I’m fortunate to be alive while a man is dead, and I can’t remember why.
She leaves, and I’m alone with the heart monitor’s steady beep and the gnawing sensation that my life has become a puzzle with half the pieces missing. I know my name, my job, and my complicated history with my mother. All of it present and accounted for…
But there’s a hole where the last few weeks should be.
A void that pulses like a fresh bruise, yielding nothing except the echo of something vast slipping further away.
The police come in the afternoon, when the light through the window has gone flat, and the room smells faintly of antiseptic and burned coffee.
Two detectives. Plain clothes. The taller one knocks once before stepping inside. “Miss Vale?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Detective Harris. This is Detective Miller.” He gestures to the man leaning against the counter. “We need to ask you a few questions about the accident.”
I nod, my fingers tightening against the blanket.
Harris pulls a chair closer to the bed. “Do you remember the night of the crash?”
“Yes,” I say. “Not all of it. But… enough.”
Miller straightens slightly. “Tell us what you remember.”
I swallow. “I was driving… the road was empty.”
“Were you alone?” Harris asks.
“Yes. At first.”
Miller’s gaze sharpens. “At first?”
“There was a man,” I say slowly. “He ran into the road.”
Harris stills. “He flagged you down?”
“Yes. He was waving his arms. Yelling.” My throat tightens at the memory. “I thought he was hurt.”
Miller steps forward. “Did you recognize him?”
“No.”
“Did he identify himself?”
I shake my head. “He didn’t make sense. He kept saying…things.”
Harris leans in slightly. “What kind of things?”
“That something was after him,” I say. “That it wasn’t human. He kept saying that over and over.”
Miller exhales through his nose. “Did he appear intoxicated?”
“No,” I say immediately. “He was terrified. Like—” I stop, searching for the right word. “Like he’d already accepted he was going to die.”
Harris exchanges a glance with Miller. “What happened next?”
“I told him to get in the car,” I say. “It was cold. He was bleeding. I thought I could drive him somewhere safe.”
“You let a stranger into your vehicle,” Miller says carefully.
