Shadows in the Night

Chapter 6

Chapter 6The grating sounds of monstrous machines escalate outside my apartment, but the onslaught of attacks raging inside my head from hearing Steve’s final confession swell to threatening heights. After he is gone, I stand in the middle of my kitchen, holding a beautiful bundle of flowers.

I scream his name and fall on my knees to the tile floor, holding the crumpled bouquet, crying.

The only other time I remember crying was at my mother’s funeral. Steve is a different kind of special, though.

I manage to stand and fill a large vase with cold water, open the small packet of flower food stapled to a card, and arrange the long-stemmed pink roses.

My name is written in block letters across the front of a white envelope. It’s not sealed; the loose flap is tucked inside for easy opening. My eyes water as I start to read the first line: We may not be together forever, but I still love you.

I rarely f*****g cry.

I slam my fist against the counter and toss the greeting card into the sink. I turn around in anger as the landline phone blares in the background.

“f*****g-A!”

I do not sit down when the new chief of police, Roger Barnaby, natters in my ear with a thick redneck drawl that I am late for work. I pace the room, fighting to keep my nausea at bay. The new police chief is relentless and reminds me of Black Fall’s former police chief, Danny Barton, who I single-handedly caught with his pants down last year when we were working a case. He was arrested in a double homicide after murdering two female college students.

As Chief Barnaby rants about my absence, I cut him off, apologizing. “I’ve got personal matters to attend to. I’ll be at the station in an hour.”

“You don’t make your own time, Officer Ballinger. You’re late. Hurry up!” He hangs up and leaves me clenching the phone, heated.

I hang up and turn to the clamoring noise outside my apartment: city workers installing a new lamppost across the street.

I unlock the doors and step out onto the balcony, still in my boxers. The grinding and jackhammering seize me, my knuckles turning ghost-white from clenching the railing.

It is not how I want to begin my day.