books just like it waiting for my attention. “So these are all the criminals in San Diego?” I asked, running my fingers over the faces on the first page.
Chris shrugged. “Sorry. No. Only the ones dumb enough to have priors.”
“Priors?”
“Prior arrests.”
“Oh.”
So with no hope at all that this was going to lead anywhere, I turned to the album in front of me and tried to focus on the faces I saw there.
An hour later, those faces were all running together. I rubbed my eyes as I closed the last book. The detective reached over and took the book from me, adding it to the stack of others on the floor.
“Maybe it was too soon to try this. You only got home from the hospital today.” He gathered up all the dinner trash and carried it into the kitchen, where I heard him stuff it in the wastebasket. He came back and snagged his jacket from the back of the couch.
He looked down at me still sitting on the sofa in front of him. “Don’t look so downcast,” he said. “Like I told you before, the investigation is just beginning. You should go to bed and try to get some sleep.” He plucked a business card from his shirt pocket and scribbled something on the back of it before dropping it on the table in front of me. “If you need to talk, call me. Anytime. My home number is on the back. I’m not a very good sleeper anyway.”
He gave me a soft pat on the shoulder and headed for the door, once again juggling the photo albums, this time with his jacket wadded up in a ball on top of the stack. Awkwardly pulling the door open, he turned back just before stepping out into the night. “And don’t worry, Tyler. We’ll find the ones who did this. I promise.”
With that, he turned away, and pulled the door closed behind him. Instantly, my grief buried me again.
Chapter Four
Anger
A FTER AN almost sleepless night, I found myself wandering through the house in the darkness before dawn, mindlessly seeking something I couldn’t name—something I wasn’t sure I wanted to find at all. Afraid of the shadows, I left lights on in my wake as I studied the pictures on the walls, peered into every closet, listened closely for every sound I thought I might have heard coming from a direction I couldn’t clearly identify.
As I passed a window that looked out on the backyard, I imagined all sorts of creatures lurking in the darkness, staring in at me, watching my every move. I immediately retraced my steps through the house, closing every curtain behind me, blocking out the night. Blocking out the eyes.
I shivered in my boxer shorts, the only thing I was wearing. Looking down, I could still see the bruised outline of the boot on my chest where the fat fuck had kicked me. The bruise only hurt if I pressed my fingers into it. So I did. Just to convince myself I was still alive. I gasped as I dug my fingers into my flesh and the pain tore through me.
My skin felt clammy to the touch, and I realized I had broken into a cold sweat. Once again, I stood in front of the walk-in closet in the master bedroom and stared at Spence’s clothes hanging there. The clothes he would never wear again. A wall of grief slammed into me with such force I swayed, almost losing my balance. Biting back a torrent of bile, I swallowed hard, then rushed to the bathroom and stumbled to my knees in front of the commode. I hugged it, heaving my guts out, and when I was good and empty, I felt a little better. At the sink, I splashed water on my face and brushed my teeth. Toweling the cold sweat from my body, I wrapped myself in Spence’s blue terry robe to take away the chill and recommenced my endless wandering through the empty house.
I stood in the living room, staring at the furniture, the rugs, the book I had been reading before my life went to hell. It still lay facedown, splayed wide on the end table by my favorite chair, where I had laid it almost a month ago. Oddly, I couldn’t remember a thing about it—not the storyline,
Chris shrugged. “Sorry. No. Only the ones dumb enough to have priors.”
“Priors?”
“Prior arrests.”
“Oh.”
So with no hope at all that this was going to lead anywhere, I turned to the album in front of me and tried to focus on the faces I saw there.
An hour later, those faces were all running together. I rubbed my eyes as I closed the last book. The detective reached over and took the book from me, adding it to the stack of others on the floor.
“Maybe it was too soon to try this. You only got home from the hospital today.” He gathered up all the dinner trash and carried it into the kitchen, where I heard him stuff it in the wastebasket. He came back and snagged his jacket from the back of the couch.
He looked down at me still sitting on the sofa in front of him. “Don’t look so downcast,” he said. “Like I told you before, the investigation is just beginning. You should go to bed and try to get some sleep.” He plucked a business card from his shirt pocket and scribbled something on the back of it before dropping it on the table in front of me. “If you need to talk, call me. Anytime. My home number is on the back. I’m not a very good sleeper anyway.”
He gave me a soft pat on the shoulder and headed for the door, once again juggling the photo albums, this time with his jacket wadded up in a ball on top of the stack. Awkwardly pulling the door open, he turned back just before stepping out into the night. “And don’t worry, Tyler. We’ll find the ones who did this. I promise.”
With that, he turned away, and pulled the door closed behind him. Instantly, my grief buried me again.
Chapter Four
Anger
A FTER AN almost sleepless night, I found myself wandering through the house in the darkness before dawn, mindlessly seeking something I couldn’t name—something I wasn’t sure I wanted to find at all. Afraid of the shadows, I left lights on in my wake as I studied the pictures on the walls, peered into every closet, listened closely for every sound I thought I might have heard coming from a direction I couldn’t clearly identify.
As I passed a window that looked out on the backyard, I imagined all sorts of creatures lurking in the darkness, staring in at me, watching my every move. I immediately retraced my steps through the house, closing every curtain behind me, blocking out the night. Blocking out the eyes.
I shivered in my boxer shorts, the only thing I was wearing. Looking down, I could still see the bruised outline of the boot on my chest where the fat fuck had kicked me. The bruise only hurt if I pressed my fingers into it. So I did. Just to convince myself I was still alive. I gasped as I dug my fingers into my flesh and the pain tore through me.
My skin felt clammy to the touch, and I realized I had broken into a cold sweat. Once again, I stood in front of the walk-in closet in the master bedroom and stared at Spence’s clothes hanging there. The clothes he would never wear again. A wall of grief slammed into me with such force I swayed, almost losing my balance. Biting back a torrent of bile, I swallowed hard, then rushed to the bathroom and stumbled to my knees in front of the commode. I hugged it, heaving my guts out, and when I was good and empty, I felt a little better. At the sink, I splashed water on my face and brushed my teeth. Toweling the cold sweat from my body, I wrapped myself in Spence’s blue terry robe to take away the chill and recommenced my endless wandering through the empty house.
I stood in the living room, staring at the furniture, the rugs, the book I had been reading before my life went to hell. It still lay facedown, splayed wide on the end table by my favorite chair, where I had laid it almost a month ago. Oddly, I couldn’t remember a thing about it—not the storyline,
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