The grieving man had no clue what to make of the fact that the police wanted to question him yet again, less than twenty-four hours after they had initially had him come down to the station for questioning. It still did not seem possible that he had woken up in his own bedroom the previous morning, and now he was finding himself waking up in the strange familiar place of his brother's house. The bedroom was not his own, but it was comfortable enough. Now he had to contend with more questions from the investigators. They were only doing their job, he reasoned, trying to let that truth sink into his mind, and not the alternatives.

Breakfast was a light fare that consisted of yogurt Caleb had the suspicion was expired, and some toast that he did not bother to butter. Food was the last thing he felt like consuming when his heart and mind were both running through a list of the worst case scenarios that could happen when he went back to talk to the two investigators. They had seemed friendly enough, and had wanted to get to the heart of what happened to his wife. So did he. But he was not sure what to think of them wanting to interview him again. They should be moving on to other suspects, getting security footage from the cameras, compiling a list of witnesses that could verify his alibi.

Choking down his coffee that was too bitter for his liking, he got up from his place at the table, and got some creamer from the fridge. Watching the contents of the mug swirl until it was a light brown, he inhaled a grateful gulp. His brother had left him briefly to get dressed in the other room. Caleb took that time to reach for the remote control, and switch back on the news. His brother had not approved of him watching the continuing coverage of his wife's death, and while Caleb agreed, he also needed to know what was being communicated. To his disappointment, he did not see what he wanted to see. Putting the remote down, he tried to ignore the cloud over his heart that something was not right. That there was more to her death than met the eye. How could someone have broken into their home and killed her and their baby? Especially when the neighborhood was always so safe.

Thinking over these questions would never provide him with the peace he needed. Especially the peace he needed to get through the day. Standing up, his legs feeling like lead, he dumped his cup in the sink and moved around to get ready for the day. In the absentmindedness that had occupied his thought process, he heard the phone ringing somewhere in the family room. Before he could move to pick it up, Jared stepped around him to get it. His eyes met his brother's for a second, and Caleb could see the concern in them for him. Jared had never seen him in this fog before, and Caleb, who was experiencing it, had never felt something like this, either.

He had experienced death before-when his parents and grandparents died-but those deaths were to be expected. His parents and grandparents lived a long, full life that culminated in their deaths from natural causes. Their life was a celebration, and their funerals had carried the same spirit with them. The dilemma that Caleb was going through, was trying to figure out how he could celebrate Katie's life when it had ended in such a cruel way. When it had ended before her time, and when she was about to become a mother.

"Who was that?" Caleb inquired, once Jared hung the phone up.

"Aunt Sylvia," Jared replied, shaking his head. "The woman hasn't even spoken to us in, what, ten years?"

"Well, she still has her connections to this place. Probably one of her spies informed her of her nephew's tragedy."

"Yeah, well, I have a problem with her coming around when it suits her. When we needed her for things over the years."

It was true: When their parents died, Caleb could remember the devastation that had settled in his soul as he and his brother worked through the funerals for them. They had died only hours apart, and had left a house full of prized family possessions that the two brothers were at a loss as to how to deal with. They did not feel like packing things away like they meant nothing, but had to find somewhere to store them when their aunt found an excuse not to help them.

"Well, anyway," Caleb said, trying to divert the topic to a more pressing issue. "We should-" he took a deep breath, shoving the sudden nervous feeling he got to the side. "-We should get going."

"Yeah," Jared clapped his hand on his shoulder. "Let's get this thing over with, huh?" As they walked through the kitchen and out through the garage door that was past the kitchen, Jared took a critical look at his brother. "Did you eat anything?" His eyes narrowed as though he honestly doubted it.

"Yes, Mom," Caleb teased. It felt good to tease; if not slightly abnormal after what had taken place.

He wanted to do something that was not expelling the endless amount of tears that had taken him captive. Even though he wanted to do something for himself, his brother would not hear of it. Shaking his head when Jared stepped ahead of him to reach the driver's side door, he thought about protesting, but knew it would likely not do much good. Sliding into the front seat, he instantly changed the station from the metal crap his brother thought was good, and to a classic rock one. Of all the differences that he and his brother had, the most upsetting was their drastic taste in music.

Jared pursed his lips while he pulled out of the garage, drove down the neighborhood, and out into the street. It was obvious he wanted to say something, but was debating whether or not to. Caleb almost wished he would. It would feel better than sitting in the silence while they both thought about what to say to the other. The death of Katie had rendered normal speech impossible, and even awkward. Neither of them knowing how to break the silence. Clearing his throat, Caleb looked at the trash that was collected on the floor of the car. His brother never cared about what his car looked like.

"I have one question," Jared said, stopping at a light. "Why in the world do you listen to rock?"

"Why in the world do you listen to metal?" Caleb retorted with a smirk. "It seriously makes my ears want to bleed."

"Well, I'm sorry, but rock music had it's day, and that day has gone."

Caleb shook his head, watching the houses and businesses flash by him. "Sounds like you're talking about that metal crap." This bantering felt good. It felt normal in a way that Caleb was starting to think he would never feel again. The drive was peaceful, with the roads nearly devoid of traffic due to the early hour.

"Do you know that Dad used to like rock?" Jared spoke quietly, restrained. Their father's death had clearly still impacted him years after the fact.

"Bon Jovi was his jam." Caleb used to love sitting in his father's squad car, and blasting their favorite band. It was those early years that had cemented their bond.

Jared nodded slowly. "Yeah. I found an album in his closet when we were cleaning it out."

That was definitely a time that Caleb did not want to remember. A time when he questioned whether or not his brother would be able to recover from the trauma of their parent's deaths. Looking through the treasure trove in their parent's room, had yielded answers about their parents that they had no idea existed. Looking down at his knee, he noticed it jiggling nervously. As much as he tried to let go of the fear he was feeling about the police wanting to question him, he could not escape the nerves.

He tried to imagine why the police wanted to question him again, and failed. With them, no amount of guesswork would likely come close to the real answer. It could be nothing, which he hoped, or it could be something bad. Trying to divert his thoughts from that, he looked out the window and saw little kids walking along the path to the school-bus. Weary parents were walking behind them, carrying their backpacks. Thinking about something else, helped, but it did not erase the question as to why they wanted to see him so early in the morning.

"The news was talking about Katie," Caleb said, shaking his head, raising his fingers to pinch the tears from his eyes before they could come. "They were talking about her like she was nothing. Like she wasn't a real person. She's just the 'murder victim'". It had disturbed him greatly to turn on the news, and read the paper that detailed what little the police gave them.

Jared scoffed, shaking his head. "I told you not to look at that stuff."

"Too late."

"Man, they didn't know her. They didn't know anything about her. You can't let that get to you."

Caleb supposed Jared was right. These reporters were following a story, and doing what they were told. It was not their job to get personal and let feelings get in the way. That was one of the reasons Caleb knew he would be no good in a reporting position: He was far too emotional to get the job done right. He wore his heart on his sleeve, and that's why he was finding all of this so impossible to handle.

"It's still upsetting," he mumbled.

"I get it." Jared paused. "This might be a stupid question, but are you okay?"

Caleb shook his head. "No." He was far from the territory of 'okay.' In fact, he seriously wondered if he would ever be okay again.

"I understand that, dude."

Caleb sucked in a breath, trying to formulate the words that his mind was dredging up. "It's not like she died because of an illness, or old age. She died because someone...someone killed her."

"She was handed a death sentence." Jared's eyes were determinedly focused on the road, but Caleb could see the pain in them.

"I talked to her parents late last night."

"What did they say?"

Caleb didn't answer at first-didn't know what to say. "They're...they're devastated. Her mom, she's been looking forward to assuming the grandmother role, and now..."

That had been a conversation Caleb would have given anything to avoid: Talking to his wife's parents, and trying his hardest to provide comfort to them. It had been impossible to hear the pain and heartache in her mother's voice, and then having to talk to her father when her mother was unable to. He had lost his wife, but her parents had lost their daughter. The people who had known her the longest and most intimately, were grieving for the loss.

Leaning his head back, he took a deep breath. The police station was only a street away from them. Looking out at the street, the sun momentarily blinding him, his interest was piqued when he noticed two men walking into the county morgue. The one looked to be a pastor, and his companion looked like some of the guys Caleb worked with at his construction company. For some odd reason, he had the suspicion they were not there to visit a friend of theirs who died.

"Who do you think those guys are?" Jared mused, following what Caleb was looking at.

"No idea. I just don't think they're there to visit a friend."

Jared's eyebrows knitted together in bewilderment. "Then who do you think they're there for?"

Caleb shrugged one shoulder, smacking his lips together to ward off the dryness in them. "No clue."


Caleb tried not to let panic completely override his senses when Jared pulled into the parking lot of the downtown police station. Instead, he tried to steel himself for whatever fresh hell awaited him inside the doors of that place. He respected the officers for what they did to protect the community, but he was beginning to wonder if the investigators on the team, were starting to place their suspicions on the wrong person. It had happened before, he supposed. There were plenty of people who had been wrongfully convicted of a crime.

Unbuckling his belt, he took another sip of the coffee he had thought to bring with him. The caffeine proved to provide him with enough of a boost to get out of the car and face the coldness that whipped his face. Across the parking lot, he could see a reporter's van parked closer to the entrance. No doubt, they were there to get a statement about the death of Katie Rivers. Hoping against hope he would not have to face their intrusive questions, he prepared himself to face whatever was on the inside of the swinging doors.

"Do you want some moral support?" Jared asked, leaning across the console.

"I'm good." Moral support would have been nice, but Caleb seriously doubted he would be allowed inside.

"I'll just go around the corner for a bite," Jared said, putting the car in drive. "See you in a few?"

"You bet."

Walking across the parking lot, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, and tried to swallow the lump that was in the back of his throat. It did not help him that he was having to face these questions all over again. They were doing their job, but he hoped they were not going for the wrong person. Inside, the station was cool, but there was an air of humidity from the bodies that were all pressed together in the tight space. Walking up to the front desk, he was greeted by the friendly woman manning the phones. Giving his information, he was directed to wait over by the hard chairs that he had sat in during his interrogation.

Looking at the rack of magazines, he thumbed through the collection of outdated sports magazines. It gave his mind a brief pause to think about anything else than the hell he was going through. However, even the pictures of flashy cars and updates on the sports teams, did not give him the escape he hoped it would. Putting it aside when it was clear it was hopeless, he leaned foreword, putting his head in his hands, and trying to breathe through the sudden onslaught of grief that was hitting him. At this early hour in the morning, Katie would have been making breakfast and putting finishing touches on their home. He would usually go to work around then, and spend the rest of the day checking up on her.

Lifting his head when the nausea subsided and he heard the back door opening, he was greeted by the same investigators he had spoken with the night before. They were back, and they wore faces of sympathy that Caleb tried his best to focus on. Any amount of sympathy or kindness was something he needed to get him through. Standing up, he shook their hands, and silently walked where they directed him. It soon became clear they were leading him down the same, barren hallway that he had been led to before.

Turning into the room they pointed him into, it looked identical to the one he had been held in the night before. The room was set at a comfortable temperature, but all Caleb could feel was the pounding warmth that was settling in his heart and soul. Taking a seat in the hard metal chair that was pulled up in front of the table, he clasped his hands in front of him and waited for the questions that would be presented to him.

"We appreciate you meeting with us," Allen said, setting three cups of coffee down on the table. "I know it's inconvenient, and you have a lot on your plate."

"That's an understatement," Caleb said, with a laugh, taking the coffee that was pushed toward him. "What is this about?"

"We had some follow-up questions," Reynolds explained. "It's routine stuff. Just fact-checking."

And making sure his statements lined up with what he said last night, and also checking him against the witness statements they had probably gotten in the hours since he had spoken with them. The coffee was good, and gave him a distraction to focus on other than the prying eyes of the investigators. Looking down at the table, he noticed his hands were trembling.

"Like what kind of questions?"

The answer was provided to him when Allen pulled a large manila folder from his stuff on the floor. Instantly understanding that it had something to do with the investigation, he leaned foreword. Any chance to find whoever had killed his wife, was worth the hours spent being interrogated. Sure enough, Allen produced a few pages of paper that looked to be the beginnings of their investigative reporting. Another object was sealed tightly in an evidence bag and marked. Looking at it closely, he noticed a large kitchen knife.

"We recovered this knife at the scene last night. It was found next to Katie's body, you see. Our team ran it through our DNA system to get an accurate result."

"And?" Caleb choked, surprised at how emotional he was becoming so quickly. Forcibly clearing his throat, he was relieved when he regained composure. "Did it tell you anything about who might have-" he could not say the words out loud. It was like being stabbed in the gut repeatedly.

"Well," Reynolds said, positioning the bag so Caleb could see it better. "We tested it for DNA, but we also tested it for the blood that was found on the handle. See right there?" The handle of the knife had a few splatters of a dark red substance that Caleb knew was blood.

"We're testing the blood evidence on the knife," Allen said, perhaps catching the horror-struck look on Caleb's face. "And the only DNA that was found on the knife, were your fingerprints and hers."

That answer momentarily stunned Caleb, but he quickly recovered from the shock of their statement, when he remembered how commonly they used it in the kitchen to cook things. He could remember Katie using that same knife the day she died. "That's our knife. I mean, we use that thing a lot." If he hadn't remembered that fact, he might have been tempted to completely lose his composure.

"DNA can last on a knife for a few days, give or take," Reynolds said. "When did you last lose it?"

"She used it the day all this happened." He had a hard time using the word "killed." It seemed it did not belong in the same sentence category as his wife.

"Well, that might explain the finger prints," Allen said, trying his hardest to give him the benefit of the doubt. "We sent the blood down to the lab for additional testing."

"Should I need an attorney for any of this?" Caleb was beginning to see that this investigation had the makings of turning into something ugly for him.

The last thing he felt like doing was obtaining representation. Especially when he knew how it looked to police who were investigating someone for murder. It would make things worse, but he also could not see another option if the police were starting to head in a direction that was vomit-inducing. The investigators exchanged glances with each other, before Reynolds shrugged. "Only if you think it's necessary." His tone made it clear that the ball was in Caleb's court.

Caleb hated the well of desperation that was starting to swell inside of him at the implications in the investigator's tone. It was like he was challenging him to hire an attorney and see how that boded for him. Glancing at the clock, he saw that he had been there for nearly an hour already. It seemed like he had been there much longer than that, and the questioning showed no signs of letting up. Pinching the bridge between his nose and eyes, he focused on simply breathing.

"I have no idea what to think," Caleb said honestly. "I assume you talked to the employees at my store?"

"We did," Allen said. "And they verified that you were there until right before the murder took place."

The nausea that Caleb felt was immediate. The police were no longer trying to beat around the bush, and make him feel comfortable. It was now obvious that they were focusing on him as a prime suspect in the death of his wife. Opening and closing his mouth several times, he tried to think of something to say that would make them see how ridiculous it was that they were thinking this.

"I was at work until the time I told you-"

"They said you stepped out-" Allen started to say.

"For a minute!" Caleb retorted, raising his voice despite his best efforts to control it. "Not long enough for me to to think what you think I did."

"It could have been long enough to call someone," Reynolds pointed out.

"I didn't call anyone!"

It was devastating to him that someone in a position of authority—someone who held the power of making his life a living hell—as if it wasn't already, of arresting him and charging him with something that he had had no part in. It was laughable to think that someone could assume he had murdered his wife. He would have laughed if the situation was not so dire.

"A neighbor," Allen said, leaning in close to Caleb, enough so that he leaned back, not liking the investigator getting so close to him, especially when he was on the verge of accusing him of murdering his wife and baby. "Heard you two arguing the day before she died."

"That was a minor argument we resolved." Caleb knew it was their job to dig deeper into his story with Katie and find any cracks.

"What was it about?"

"Me working longer hours. I was fed up because she had told me that she wanted me to work longer, and then when I finally got the job, she was upset because I wasn't home enough. I got mad, but we resolved it. No issues after that," he said, doing his best not to implode.

"We still need an answer as to whether or not you will provide a blood sample for us."

"Fine."

They would get it out of him anyway, and not doing it at all would look even more suspicious than anything else. It was ridiculous, and as he rolled up his sleeve and let the nurse take the blood, he tried not to think about the hell that he was being subjected to.

"Thank you," Allen said, once the nurse had left. "We should have the results back in the morning, and then we'll give you a call."

"Can I leave?"

"Yes."

Caleb did not waste a single second before jumping out of his seat, and hurrying from the room. He could not bare to sit there any longer and be faced with the horrible implications of what they were trying to say. It was too outlandish for him to consider.