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He’s no longer my partner.
Danny is dead.
And Ashley…I sit at the light, the realization like tar through me.
Ashely wasn’t murdered by the Jackson killer.
Ashley has never existed.
I turn the volume higher and shake my head to the words of the Kansas song, Carry on Wayward Son, mocking me. Somewhere in the lyrics it promises peace, when I’m done.
Not a chance.
I’m going to gamble big and hope that I still had the smarts to buy the 1930s craftsman on Washburn, just a stone’s throw from Lake Calhoun.
I pull into the driveway. It’s not that different. Still painted its former gray, and minus Eve’s landscaping. I get out and try my key.
It works and I have weak legs as I walk inside.
I have done the math, figured out that Eve has not been here to decorate, but my chest still hollows at the starkness of my bachelor pad. A lot of over-sized leather furniture in the family room, a massive flat screen on the wall (I don’t hate that), and some shots of me on a boat, holding a prize fish.
There’s a picture of me and Booker, his arm over my shoulder as I hold up my captain’s badge.
Booker. He must be still gone, because I have the watch, right?
I slide off my shoes and go into my kitchen. The bottle of Macallan’s is gone, and when I open my fridge, I’m shaken by the amount of rabbit food. Vegetables, fruit, and a few packages of tofu.
You’ve gotta be kidding. I’ve turned Vegan. And, not one beer. Not that I need a drink this early, but…yeah, I’m gonna look.
My former liquor cabinet is filled with containers of powdered protein.
Fine.
I make a shake and head to my office.
I can fix this. I have to fix this.
The leather chair Eve gave me when I retired from the force is gone, but the office is clean, the desk bigger and on the shelf behind it, my first and only book, The Last Year. A memoir about my cases.
But beside those are a number of awards. Investigative commendations.
So, I’m not a complete disaster. And I’m healthy.
And I’m the boss.
But I don’t have Eve. Or Ashley.
This is not a world I can live in.
I sit down at the computer and wiggle the mouse. The lock screen comes on, and since I’m not that original, I enter in the same password from work.
Bingo.
Then I start digging.
Because I remember a fire, long, long ago, one that happened weeks after Danny and Asher’s death while Burke and I were tracking down the shooters. We arrived on the scene late, the house an inferno.
Two children were trapped inside.
