Page 116 of Poems He Wrote


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“I love you too, baby.”

A loud ringing noise ruins our moment and Noah grabs his phone out of my purse showing me it’s one of the detectives on his case.

“What does he want now?”

“We’ll have to ask him.”

I grab the phone and straighten up, putting the man on speaker.

“Hello, detective. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Noah greets him.

“I am afraid it’s not a pleasure,” the man rumbles, “concluding from the tone of your voice. Sorry to call you this late, but I just wanted to let you know that the final DNA results just came in, and unfortunately, we don’t have a match. We ran every test we could, fingerprints we found. We came up with nothing. I am truly sorry. We reached out to all of the stations around the country, but nobody found a match.”

“I… I understand, sir. It’s just that I still can’t remember much, and now you don’t have any leads either.”

“We won’t give up, Noah. This is an attempted murder, and crimes like that don’t have an expiration date.”

“Well, thank you for letting me know. If I remember anything, I will contact you.”

“Please, feel free to do so,” he says before the line goes silent.

“What happens now?” I ask Noah, linking my fingers with his.

“Nothing… They don’t have a match.” His words slowly sink in, but I can’t shake away the feeling nesting itself in my gut as that small chat with Jensen in front of Noah’s hospital-room door pops back into my head.

THE END…

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