Page 60 of Melancholia

“You don’t need to apologize to⁠—”

He kisses me suddenly, though it isn’t quite like they have been before. His hands find my shoulders, and Amir pulls me against him like he worries I’ll leave if he doesn’t. “I will apologize anyway, I think,” he murmurs finally against my lips. But when he moves to turn, I grab his hand.

“I want to pick the next game.” I meant to ask, instead of demand. But now that I’ve said it, I won’t take it back.

Amir tugs on my arm, whistling for the dogs as we walk toward the parking lot. “That’s very involved of you,” he murmurs. “If you aren’t careful, I’ll start thinking you like these games we play. And you wouldn’t want that.”

I don’t answer. I don’t know what to say, and I certainly don’t want him goading me into something I’m not comfortable giving up. “Is that a yes or a no?”

Stopping beside my car, he waits for me to unlock it before opening the door. Before I can get in, however, he draws me to him once more, his mouth finding mine and pressing to my lips in another chaste kiss.

“Of course you can,” he purrs. “But if you lose, my reward will be so much sweeter if you’re the one picking what we play.” With that, he gently urges me into the car, not that I fight him. “Good night, Nell.” Noctis and Umbra mill about his legs, and I manage to scratch Umbra’s ears before she’s racing to his SUV at a word from him.

“Good night,” I reply, looking up at him. “I will endeavor to create a game you won’t win.”

A smile touches his lips and he grips my car door. “I look forward to it.” With that, he closes it, leaving me alone in my car while he goes to his SUV, leaving to take care of his mother in a move I never could’ve seen coming.

Almost, as if, along with the things that make him a monster, there are things that make him human too.

21

All I can think about is how this interview room is nothing like in Law and Order.

There’s no window with wire over it, no hanging, flickering light. There isn’t even a sticky, concrete floor to make me wince with every step.

Instead, I’m sitting in a small space that reminds me of some of the private study rooms at college, with a plastic chair that, while not comfortable exactly, could be a lot worse. The textured plastic reminds me just as much as the pale walls do of the time I spent in community college, and I can’t help but run my hands over the table in front of me.

Really, it too could pass for any table in any study space I could rent out in the library.

It doesn’t feel very aggressive, though maybe that’s the point of this space. I can’t imagine a hardened criminal breaking down in here on their sort of comfortable chair that’s on a very boring carpet. A noise makes me look up, and the heavy wooden door opens to admit a man who’s definitely seen healthier days, judging by his red nose that makes me think allergies and his gut that makes me think beer.

“You, uh, you waitin’ on the sheriff?” the man rumbles, a hand going up to rub his balding head.

“Yeah? Yes, I think so,” I reply as my fingers clench on the table in front of me. “I’m here for an interview about…umm. About the body I was working on a few weeks ago.” I don’t want to say his name.

Not when he’s already standing in the corner of the room.

“Oh, yeah. You’re the mortician, right? The one who worked on Andrew Elliot.” It’s not a question, but the cop gives me a once over with his beady eyes. “I’ll go see what’s keepin’ her. You wait here.” He closes the door, leaving me with the bitten-back question of what the hell else am I going to do?

And the ghost staring at me like he already knows how this is going to go. Considering he’s just a figment of my imagination, he definitely does.

The door opens again before I can start climbing the walls, and Adele stops to look at me, her gaze both calculating and apologetic. “I didn’t want to have to bring you in,” she admits, closing the door. “I hoped to leave things as they were at the mortuary that night. But I’m going to be honest with you.” Sheriff Miller sits down across from me in a matching plastic chair.

“We’re going back over everything to see if maybe there’s something we’ve missed. I’ll get right to it. Could you walk me through that night? From when the body arrived, until we did, if you would.”

“Sure, umm. It’s been a few weeks, and I don’t know if any of it will help you.” I’m tripping over my quiet words, hoping she just takes it as anxiety over the whole situation rather than my specific guilt from knowing more than I should.

“Jenkins brought the body, and he was waiting for me when I got to the mortuary. He wasn’t happy at being there. He’s never happy about—sorry,” I break off. It’s probably not the time to insult Jenkins. “I remember noticing he was dressed up. Which I thought it was weird for a suicide, but”—I shrug—“I didn’t know him.”

From the corner of my eye, I can see Andrew’s ghost moving to stand by the door. He leans against it, like a silent sentinel reminding me I’m alone in here with the sheriff. “I checked the rope marks on his throat. Wanted to see if he broke his neck for the report. That’s what most suicides are.” I pause, then glance up at her. “Sorry. You don’t really need me telling you the signs of suicide.”

But Adele just smiles, pausing her scribbling in the small pad of paper she got out when I started talking. “Don’t worry about what I do or don’t know. I just want to hear this in your words, Nell.”

I wish she didn’t sound so sincere. I wish it seemed like she cared less, or not at all. The fact she’s always been so kind to me makes this harder, even if I never knew Andrew.

“But his neck wasn’t broken, which makes it a rough way to go. I also checked his eyes and found petechiae in them. So I knew he suffocated from the rope. Like I said.” I press my fingers together in front of me, staring at them instead of the other two people in the room. It’s hard not to fidget, and even I’m not sure if it’s from my anxiety or guilt.

“It’s a rough way to go.”