Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“You haven’t been returning my calls.” Jay finally looks up, and I can see the professional concern masquerading as casual interest. “Thought I’d make a house call. Check on my favorite homicidal patient after he lost someone who mattered.”
“I’m fine.”
“Clearly.” Jay gestures at the stack of unopened mail, the empty glasses scattered across my desk, the general air of a man avoiding his own life. “That’s why you’ve been holed up in this mausoleum for two days, speaking to no one and avoiding the world.”
I pour three fingers of whiskey and down half of it before responding. “Grief has its own timeline.”
“Grief, yes. Self-destruction masquerading as grief, no.” Jay swings his feet down and leans forward. “Blue, you’ve shut down completely. You’re not processing what happened, you’re just . . . existing in a state of suspended animation.”
“Hans is dead because of me.” The words come out flat, factual. “He died protecting someone I brought into his world. How exactly am I supposed to process that?”
“By talking about it instead of drinking yourself into a coma and shutting out everyone who cares about you.”
I set down my glass harder than necessary. “I’m not in the mood for therapy, Jay. Save the analysis for someone who gives a damn. Plus, after the other night, I’m no longer murder sober so . . .”
“That was self defense.”
“Well what comes next for the Crow won’t be.”
Jay sighs. “We can address your sobriety at another time, but today I’m here because of your grief over Hans.”
“Jay . . .”
“Right. Because you’ve never lost anyone before in your line of work.” Jay’s tone becomes more clinical. “Blue, you’ve seen more death than most people see in ten lifetimes. You’ve lost contacts, allies, people you worked with. Hell, you lost Peter—your best friend—and you handled that by going on a murder rampage. This is part of what you do. Part of what Hans signed up for when he chose to work with you.”
“This is different.”
“How? How is this different from Peter’s death? How is this different from all the other times?” Jay sits back in my chair. “Hans knew the risks. You knew the risks. So explain to me why this particular death has you hiding away instead of moving forward.”
The question sits in the air between us, and for a moment I consider throwing him out. But the whiskey has loosened something in my chest, and maybe I need to say this out loud.
“Because losing Hans is like losing Peter all over again.” The words scrape out of me. “Peter saw something in me worth saving when I was just another killer with blood on his hands. He believed I could be more than the monster everyone expected. And Hans . . . Hans was the same. He chose me. Not my money, not my connections, not what I could do for him. He saw the good in me even when I was doing terrible things.” I stare into my glass. “Peter showed me I was worth saving. Hans showed me I was worth staying saved. And now they’re both gone because I couldn’t protect them.” I pause, searching for the right words. “Hans was good. Really good, even when he was helping me do terrible things. He showed me that sometimes you have to do bad to do good, but he also made me realize I was fucking exhausted. Tired of the killing, tired of the violence, tired of being the monster everyone expected me to be. And Hans . . . Hans made me realize it was okay to feel that way. That maybe it was time to stop.”
“And now he’s dead because of that choice.”
“Now he’s dead because I brought violence back into our lives.” I drain the rest of my whiskey. “He died protecting me from a choice I made to come out of retirement.”
Jay is quiet for a long moment, studying my face with that calculating look that means he’s processing everything I just said.
“Hans wouldn’t want you to carry this guilt,” he says finally.
“Well, Hans isn’t here to have an opinion about it.”
“No, but I am. And my professional opinion is that you’re using grief as an excuse to avoid dealing with the real problem.”
“Which is?”
“You’re terrified that what happened to Hans will happen to Saylor.” Jay leans back in my chair. “Based on what I saw at the funeral, you’re shutting her out because you think distance will keep her safe. But all you’re doing is pushing away the one person who might actually understand what you’re going through.”
“Saylor doesn’t understand anything about what I’m going through.”
“Doesn’t she? She watched her father get murdered. She’s living in a world of violence she never asked for.” Jay cocks his head to the side. “Sound familiar?”
The comparison stings. Saylor and I, both dragged into darkness by circumstances beyond our control. Both trying to figure out how to live with blood on our hands.