Along Came December

by Jay Allisan

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I just wish I’d been smarter.”

  “I wish a lot of things.”

  Scarlett shifted uncomfortably, turning to look at me. “Do you really wish you were dead?”

  “Yeah. I was thinking maybe tonight.”

  He fumbled for his radio. “I’m going to call your team now. You need—”

  I grabbed his hand and didn’t let go. “Don’t. Don’t call them.”

  “Shirley, this is way above my pay grade. You’re seeing someone, right? A therapist? I can drive you—”

  I kissed him. He pulled away.

  “Shirley…”

  “Do you care about me, Scarlett?”

  He hesitated. “Yeah, yeah of course I care, but—”

  I kissed him again, deeper, curling my fingers in his hair and pressing myself flush against him. He turned his face but I followed.

  “Shirley, you’re drunk, you’re grieving, this isn’t—”

  “Love me,” I whispered. I slipped my hand beneath his waistband. His eyes closed. I put my lips back to his. “Love me.”

  I took him into the bedroom and shut the door.

  33

  “MORDECAI? YOU in… what the fuck is this?!”

  The lights snapped on and I groaned, my head pounding nauseatingly. I rolled over just in time to see Paddy haul Scarlett out of bed and deck him. Scarlett went sprawling, then struggled up onto his elbows. Paddy hit him again. “You son of a bitch. You goddamn bastard.”

  Scarlett spat out blood. “What the hell—”

  Paddy grabbed him by the throat and pinned him against the wall. “You taking advantage of her?” He buried his fist in Scarlett’s gut. “Answer me!”

  “She wanted me to,” Scarlett rasped. “I didn’t—”

  “I oughta stuff your own fucking dick—”

  “It wasn’t like that! Shirley, tell him!”

  Scarlett made a choking sound as Paddy’s fingers tightened, his wide eyes seeking me out desperately.

  I looked away. “It’s Mordecai.”

  “It’s what? Shirley—”

  Paddy wrapped his hand around the back of Scarlett’s neck and forced him from the room. I heard the front door open and shut. Paddy came back for Scarlett’s uniform, picking it up with disgust. He glared dangerously at me. “You got thirty seconds to put your clothes on or you’re next.”

  I rolled out of bed onto the floor, and found my clothes. I’d just finished dressing when Paddy stormed in and dragged me to my feet. I pushed at him weakly. “Don’t. I’ll throw up.”

  “Go ahead.”

  He all but threw me into the bathroom, just in time for me to make good on my promise. When I pulled my face out of the toilet bowl he was filling the doorway, burning with rage. I slumped against the tub and waited. It didn’t take long.

  “What the fuck is the matter with you?! You got any idea what kind of hell you put us through? Any fucking idea?”

  “Just the one,” I said lightly. “But he wasn’t that good.”

  “Fuck you, Shirley. I’m sick of this selfish shit. You think the rest of us aren’t hurting? You think we didn’t love Max? Fuck, I had to leave him to die to save your life! How the hell do I live with that? And now you wanna die anyway, and we’re all busting our asses to try and help you, and you pull a stunt like that! What’s your fucking deal?”

  “My husband blew up in front of me, you jackass! You think I give a shit about a hockey game? I didn’t want to go!”

  “That’s the whole fucking problem, isn’t it? You don’t want to do anything except lay around and think of ways to kill yourself. Come up with any good ones last night? Guess not, since you’re still here.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “You know what Josie did last night? She had to go to the bridge and wait to see if you’d lie down in traffic. Whale had to canvass the hospitals for your corpse. Dixon spent his night off away from his family because his goddamn suicidal detective went missing, on my fucking watch. Shit, I had to call your dad!”

  “Won’t he be happy to learn I’m not dead.”

  “Goddammit, do you care about anyone but yourself? You care at all about this team? About what another loss would do to us? ‘Cause I’ll tell you right now we couldn’t take it. We wouldn’t survive.”

  He moved into the bathroom and crouched down to look me in the eye. “You are not allowed to die, not by your hand. You have to wait for a bullet, or a bomb, or your goddamn cholesterol like the rest of us. You got a whole bunch of people trying to help you through this, but if you’re gonna keep pushing us away then I’m gonna do what I have to to keep you alive. So here’s the deal. You’re gonna start cooperating, or I’m gonna drag you out of here and leave you drugged to your eyeballs in the psych ward. What’s it gonna be?”

  I raised my middle finger.

  He punched me in the side of the head and I passed out.

  I WAS sitting on the couch in the living room when I woke up. The blinds were drawn, but the first hints of morning light seeped through the cracks. The rest of the room’s illumination came from the TV. My breath caught when I saw Max’s face captured on the screen. I reached to turn it off.

  “Don’t move.”

  Paddy stood next to the bookshelf, his gun in his hand and pointed at me. I stayed still.

  “You going to shoot me, Paddy?”

  “Not me.” He laid the gun on the coffee table. Beside it was a butcher’s knife, a coil of rope, and a bottle of pills. “Take whatever you want. I won’t stop you.”

  I looked at the setup warily. “You said—”

  “I was wrong. Your life, your decision. Go ahead.”

  He pressed a button on the TV and the screen came back to life. It was footage from our wedding. Max was laughing, accepting congratulations from someone offscreen. The camera panned out and there I was, one arm curled around him as I gave him a plate of cake. He swiped his finger through the icing and smeared it on my lips before kissing it off.

  My eyes sparked with tears. “What—what is this?”

  “This is what you want, Shirley. You want to die, now’s your chance. But I’m gonna watch you, and Max will too. It’s only fair.”

  The video transitioned to our first dance. My cheek rested on Max’s shoulder and he had his arms clasped behind my back. His lips were moving but the audio couldn’t pick up his words. It didn’t matter. I heard his voice in my ear like he was beside me, telling me how excited he was to be married to me. How proud he was to call me his wife.

  “Stop it,” I whispered.

  “No.”

  “Please. Stop it.”

  “We’re gonna watch you, Shirley. Me and Max and the you that knows better than this.” He gestured to the table. “You should be able to get the knife between your ribs without snapping it, if you angle it right. Or you could just slit your wrists. Or your throat.”

  “Stop it.”

  “You’ll have to go outside if you want to hang, though. Drop off the balcony. If you hurry I can pull your body up before the neighbors see.”

  “Stop.”

  “The pills won’t hurt, but they’ll take longer, and there might not be enough. Wouldn’t that be a bitch. But there are plenty of bullets in my gun if you’d rather—”

  “Stop!” I screamed. “Stop it!”

  Paddy folded his arms. “What’s the problem? Isn’t this what you want?”

  Onscreen I was still slow-dancing with my husband. His fingers trailed along my cheek, and I read his lips right before he kissed me.

  I love you.

  I lifted my hand to my face, as if I could still feel his touch. “I love you,” I answered, my voice thick and broken. “I love you, Max. I love you.”

  I picked up the gun and checked the clip. Clicked the safety off and on. Rested the muzzle against my forehead and under my jaw. All the while Max held me as we danced our wedding night away.

  I extended the gun to Paddy. “I don’t
want it.”

  He holstered it, watching me carefully. “You want the pills?”

  “No.”

  “The knife? The rope?”

  “No.”

  “What do you want, Shirley?”

  I brushed my fingers over Max’s wedding band. “I want—I want to go to therapy. I want to get better. For Max. So he’d be proud of me.” I wiped at the tears slipping down my cheeks. “But I still don’t want you to call me Shirley.”

  Paddy’s expression eased, his chest deflating in a long exhale. He put his hand on my shoulder, then pulled me into a strong embrace.

  He let me go and went back to the TV, darkening the screen. The image blinked out on me and Max, lips locked under the cheesy canopy of twinkling lights. It was beautiful.

  I moved to the bookshelf, watching the silver urn glow faintly in the growing dawn. “I can’t live here anymore,” I said. “This was Max’s apartment, and then it was our apartment, and I can’t live here without him. I have to find someplace else. Someplace new.”

  I lifted the urn tenderly. This was my husband. This was Max. Tears flooded my eyes and stole away silently. This was Max, and I had to say goodbye.

  “I can’t let him stay,” I whispered. “I can’t leave him sitting on some shelf like fucking home decor. He should be put to rest. He deserves that.” I looked at Paddy. “Will you drive me?”

  “Anywhere you wanna go, Mordecai. You just tell me where and when.”

  “Heritage Peak. Let’s go now.”

  WE REACHED the trail’s end just as the sun emerged over the horizon. Dew hung on the mossy trunks around us. A cool mist clouded the lake stretched gracefully below the ridge. The wind tugged my hair forward as I walked to the very edge.

  I closed my eyes, pushing away the moment of Max’s death to remember his moments of life. He’d made me alive, too. He’d given me so much. All I could do for him now was keep going. I’d try to be brave. I’d try to be strong. I’d work hard. For Max.

  “I love you,” I murmured, pressing my lips to the cool silver. I opened the urn and waited for the wind. When it blew west I poured out my husband’s remains, watching the ash disappear over the valley. I let the urn tumble down the cliff to sink into the lake below. Paddy put his arm around my shoulders and we watched the sunrise. Then we began the hike back down.

  34

  “HOW IS the housing search going?” Tish asked. We were walking downtown toward the river, seeking shade. The early July sun was strong and I’d been too quick finishing my iced coffee.

  I shrugged. “Nothing yet. Still in the hotel.”

  “And are you sleeping?”

  “Mostly. Sometimes. I try, but…” She laid a hand on my arm. “I see it in my dreams. Nightmares. I can’t watch it anymore. I watch late night TV instead.”

  “These things take time.”

  “It’s been a month.”

  “You can’t rush it. You’re doing very well with your therapy. Just give it time.”

  We turned down a side street lined with poplars, their dense foliage a welcome canopy. I kicked empty beer cans out of the sidewalk and watched a butterfly alight on a pair of abandoned boxer briefs.

  Tish asked, “And how are your days?”

  “Therapy in the mornings,” I said, and Tish smiled. “I like to run or go to the gym after that, and then I make lunch. I’ve been trying some new recipes I found online.”

  “Any you would recommend?”

  “Maybe to someone who knows what they’re doing. I had chicken nuggets three times last week.”

  “What about after lunch?”

  “I read, mostly, or go for a walk. Somewhere quiet, though. I made the mistake of going to the mall a few days ago and security had to get me out.”

  “Reporters?”

  “Yeah. At least they can’t find me in the hotel.”

  A low-rider scraped around the corner, bass rumbling from the speakers. A teenager stuck his head out the window and shouted something thoughtful about my ass. I gave him the finger and kept walking.

  “I don’t really know what I do for the rest of the day. Watch TV, I guess. Sometimes I look at the clock and I’ve lost three or four hours.”

  “It sounds like you need a hobby,” Tish said. “Have you considered something musical?”

  “Like teaching guitar lessons? I don’t think I’d like that.”

  “Or learning a new instrument yourself?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t have a lot of space for instruments right now.”

  “What about an art class? Working with your hands—”

  I stopped walking, clutching at Tish’s sleeve. She followed my gaze across the road. “Honey, that church is closed. If you’re interested in spiritual guidance—”

  “I want it.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  I took in the weathered brick, the ornately carved doors, and the For Sale sign on the lawn. “I want it. That’s where I want to live.”

  “Mordecai, this is not a good neighborhood, and the building is falling apart.”

  “I’m good with tools. And guns.”

  I hurried across the road to the church. It was on the corner, set back from the street and shaded on all sides by mature trees. It looked to be one story, a simple rectangular building with vertical stained-glass windows and a steepled roof, patchy with missing shingles.

  I walked the perimeter of the lot. Decent-sized, but not extravagant. The grass was overgrown and sprouting with weeds, the ground sloped toward the church instead of away. The foundation needed work, and I’d have bet money there was water damage inside.

  I climbed the steps at the front of the church and tried the door. Unlocked. I stepped inside. Tish followed me, doubt heavy in her voice. “Mordecai, this place is not a home.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  It was dark inside, a filtered kind of grayness that made me squint. We were in a small foyer, the doors to the sanctuary standing open in front of us. Gleaming from the front of the church was a pipe organ, rising from floor to ceiling. I started toward it, but my foot crashed through a floorboard and I fell.

  “Mordecai!”

  “I’m fine, Tish. Watch where you step.”

  I grabbed the back of a pew and pulled myself out of the hole. Definitely water damage, maybe just plain rot. I could fix that. I made my way cautiously down the aisle and sat in front of the organ. I struck a key, and the entire church sang. I did it again. And again.

  Tish stood at my elbow. “Do you play?”

  I stretched my fingers across the keys experimentally. “I can play piano.”

  “You play very well.”

  I turned. An elderly man in a suit smiled at me from the foyer. “It’s the best music this place has seen in years.”

  He picked his way to the front of the church, using a cane for support. He extended his wrinkled hand. “Reverend Brown.”

  I got off the bench and shook. “Mordecai.”

  “Are you looking for something, Detective Mordecai?”

  I stiffened. There wasn’t a soul in Briar Rose who didn’t know my story, and they thought that meant they knew me. The reverend smiled gently. “I didn’t mean to imply.”

  “This building is for sale,” I said, avoiding the matter. “Have you had much interest?”

  He rested both hands on his cane. “No, I’m afraid we haven’t. It’s old, as you can see, and in great disrepair. The congregation outgrew it almost a decade ago, but we didn’t want to let it go because of that organ.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “We’d hoped to move the darn thing over to the new place, but the money was never there, and we can’t afford to hang on to this building any longer. We’ve had offers for the land, but everyone wants to knock down the church and our council can’t seem to stomach that.”

  “I’ll buy it,” I said. “How much?”

  The reverend studied me, his eyes sharp behind wispy gray eyebrows. “I only come by once a mont
h,” he said at last. “I was just on my way out when I heard that organ.”

  “Lucky for me, I guess.”

  He gave me a knowing smile. “In my circles we call it providence. Mordecai is a biblical name, you know. From the book of Esther.”

  “I’m not familiar with the story.”

  “Mordecai the Jew raised Esther, the young woman who became queen of Persia, and himself was a trusted advisor to the king. He saved the king from assassination.”

  “Good for him.”

  “The name itself means warrior.”

  “Reverend, are you going to sell me the church or not?”

  “Yes,” he said, smiling, “I believe I will. But once God’s house, always God’s house, if you ask me. I thought you ought to know your legacy.”

  “Mordecai is my husband’s name.”

  “And now it’s yours.” Once again he extended his hand. “You promise me you won’t tear down that old organ and I think we can come to a deal.”

  I met his grip. “You have my word.”

  “I’m pleased to hear that. If you’ll follow me to the office we can see about some paperwork.”

  He turned around and shuffled back down the aisle. Tish touched my elbow, wearing a look of concern. “Are you sure this is what you want, honey? This is a lot of work.”

  I watched the play of light off the organ’s pipes, stained glass colors streaming haphazardly on the floor. I nodded. “It’ll keep me busy. I need a lot of work.”

  She smiled sadly, putting one arm around me in a hug. “You’re doing just fine, Mordecai. You’re doing just fine.”

  IT TOOK two weeks to gut the church. Paddy was swinging a sledgehammer with me almost every day, and Josie and Whale made the weekends. Manual labor wasn’t Dixon’s style, but he brought me more of his wife’s home cooking and watched the progress.

  I hired professionals for the plumbing, landscaping, and electrical, but oversaw the rest myself. It was a week to redo the roof, and another to frame the walls that would break the open sanctuary into separate rooms. We tore out all the flooring upstairs and cleaned up the basement so it could be used for storage. I added a loft at the rear of the church, above the organ.