“Gabriel! Turn here. And slow down, would you? You’re too tall.”
“Maybe you’re too short.”
He looped back to meet her, but the attempt at friendly banter fell flat. Joan gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, and his stomach tensed. He knew what that look meant. Joan glanced around; they were beside an alley on a side street, as close to alone as they were likely to get.
“I just want you to know, Gabriel, I know what happened and I am so sorry,” she said in a low voice. Gabriel felt his face hardening, his eyes taking on a flat glare. “If you ever want to talk … I just know these things are hard,” she finished in a rush.
“You don’t know anything.” Gabriel had turned to lead. Joan drew back slightly, then straightened.
“So, tell me,” she said.
Something inside him broke open. Gabriel grabbed Joan’s upper arm and pulled her into the alley, and she gasped but didn’t pull away. He let go and turned away, talking to a blank wall.
“Naomi was my partner for six years,” he said.
“I met her one time,” Joan started, and he ignored her.
“I fell in love with her. You’re not supposed to, technically, but it’s one of those rules that no one worries too much about. And it didn’t matter. She had a boyfriend, a guy named Timothy. She was happy. I was just her partner. Sometimes it was great—we’d make an arrest or prevent a crime and she’d smile at me, and it was like we’d just saved the world together.
“It made me a better stalker, and not just because I wanted to impress her. When she was there, I was just better. The best version of myself that had always seemed just out of reach.” He forced a hollow laugh. “Sometimes, of course, it was a little like going around all day with a pulled muscle, where no matter what you do, it just hurts more. But eventually I got lucky—she loved me too. Happy ending.”
“Okay,” Joan said cautiously.
“She left her boyfriend and moved in with me. For almost three months it was … perfect. I know that sounds like I’m remembering it with some kind of nostalgia, but it was—it was perfect. No one had ever loved me before. That sounds maudlin, but I don’t mean it to be. I hadn’t really expected love or wanted it. I didn’t know what I was missing.”
Gabriel broke off, suddenly aware of Joan’s wide eyes, intent on his face.
Naomi was more than I was, he had been about to say. Not better, although she was that, but more. She was exacting in her work, no less than I, but she was so compassionate to everyone we caught and sentenced. I was scrupulous about right and wrong, thinking through scenarios every night, as if I were still in training, just to be sure I would never make a mistake. But to her it was like breathing. She didn’t have to think about it. She just knew.
“Gabriel?” Joan said softly, interrupting his thoughts, and he looked at her.
“Right.” He cleared his throat.
She was looking at him with a softness in her eyes, and suddenly he was tense with anger. How dare you pity me.
“So, one morning the doorbell rang,” he said, his tone sharper. “I was upstairs. We both started for the door, but she got there first. I was still at the top of the stairs when she opened the door—it was Timothy. He just stood there for a second. He had the strangest smile on his face, and I saw the kitchen knife in his hand. I ran down the stairs. I almost fell over my own feet. Naomi tried to turn and run, but he grabbed her by the hair and yanked her back. He stabbed her over and over as I tried to get to them—it was like a dream where you’re in slow motion. She was screaming. I saw her blood spray in an arc across his face, covering it. He stabbed her again and again, and then she stopped screaming.”
Joan’s eyes were wide, and she clapped one hand over her mouth. Gabriel couldn’t tell if it was from shock or nausea, but he pressed on with a sick satisfaction at her distress.
“I reached the bottom of the stairs, and he dropped her and ran—I caught her before she hit the floor. I didn’t even think of chasing him. I pressed my hands over the cut in her throat, the deepest one, but it was too late—he had sliced her carotid artery open. She was already unconscious, and she would be dead in seconds.”
He paused, getting his voice under control.
“I called Emergency Services, and while I waited for them to arrive, I held her head in my lap, still covering the wound in her throat even though there was no blood pumping out into my hands. I studied her face, memorizing it because it was the last time I would see her. Her eyes were brown, and there was a little dark fleck near the pupil. I looked into her eyes, fixing on that point like I had a thousand times before, and I realized I wasn’t looking into her eyes, I was looking at them. She was dead, just a thing. There was nothing left of her. I kept looking though. I didn’t want to forget. By the time Emergency Services arrived, my clothes were soaked through with her blood. They took her away and said someone would come to clean the blood up so I wouldn’t have to do it myself.
“I searched for Timothy. I didn’t go to the hospital. What would be the point? Naomi was already gone. But it was useless. I hadn’t even seen which direction he ran. Still, I swore I wouldn’t rest until I brought him to justice. I would dedicate my life to it.”
“And?” Joan said softly.
Gabriel gave her a sideways glance. “And nothing. Someone else found him a few hours later, just a mile or so up the road. He’d cut his own throat with the same knife he’d used to stab Naomi. So, I went home and I cleaned the front hall. I wiped up her blood and washed the tile until it was clean—I couldn’t bear to have someone else be the one to strip the last traces of her from my life. I guess that makes me a romantic,” he added sarcastically.
“Not really,” Joan said. She looked pale and slightly off-balance.
“Breathe or you’ll faint,” Gabriel said shortly.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then looked at him, some of the color returning to her cheeks.
“They told us she died in an accident,” she said at last.
Gabriel laughed abruptly. “Time to get back to work.” He strode ahead, not looking back to see if Joan was behind him.
CHAPTER FOUR
“WELCOME TO HORIZON. PLEASE MAKE SURE you have collected all of your belongings before disembarking.”
Asa lifted his head fuzzily, awakened by the pleasant automated voice of the rail announcement. He had managed to fall asleep with his arm and face pressed up against the window, and as he sat up, he rolled his shoulder, trying to work out the kinks. His backpack was still between his feet, and he grabbed it and scanned the floor in case something had fallen out.
“Welcome to Horizon. If you see someone having trouble, please lend a helping hand,” the voice intoned. People were moving past him toward the exit; Asa wasn’t sure when he had fallen asleep, but the compartment was a lot fuller than he recalled. He watched them go by, men and women with sure steps and compact luggage.
Does everyone but me do this all the time? he wondered.
The compartment emptied quickly, and Asa got to his feet hurriedly, falling in line behind a middle-aged man with clipped gray hair and square shoulders.