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Filthy home. Stale smell. Burned out lights.
The blackness of Lager’s eyes as he shifts right before my eyes.
“I said. Who are you?”
“The Ranger’s attorney.”
“You have a name, boy?”
“Not one that I’ll give you.”
“Did Emilia send you?”
“I—”
“If I’ve told her once, I’ve told her a thousand times, he’s no good for her.”
What in the ever-loving fuck?
“Okay.” I drawl. I have no clue what’s happening right now.
“She keeps going back to him, saying she has to. Says he’ll take the kids if she doesn’t. She could be free of him, but—” He speaks to himself because I’m certainly lost with this conversation.
“Brighton? Or Emilia?”
He nods. “Show some respect when you talk about my wife, boy.”
That’s my cue.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Lager. I hope this helps the case.” I know better. There’s no case that he can help with. He’s not well. And we’re having a conversation about a dead woman in the present tense.
I back down the porch steps and waste no time getting in my car, throwing it in reverse to leave his run-down property.
I hit the main highway when I realize my phone is still recording. No doubt the last five minutes are just my heavy breathing and swearing under my breath. I park in a lot, stop the recording, and only now realize my jacket is still on and that’s because the heat wasn’t on in Lager’s house.
I type two of the four meds I can remember from his kitchen sink into browser windows.
Searches on divalproex sodium and asenapine pull up more than I want to know. They’re prescribed for seizures or for migraines or as mood stabilizers. Separately, that is.
Together, they’re used to address manic phases of bipolar disorders and…
Fuck me…
Schizophrenia.
* * *
I arrive at home.Bright is my home. I don’t give a fuck where we live—though I have to admit I love her shower for two—so long as she’s in it with me.
The porch light beckons me as Christmas lights twinkle through the sheers covering the front windows.
I make it just inside the door when Luna ambles up, tail wagging, ears high. “Hey, sweet girl. Where’s your mama?”
Bright dries her hands on a kitchen towel as she enters the living room. “Right here. You were going to text on your way.”
I wrap her in a hug and kiss the top of her head before pulling back, holding her gaze. “I need a promise from you. And you’re not going to like it.”
“I’m listening.”
