Page 61 of Melancholia

“But you’re still going to lie to her, anyway.” Andrew’s voice drifts into my head and I close my eyes hard, willing him to go away. “Even though you know I suffered all the way out⁠—”

“I heard no one really liked him.” I’m grasping at straws now. Looking for ways to assuage my guilt. “That he wasn’t so great. I’m not trying to speak ill of the dead or anything. It’s just…I just get curious sometimes.”

Adele doesn’t look up from what she’s writing. When she speaks, her words are measured and neutral. “He wasn’t anyone’s favorite guy around here,” she agrees at last. “Unless you were talking to his mother. She saw no bad in him.” Adele’s smile is more of a grimace. “Go on? What made you call me.”

“Oh. Yeah, umm. When I opened his mouth I saw the bite on his tongue. At first I didn’t think it was a big deal. Especially if he was fighting after he tightened the rope or-or whatever. But it stuck in my brain and when I looked at it, I saw the teeth marks were facing the wrong way for him to have done it himself. And there was only one bite.”

I don’t mind being honest about this part. After all, I don’t see how it could connect to Amir. “I checked a couple times before I called you because it just didn’t sit right with me. The bite was curved outward, as if someone else did it. And there were no other wounds like he’d bitten down multiple times, you know? I would’ve thought he would, if he lost control while he was dying.”

She continues to scribble, and for the life of me, I can’t read any of what she’s writing. Her handwriting is an absolute mess, and being upside down isn’t doing me any favors.

“That’s when you called me?”

“Yeah. I stopped working on him and called you ASAP. I figured I was probably wrong, but like I said. It was just off. Felt weird, and I thought I’d rather be safe than sorry.” My fingers twist together in front of me, going back and forth with each other like I’m trying and failing to tie a knot with my thumbs. She keeps scribbling, and every moment makes me more and more uncomfortable. My fidgeting continues hopefully unnoticed, and finally Adele sits back in her chair.

“There’s nothing else you can remember? Nothing small that you thought might be just a coincidence or too small for us to think is important? Any detail could help, Nell.”

“You aren’t going to tell her about my ring?” Andrew’s voice almost has me looking over at him, and I fight to keep my gaze on Adele.

“No.” I’m not sure who I’m answering, but it works for both of them. “There’s nothing else. I didn’t have him that long, you know? And once I found the bite curve and the lack of trauma that would usually come from jumping from any kind of distance to break your own neck…” I shrug. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to touch him and ruin anything. Maybe I was overreacting, but if I wasn’t, I’d be in trouble for having my hands all over him. Even with the gloves.” I offer her a small, nervous smile. “You really don’t know who did it?”

“Not yet.” She closes the notepad and puts it in the pocket of her shirt. “I was hoping there was something you hadn’t told me, or that I overlooked.” A tired, worn-out sigh leaves her, and somehow, that makes the guilt curl even more uncomfortably in my chest. “Sorry to drag you out here. I know it’s on the other side of town from your apartment.”

“Oh, it’s okay. I just wish I could’ve helped more.” I get to my feet as well, hands pressed flat against the table.

“You could help,” Andrew informs me coolly. “You just don’t want to.”

“Is his mom doing okay? Well, as okay as possible?”

Andrew snorts and pushes off the door, his sneer scornful. “Don’t pretend like you care. Don’t you dare⁠—”

“As well as can be expected.” Adele cuts him off without even knowing she’s done it. “She’s better now that her sister is in town to be with her.” She opens the door and ushers me out, then walks me to the door leading from the lobby to the parking lot. “I just need us to close this case,” Adele admits, surprising me with the words. “Last thing I need is for this to become some kind of pattern in my town.”

“Oh.” That didn’t even occur to me. Amir hasn’t acted like he wants to kill anyone else. But what do I really know about him? He could be a serial killer, and I’d have no way of being aware if he doesn’t want me to know.

The thought is terrifying.

“I’m sorry.” My voice comes out as almost a whisper, and the regret in it is real. “I wish I could help you, Sheriff.”

She places a hand on my shoulder, heavy and warm. “I know, Nell. I wish you could too.” She gives my shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “But don’t worry about it, okay? It’s my job to worry. Not yours.” She turns without another word, heading back through the lobby and into the hallway we came out of, where her office might be, if I were going to guess.

Finally, I dig out my phone from my pocket and turn to push out the door. There’s another missed call, this time with a short voicemail from someone who identifies himself as Keegan Michaels. The name isn’t familiar, and when I dial the number, it goes straight to voicemail.

Today, I don’t have it in me to leave a message. Especially for someone I’ve never heard of in my life. “Don’t need scam calls this week,” I sigh, dismissing it as just that. When I glance up, I find I’m alone again, even as I turn to look over my shoulder at the police station I’m walking away from.

Somehow, I expected Andrew to stick around longer. But I’m definitely not complaining that he isn’t. With my phone still in my hand, I slide into the driver’s seat of my car, close the door, and finally type out the message to Amir I’ve been going back and forth on sending.

I didn’t tell the sheriff.

It hits me that I should probably tell him where I am, and why, but he replies before I get the chance.

I know. Enjoy your coffee when you get home. You deserve it.

That night, I can’t sleep until I finally take something for it. Taking medication to sleep isn’t my favorite thing to do, but it’s better than staring up at my ceiling while the darkness lifts and becomes dawn.

But then again, the dreams of home that haunt me are worse. Every time I think it’s done, the dream cycles again.

Hospital. Funeral home. Breakfast table. Balcony.