though.” She turned to face me under the dim umbrella of a streetlight. “I think he likes you.”
    â€œWe don’t know each other.”
    â€œThat doesn’t matter.”
    A prickle started at the back of my neck and trailed down my back to my legs. Then I felt embarrassed. “What is this, high school?”
    â€œOh, he didn’t say anything to me like that,” Irina said. We started walking again, and turned right to make a loop around the block. “I can just tell. Because I know him.”
    In the silence that followed I could hear the tiny hum and wheeze of Psyche snoring. Finally I said, “How well do you know Wylie?”
    â€œPretty well, I should say.”
    â€œWhen was the last time you saw him?”
    â€œOh, I don’t know. He comes and goes. Sometimes he camps for long times in the mountains. He is a very independent person, you know.”
    I