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“No, I—” I stare again at Gomer, still in my grip.
“Aw, shoot,” Burke says, his tone softening. “Eve told me you weren’t doing well.”
“Eve told you…”
“You fought again didn’t you?”
My mouth opens and his words find the air around me, but don’t land. Eve and I don’t fight. At least, not about anything important. Sure, the occasional missed pickup at school, and she hates when I leave my socks on the stairs, but—
“I told her to wait and give you the divorce papers at work. I know yesterday was a hard day for you.” He sighs, and I look back up at him. “I’m sorry man, but you knew this was coming.”
I knew…
I can’t breathe, my chest actually constricting, and I press my hand to it. Because twenty-four hours ago my wife was in my warm bed, my daughter in the next room surrounded by freshly unwrapped birthday gifts and my biggest trial was suffering from writer’s block.
Then I had a dream—
No, then I…
I put my head between my knees.
“Rem! Sheesh, breathe.” Burke leans down in front of me, his hand on my shoulder. “C’mon, don’t do this to me again.”
Again? But at least Burke is still my best friend, still the guy who won’t let me drown.
“Dude. Listen, I get it. You’re not the only one who wanted to forget yesterday’s anniversary. But, it’s been two years. Two.” He draws a long breath. “It’s time to at least try to move on.”
I stare at him. “Ashley’s dead.” I am just trying out the words because, you know, she’s not dead, not in my, um, timeline, my real timeline, but here— maybe here is all I have—
Now I can’t breathe again.
“Yes,” Burke says. “Yes she is.” He sighs, and concern fills his dark eyes.
“How, when?” Because maybe if I have answers—
“No, Rem. We’re not doing this again. You’ve read the file a thousand times.”
The file. The file. In the box of files Booker gave me, all cold cases from my time on the job.
Maybe it’s still here, sitting on the floor by the chair where Eve left it last night.
I toss Gomer aside, scramble past him, down the stairs and into my office.
I kneel beside the box, stacked high with folders, and rifle through them.
I stop, a coldness surging through me. It’s gone. The file from the bombing case, the one I went back to solve—and yes, that still sounds crazy to me—
It’s gone.
But of course it is. Because I, you know, solved it.
So it’s not there. It can’t be. But …
“What are you doing?” Burke says as he comes in and crouches again beside me.
“I’m just looking—” I see the cases I know too well. The working girl found near one of my favorite bars. A nurse, found in a parking lot in the middle of January. A waitress outside an uptown diner, and the worst—yes, it’s still here.
I pull it out and groan.
