CH 69

I had my doubts that anything could quell my anger as I stomped down the stairs and exited the building. It had been quite some time since I'd felt so overwhelmingly filled with rage, but a brisk walk certainly couldn't hurt.

The door had barely closed behind me when I heard high-pitched female shrieks of excitement, followed by a familiar voice saying, "Look! There he is!"

In perfect harmony, I heard the two young ladies scream, "Shoulder!"

Cassandra and Clary dashed toward me, the two of them still shrieking as they picked up their skirts and ran. Their unexpected appearance brought a smile to my face, one that was desperately needed after all of the heartache and stress I had experienced.

"There you are!" Cassandra said. Her curls of hair were barely contained beneath a bonnet.

"Oh, see, Cassandra, I told you Shoulder was fine!"

"You most certainly did not, Clary."

"I did! Remember, Cassandra? I changed my mind this morning before we left. I said, 'Cassie, I feel it in my heart that Shoulder will be fine. And behold! He is here before our very eyes."

"Oh, yes you did, Clary. My apologies, dear sister."

The two hugged and then turned to hug me as well.

"My apologies for the distress I have unknowingly caused the two of you," I said as they squeezed me in between them.

"Ooh! You feel like a tree trunk, Shoulder! I thought you would have a bit more…what's the word, Clary?"

"Squish! He has no squish to him!" Cassandra replied.

"You are positively squishless, Shoulder," Clary said. "It's really quite concerning."

"Mademoiselles," I said, prying myself away from the two of them. They were harmless, but knowing the two of them could converse for an hour without taking a breath, I was certain they would keep me pinned between them while holding a full conversation. "Why were the two of you concerned?"

"Fadda was worried about you," they answered at the same time before they took turns explaining that Fadda had read the newspaper and was concerned that I had not survived the incident Friday night at the Opera Populaire. Given that it was Sunday morning, they took one of the tickets with my address on it from a recent order and decided to search for me.

It was quite touching to see their concern, and once they finished speaking, the two of them embraced me again, confirming that I was indeed lacking the necessary squish that made hugs more enjoyable. I couldn't help but think they would have much preferred Bernard in that situation as he was far more padded.

"My apologies for concerning you," I said. "And for making you walk all of this way so early in the morning."

"No apologies needed. You got us out of church services this morning," Cassandra cheerfully said.

Clary elbowed her sister in the side. "You can't say that out loud, Cassy! God will hear you say you didn't want to attend church."

Cassandra rolled her eyes. "Once in a while won't hurt, Clary. Besides, this was much more fun. God would be proud of us for keeping Shoulder in our prayers and finding him."

"Yes, I suppose that is true."

"Since you have missed church on my behalf, could I treat you to a cup of tea and a pastry?" I asked. "As long as Fadda would not mind?"

The girls exchanged looks before they nodded in unison and agreed that their father would not mind if I fed them before they returned to the flower shop to start work.

I escorted them across the street to the Danish bakery where the baker's wife brought me a coffee and tea for the girls, who took their time perusing the baked goods in the cases.

"Your sisters, Monsieur?" she asked me.

"My florists," I answered.

The baker's wife gave me a quizzical look, but didn't question me on the matter and topped off my coffee before asking the giggling young ladies if they had made up their minds.

Despite never desiring another sibling besides Erik, I was quite fond of Clary and Cassandra, who were very much like what I thought having younger sisters would be like as they were effervescent and constantly whispering and smiling as they clutched one another. Anyone who would have ever claimed to dislike the two of them was quite clearly mad.

The girls returned with three plates and presented me with an enormous cinnamon roll, which they had proudly paid for with their own funds.

"This was my treat to you," I reminded them.

"The treat is getting to see you, Shoulder," Clary said.

Cassandra tapped her sister on the arm. "He doesn't have Elvira with him, so we cannot call him 'Shoulder' today," she whispered quite loudly.

Clary solemnly nodded. "I suppose today is only Monsieur Kimmer," she agreed.

I raised a brow. "Only?" I questioned. "Should I be insulted that I am not good enough without Elvira?"

"No, no, not at all," they assured me. "It's just that you don't look like a Monsieur Kimmer."

My mouth dropped open, but I wasn't sure what to say as it wasn't the answer I expected. "First of all, I have absolutely no idea what you mean by saying I do not look like a Monsieur Kimmer. Secondly, there is no need to address me as Monsieur Kimmer," I assured them. "I would actually prefer it if you didn't call me by my surname as it's a bit too formal for me."

They blinked at me in unison, then both of them exchanged impish grins that made me wary of what they would say next.

"May we call you Cousin Phelan?" Clary asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Or is that too informal?"

"We've never had cousins before," Cassandra said. "And even though we are not related, you are like family to us."

"And we have no cousins," Carly added. "We have always wanted cousins."

Given how tense my relationship with Val had been over the last few weeks, I was quite tempted to say I didn't have a cousin either, but politely smiled. It would have been far easier to select my own family members, starting with a pair of younger cousins.

"I would be honored, Cousins Clary and Cassandra," I said. "That does have a pleasant ring to it."

"Or Cassandra and Clary," Cassandra said with a mischievous grin. "Which makes Elvira our second cousin. How I love the idea of a first and second cousin!"

"Oh! Cousin Phelan!" Clary said, tapping my arm. "Did the recipient of the flower arrangement like your gift?"

Yet another unexpected question that left me practically stammering for an appropriate answer. "Yes, she was quite pleased," I said, attempting to sound cheerful despite feeling the opposite.

"That is lovely to hear," Clary said. "Cousin Phelan, may I inquire as to the name of the person who received our flowers?"

I leaned forward and they did the same. "For the time being, I would prefer a bit of mystery on the topic," I replied, keeping my voice low.

"Yes, of course," they agreed, the two of them appearing quite delighted.

"Will you be in need of another arrangement for the same person?" Cassandra asked. "A lovely bouquet in her favorite color?"

"If and when I intend to present another floral arrangement, my dear cousins will be the first to know."

The girls grinned back at me, satisfied with my reply. They finished their breakfasts and said they needed to return to the shop and Fadda, who would worry about all three of us plus Elvira if they were gone much longer.

"Give Fadda my best and offer him my most sincere apologies for causing undue distress," I said as I walked them to the opposite corner of the street.

"Uncle Fadda," Clary reminded me.

I chuckled at their response and watched them as they approached their shop, both of them turning to wave one last time before they disappeared inside.

OoO

There was a line of at least two dozen reporters standing outside of the precinct when I approached . Two officers stood guard, both of them staring straight ahead despite the men asking question after question about the only story that appeared newsworthy in the entire damnable city.

All the way to the precinct I had thought of Abigail's mysterious disappearance. If some ill fate had befallen her–if she was injured or dead–I would never forgive myself for the delay in my reaction.

"My apologies," I said as I weaved my way to the front of the line, "Is Chief Alonzo in today?"

The gendarme, a man I had seen several times but wasn't certain of his name, sneered at me. "Everyone is on duty today," he said as if my question was foolish.

"I would like to speak to him," I said.

"You and everyone else," he snapped. "Come back after one and perhaps he will have a moment to spare for you."

"I cannot wait until this afternoon," I firmly said.

"Oh yeah? What makes you think you're so important?"

"I have a missing person to report," I said.

"You don't need to speak to Alonzo then. Talk to the desk clerk down the street," he said, nodding toward the other station that was six streets away.

"I would prefer Chief Alonzo," I said.

"Is that so? I would prefer if you went on your way," he said through his teeth.

My jaw tightened, and I knew my temper threatened to get the best of me, which was more likely than not to put me inside of a jail cell rather than in Chief Alonzo's office.

"How can I file a missing persons report here?" I asked. "Closer to where the missing family of three resides."

"Are you deaf or daft? I said come back after one," he said through his teeth.

"Surely there is someone within the building able to assist me at this very moment."

"There is not."

"If everyone is on duty today as you have claimed, there are more than enough officers available."

You have three seconds to leave the line," the officer said through his teeth. "When I get to three, you're not going to enjoy what happens next."

My anger flared. It was simply not in my nature to turn and walk away, particularly when someone had the gall to speak to me in a condescending manner.

"One," he said.

I shifted my weight, greatly desiring to do something incredibly foolish and discover first-hand what would happen hen he reached three.

The officer turned his head to the side and reached for his club while I maintained full eye contact, refusing to back down. I noticed the slight hesitation, the change to his expression once he realized I was undeterred. "Two."

Abigail was worth the risk, I told myself. Her safety was worth the potential jail time and fine. But there were other factors to consider, and once he counted to three, there was no turning back.

His lips parted and I turned away, forcing myself to take a breath. If I spent the rest of the weekend locked in a cell with five other men, it brought me no closer to Erik or Abigail. Not only would my search for them be placed on hold, but Elvira would be trapped in my apartment by herself, unable to reach her cage, which was where she felt most secure.

"What the hell is he doing here?" a familiar voice grumbled as I started to turn away.

I took another deep breath, annoyed by the sound of Boucher's voice and our last encounter fresh on my mind.

"He wants to speak with Alonzo," the other gendarme said.

Boucher snickered. He started to speak, but apparently thought better of it and reconsidered his words. "Do you have an appointment with Alonzo?" he asked me.

"I was not aware that appointments were needed."

"In case you didn't hear, there was a fire in the theater district Friday night," Boucher said. "Dozens of people missing, wounded and dead from the tragedy. Whatever complaint you have will be dealt with at another time."

"I do not have a complaint. I am here to report a missing person, but not from the incident at the Opera Populaire."

Boucher narrowed his eyes. "Missing person? Who?"

"A friend of mine," I answered. "She has not been seen since Friday afternoon. Her entire family appears to have vanished."

Boucher and the other officer exchanged looks. At last Boucher gestured with his head for me to follow him inside, which left me flabbergasted as I fully expected him to tell me to return at a different time or not at all.

He proceeded down the hall, past several offices with doors closed until we reached one with the door open and room unoccupied. Once we were both inside, he closed the door and turned to face me.

For a long moment he said nothing to me, preferring to glare instead as if he wished to intimidate me.

"Take a seat, Monsieur Kimmer," he said at last.

He remained standing behind me long after I took a seat and I rolled my tongue along the inside of my cheek, annoyed with his tactics as I sincerely doubted he would jeopardize his position by striking me in the police station.

"What is the name of the missing person?" he asked at last.

"Abigail Soward. Her three children are missing as well."

"Soward?" Boucher said as he walked toward a filing cabinet in the corner of the room and removed a piece of paper from the second drawer. "That name is familiar."

"She owns a tailoring shop," I said.

Boucher shook his head. "That isn't it."

"Her husband, Clarence, was found murdered a few years ago."

Boucher eyed me over his shoulder. "Soward, yes, Clarence Soward. "Found shot in the back?"

I wasn't aware of the details surrounding Clarence's untimely demise. Abigail had never mentioned it and I'd thought it best not to ask for details given our physically intimate relationship that had never involved deeper, more personal levels of conversation.

"What is your relation to the missing person?" Boucher asked me as he returned to his seat behind the desk.

"Friends," I said. "And a working relationship as well. She has tailored my clothing for several years now."

Boucher began filling out the form. "Describe what happened."

"I don't know what happened. That is why I am here."

Boucher coldly eyed me. "Why do you think she's missing? And when did you last see her?"

"Well, I saw her Friday afternoon."

"Where?"

"Her shop, which is located on Rue de Courval," I said. "I met her there in the afternoon and we went to the art gallery on the corner of Republique and Biot."

"What happened after the gallery?"

"I walked her back to her shop. Originally we had plans for dinner and the theater, but Abigail expressed she had reservation about attending the performance."

Boucher eyed me. "Reservations?"

"She was hesitant after all the rumors about the ghost," I explained.

"I see."

"We still had plans for dinner, so I arrived at her shop, which is below her apartment, and there was no one there."

"What time was this?"

"Six in the evening."

Boucher glanced at me. "So you believe she is missing because she wasn't home Friday night?"

"You are oversimplifying the issues," I groused.

"What restaurant were you supposed to dine in?" Boucher asked, ignoring my comment.

"Olive Leaf."

"Did you check to see if she had decided to meet you there?"

"No."

"No?"

"It would not have made sense for her to travel to the restaurant alone."

"I see."

My temper threatened to flare at his dismissive attitude. "I believe something happened to Abigail, in part because her shop was vacant and apartments unoccupied Friday night despite our plans. There was a floral arrangement I gave to her Friday afternoon that was shattered in pieces on the floor Friday evening, which seemed unusual. I stopped by her shop Saturday as well and she was not home then either. The flowers were not removed, which would indicate that he has not returned for over twenty-four hours."

Boucher sniffed. "Out two nights in a row," he said as he continued to jot down notes.

He was far too nonchalant for my taste and I exhaled. "You are not taking me seriously," I said.

"I'm making a report. That is as serious as it gets, Monsieur Kimmer." He turned the paper toward me. "If you could write a description of the person in question at the bottom."

"Children included?"

Bouher sat back, hands folded, and nodded while I completed the rest of the form and handed it back to him.

"To the best of your knowledge, has the person in question had any problems with money? Debts owed, unpaid balances for merchandise?"

I furrowed my brow. "There was a ledger that wasn't balanced and a number of clothing orders unclaimed, but neither was a known issue or cause for concern."

"Anyone different been in the shop recently to your knowledge? Someone who could potentially do her harm?"

"I have no idea," I replied, "she never mentioned anything to me."

"Would she have mentioned such details to a customer?"

"To a customer? No. To a friend I would certainly hope so."

"As her friend, has she spoken of anyone that has threatened her?"

"No, and I can't imagine anyone wanting to harm Abigail."

Boucher shrugged. "I bet her husband never assumed anyone would come for him either."

My heart dropped. "Could they be involved in her disappearance?"

"Depends on if they were caught."

"Is it possible to request details on the case?"

Boucher didn't answer me. He continued to scribble on the back of the form. "Did she mention any altercations or arguments with anybody recently? Disagreements with customers? Suppliers?"

"Not that I am aware."

"What about her husband's family? Jealous relatives who did not retain the shop after Monsieur Soward was killed?"

"Clarence and Abigail are originally from Canada. I don't believe his family has visited–"

Boucher frowned at me. "Someone else? A lover? Suitor?"

"No, I don't believe so."

"The widowed Madame Soward had no callers?"

"If she did, I was not made aware," I impatiently answered. "However, her brother was visiting from Canada. He has not been seen either as far as I am aware."

"Were they arguing?"

I exhaled. "They're siblings. Yes, they were arguing."

"Did you hear him threaten her?"

"No, their arguments were never that serious in nature. Merely disagreements between a brother and his sister."

"Regarding?"

"The cluttered condition of the shop," I answered.

"Cluttered?"

"The late Clarence Soward was a bit of a packrat. In recent weeks I have been assisting Abigail in improving the tidiness of the shop."

Boucher grunted. "But the shop could be cluttered to the extent where a broken vase could go unnoticed?"

"No, despite scraps of fabrics on every surface and missing scissors throughout the shop, Abigail would not have left broken shards on the ground," I firmly said.

Boucher shrugged in response. "What is her brother's name?"

"His first name is Howard."

"Surname?"

I looked away from Boucher and took a breath, attempting to remember how Abigail had introduced him to me. "I'm not certain."

Again Boucher frowned. He scratched the side of his head and wrote 'Howard?' on the form. Yawning quite loudly, he looked across the desk at me. "Come back when you have a full name and I will have the document typed up."

"What happens in the meantime?"

"It will be placed on the clerk's desk up front. Once we have the rest of the information, I'll personally put it on the Chief's desk for consideration."

"Consideration? What does that mean?"

"That means once Alonzo has a moment to look over the details, he will decide if the report needs to be made public."

"Of course it needs to be made public. An entire family is missing, for God's sake."

"An entire family was not home for two evenings. That is not sufficient to be considered missing."

"I disagree."

"If she has not been seen by tomorrow evening, come back Tuesday morning and have a new file started."

I scrubbed my hand down my face. "Tuesday will be five days since anyone in the family has been seen. That's longer than I am willing to wait. What if…" I didn't want to utter words and speak them into existence. "What if she is in need of help at this very moment?"

"There are hundreds of patrols in the city night and day. There is a possibility that while searching the city, her body could be recovered."

"I said in need of help, not dead," I said through my teeth.

Boucher folded the paper in half, once again choosing to ignore my words. "In the meantime, inquire at the train station. See if they have any record of the family purchasing train tickets. Perhaps they are on holiday and the seamstress neglected to inform her customer."

"This is more than a seamstress missing from a local business," I argued. "Abigail Soward is someone I deeply care for and I cannot believe her disappearance is not being treated as an emergency."

Boucher smirked at me. "Were you sleeping with her or something? Feeling a little jealous that she might be in some other man's bed without your knowledge?" He leaned slightly forward, a sickening smile on his face. "Mine, maybe?"

He was attempting to rile me up and I felt more than willing to fall for his ploy. My desire for release was almost unbearable, the tension within me pulled taut as a bowstring.

I believe Madame Soward is a bit more discerning in her tastes and would not welcome your company, I thought to myself.

It was clear that I would get no further in my pursuit and the longer I remained in his presence, the more tempting it would be to say or do something that would decrease my chances of returning home at the end of the day.

"Thank you for your time, Inspector Boucher," I said, offering my hand as I stood to leave.

He simply stared at me rather than accepting a handshake, which gave me far more satisfaction than he would have ever realized.

I walked into the hall and found myself face-to-face with Chief Alonzo and several other officers flanking him on both sides, all of whom appeared surprised to see me in the precinct and not behind bars.

"Kimmer," he grumbled. "May I ask what in the hell you've done now?"

"Me? I haven't done anything," I answered defensively. "A fine hello to you as well, Chief Alonzo."

"If you are here to complain about the incident last week, it's been handled," he told me, glancing past me at Boucher. "Isn't that correct, Gerard?"

I didn't bother looking at Boucher as I assumed he would scowl at me. "Apologies again for the misunderstanding, Monsieur Kimmer," Boucher said under his breath.

"Good day to you, Kimmer," Alonzo said, nodding at me. "If I haven't told you recently, you look much better on this side of a cell."

"Chief Alonzo," I said before he brushed past me. "Flattered as I am by your observation, I am here to file a missing person report."

"I'm filing it now on his behalf," Boucher said, waving the sheet of paper in the air.

"Good," Alonzo replied. "Now, if you will excuse me, gentlemen–"

"Pardon me, Chief Alonzo, but is there nothing more to be done? She's been missing since Friday. Surely a missing family of four should be addressed in a timely manner. Five days of waiting seems excessive."

"Put it on my desk," Alonzo said. "I'll look at it Monday morning."

"If you have a moment today–"

"I said tomorrow morning," the chief replied.

"This is a very serious matter," I said. "If this was your wife–"

"Is this your wife who is missing?" Alonzo questioned.

I shook my head. "A friend."

"His tailor," Boucher added.

"Both a tailor and a dear friend," I said without bothering to look at Boucher.

Alonzo turned to his left and took a sheet of paper from a pile one of the other officers carried. "A missing person is certainly a serious matter, yes," he agreed, "but not currently a priority, I'm afraid."

He held up the sheet of paper and I found the composite sketch of Erik staring back at me. "This evil bastard is our priority for the safety of the city."

It was not the best sketch I'd ever seen as it was hastily drawn, but the image did resemble Erik to an extent. The scars were not drawn fully, the shading dark as if the right side of his face was a cavernous hole, his eye replaced by an empty socket that I found offensive. His head contained only a wisp or two of hair and his neck appeared as if there was a noose tied around his throat.

Alonzo narrowed his eyes as he held the sketch up and looked from the drawing to me and back again. He folded the paper in half, lengthwise, and looked again, taking a step forward.

"I'll be damned," he said under his breath.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You," Alonzo snapped, grabbing me by the arm. "In my office at once."

OoO

There was no chance to think much less to react. Chief Alonzo shoved me into his office and slammed the door behind him, locking it. I barely had a chance to comprehend what had transpired when he pointed at the chair opposite his desk.

"Sit," he said through his teeth. "Now."

"My apologies, but what is this regarding?" I asked.

"I said sit," he commanded.

My blood ran cold, but I refused his orders. "Why?" I asked.

"Because I told you to sit," Alonzo said, standing chest-to-chest with me. "And I suggest you comply."

"If I don't?"

Murderous rage settled in his dark eyes, his lips twitching. He grabbed me by the shoulders and forced me into the chair, leaning over me with his fingers digging into my upper arms.

"Is that you?" he demanded.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't pretend to be daft. You know precisely what I mean. Is this you in the picture?" he questioned.

"No," I answered. "Of course it's not me."

"It looks a hell of a lot like you," Alonzo pointed out.

"A slight resemblance at best."

"Not an exact replica, but undeniably similar."

"I disagree."

Alonzo's expression hardened. "Where were you Friday night?"

"At the Opera Populaire."

His eyes widened.

"In the audience, a witness to the events that took place," I added swiftly.

"Then you saw him for yourself?"

I nodded. "And I have multiple witnesses to prove where I was sitting if necessary, including three students and Florine Fabienne."

Alonzo continued to look me over with his eyes hardened and jaw set. "You had better be telling me the truth, do you understand me?"

"I am."

Alonzo exhaled in frustration. "Phelan Kimmer, you have walked through these doors for years with your hands bound behind your back. I have seen you bloodied nearly to a pulp, I've seen your clothing torn and your eyes so bruised you could barely see where you were, but I often gave you the benefit of the doubt. God knows why, but you weren't like the others."

I wasn't sure what he meant and had no desire to ask for clarification. We had gotten along well for the most part, all things considered.

"I used to feel sorry for you," he continued. "You were a bright kid, good artist, but that damned temper of yours and your need to be combative had you brought in every single weekend. For years. Years of your life wasted with violence and for what?"

Alonzo remained bent at the waist, fingers digging into my flesh as he stared me in the eye. "Same damned charge every time: disturbing the peace and general mischief." He shook his head at me as if he were deeply disappointed in my actions. "I used to tell my wife the artist is back again. Back in a jail cell because he is still so troubled by God knows what. Quite frankly I was amazed you lived past the age of twenty-five with how often my men brought you in."

That made two of us. Every night I left in search of trouble, I had no idea if I would return to the home I shared with Val and I had no desire to put in the effort to survive.

"Do you remember the last time you were held?"

I looked away. It had been ten years since I'd last been arrested after one of the worst fights I'd ever been involved in on the streets. I found myself embarrassed by Chief Alonzo's words as I was at an age where I should have been more responsible.

"I asked you a direct question and I expect an answer," Alonzo said, his face to mine.

"Yes," I said, swallowing. "I remember."

At some point during the melee, I had been cut with either a shard of glass or a razor blade from my sternum down to my navel. It wasn't a particularly deep cut and the scar left behind wasn't noticeable, but I hadn't known the extent of the wound at the time. The length of the injury was concerning and there had been blood everywhere, which was enough to convince me that I would indeed bleed to death or my intestines would fall out and I'd die a horribly slow death with my innards in my lap.

With no medical care provided, I had sat overnight, hand pressed to my chest where the wound was the deepest, attempting to stop an alarming amount of blood loss from spilling down my torn shirt.

"And what happened that night?" he asked me.

"A fight broke out in the cell," I answered.

In retrospect, I was astonished I'd survived as the brawl had started out of nowhere and it took at least twenty minutes for the officers on duty to control the situation. One of the men attempted to strangle me while the gendarmes clubbed, separated and cuffed everyone to the bars to prevent another fight as there wasn't enough holding cells to keep six men separated. With my hands behind my back, the wound reopened and I stood with one ankle secured to the bars and my wrists bound, watching my shirt become damp with blood.

"And what happened in the morning?" Alonzo stood upright, releasing me at last.

"I was allowed into the infirmary next door," I answered.

By the time a nurse reported for duty at eight and examined the wounds, I was barely conscious. As it was, I could no longer stand and Chief Alonzo had found me dangling by my wrists, which had been cut open by the iron shackles.

"And you stayed with me," I added.

"I slapped the hell out of you," Alonzo said. He raised his hand as if he would strike me again, but thought better of it. "I was so damned angry with you being there again. I'd seen you in the park painting with the other men Friday afternoon and thought this is it. This is the weekend he makes better choices and grows up. He's a man. He's been a man. Eventually he'll stop acting like some youth with no direction and traction beneath his feet. But there you were, covered from your chest to your thighs in blood. There was no excuse for it, either. You knew better."

I had nothing further to add. He had repeatedly slapped me in the face, preventing me from giving in to the desire to close my eyes and slip away.

"Once you were patched up, do you remember what I asked you?"

I nodded once.

"Tell me what I said."

"You asked me if I wanted to get myself killed," I answered.

"What was your answer?"

For a dreadfully long moment, I thought of that night, of the smell of the infirmary, my own blood and whatever the nurse had used to clean me up. I remembered her asking to keep my hands bound behind my back because the sight of me frightened her and Alonzo had kept me in shackles like a feral animal.

"I said it didn't matter to me."

"What didn't matter to you?" Alonzo asked.

"Whether I survived or not."

My insides felt numb with the admission. Alonzo sat on the edge of his desk and folded his arms. He was silent for a long moment while I heard the echo of my own words.

I had answered him honestly that morning, weeks before I had saved Elvira and almost four years before Hugo had written a letter of recommendation to the university to consider me as his replacement. My brother was still missing, my son had no knowledge of me, and I had no future. Whether I saw another sunrise or died sometime in the night felt inconsequential. I doubted anyone would notice or care if I no longer existed, especially Val, whom I dreaded seeing Sunday mornings.

For all that I lacked, I possessed an unreasonable amount of apathy, mostly for myself. Every second of every day I thought of the moments that led up to my brother's disappearance, the letters from Alak describing the condition Erik had been found in, and piled on guilt and grief for how he had suffered.

"When you thought you were still going to die, you told me your brother was missing," Alonzo said.

"He was," I admitted, vaguely recalling the conversation. I had rarely talked about Erik to other people back then, but that morning, when the pain inside and out hammered through me, I had loosened my tongue and mentioned my brother.

"Was he ever found?"

I bowed my head, the aching renewed. "Yes."

"Alive?"

I shook my head. "Unfortunately not. The last time I returned to Conforeit, I discovered his grave on my parents' property."

The grave had been there since Erik was four or five years of age and I was well aware that there was no one buried where the headstone had once stood, but in the unlikely event that Chief Alonzo asked for confirmation, at least there were remnants of a stone. I'd destroyed it beyond recognition, but there were still pieces of the stone visible in the weeds. It would confirm my story if investigated further.

In the back of my mind, however, I thought of the sketch of Erik that Elvira had torn in half and hoped that I had not somehow spoken my brother's demise into existence now that every gendarme and have the military seemed to be searching for him.

Chief Alonzo continued to stare at me for a long and silent moment. He held up the sketch and compared the drawing to me, his eyes narrowed. "That's a shame about your brother."

I said nothing in return, overwhelmed by the past and the present, the missing and the almost found.

"Get out of here and stay out of trouble," Alonzo ordered.

I stood and thanked him for his time.

"And Kimmer," he said before I reached the door. He didn't bother looking me in the eye. "My wife enjoyed your paintings at the gallery and I did as well. Madame Fabienne has apparently told her quite a bit about you."

"Good things, I hope," I said under my breath.

Alonzo shrugged. "If Florine did not, I certainly did."

I blinked at the Chief of Police, surprised by his words as I wasn't sure how he felt toward me given my extensive past.

"You should be proud of yourself for how far you've come," Alonzo said as he rummaged through his desk. "I sincerely hope I never see you on the other side of a jail cell again."

I inhaled. "As do I."

"I'll review the missing person report in the morning. Go home."