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It’s an alert from my bank.
Of course.
My little splurge on the cab over-drafted my checking account. Looks like I’m walking home. I quickly splash a little cash from my dwindling savings account over to my checking.
I keep going, my eyes scanning the headstones. I’m almost to his. As soon as I see the name on the grave, tears spring to my eyes. I shouldn’t still be crying. I don’t even miss him. But here I am, standing at his headstone dabbing my eyes with a crumpled napkin I found in the pocket of my trusty yet worn gray wool coat.
Why do I keep coming back here?
He’s gone.
And I’ve got to move on.
I don’t know what haunts me more…the guilt or the sadness. After all, the death of a monster is still a loss of life. I just hate that I was involved in someone’s violent end.
My phone dings again, this time with the sound I use for an email notification. Kinda late for an email. I slip the phone from my pocket, sighing as I swipe my finger over the screen. It’s from my boss. My ex-boss, as of today. My fingers shake as I hold the phone closer to read the email.
Dear Ella,
I received your letter of resignation. Thank you for aiding The Primary School in making this a smooth process in what is otherwise a very unique situation.
“Unique. Code word for disastrous,” I tell the headstones.
As we discussed, two weeks’ pay will be transferred to your account tomorrow as severance.
Best,
Ms. Ross
Two weeks’ pay gives me time to find a job (hopefully) and hey—being unemployed means I can sleep in tomorrow. I guess being a person of interest in a murder investigation has its perks after all. I slip my phone back into the pocket of my coat.
The wind is growing stronger, rustling up a tornado of dried leaves at the heels of my black leather boots, equally as worn as my coat, but with a little polish they’re no worse for the wear. I pull my coat tighter around me. It’s time to leave. I give his name one more glance, my emotions caught somewhere between anger and relief.
Why did he have to do what he did?
And why did I do what I did?
My heels click against the pavement as I make my way over the moonlit hill. Huge concrete memorials mark the graves to my right, smaller rounded headstones like his to my left. A chill runs through me, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.
I’m ready to be home. If you can call my bleak, three hundred square feet of New York City real estate a home. I live in a crumbling Victorian that was chopped up into apartments in the late Seventies, the only thing I can afford by myself.
A streak of black darts across my path. I stop in my tracks. Rabid raccoon? Deranged possum? A ghost of critters past? A pathetic little meow rings through the night.
Awww…it’s a cat.
An all-black cat, no less. Good thing I’m not superstitious. Just a little stitious. “Too late, buddy—I’ve already had all the bad luck one girl can take.”
Green eyes flash from behind a headstone in response. Another meow, this one more desperate than the first. Being orphaned myself, I’m a sucker for a stray.
I crouch down, offering an opened palm. “Here, sweetheart. You want a little pet?”
The cat gives me a curious look, but his desire to be scratched behind the ears wins out. He curls around me, making figure eights around my ankles as I stroke his silky fur. He’s almost all black but with white markings on his feet like boots.
I scratch behind his ear. He purrs. “Boots is too cliché a name for you. Isn’t it? How about…”
“Pepper.”
I’m startled by the deep rumbling sound of a man’s voice. Shit. I’m not alone after all.
