Hold Me Closer, Necromancer - Lish McBride [111]
“And you’re overcomplicating,” she said, her tone firm. “Let it go.”
“I killed a man.”
“A bad man, Sam. A very bad man.” A strand of hair fell in front of her eyes, and she blew at it, but it kept coming back down. I slowly pulled myself off the couch and tucked it behind her ear.
“I still didn’t want to kill him,” I said, looking at the floor. I waited for some feeling to emerge. Remorse, maybe. But nothing came. I felt hollow as I stared at my dirty carpet.
“I know,” Brooke said, her voice soft.
Another chunk of hair worked its way free from her ponytail holder and drifted in front of her face. She let out a frustrated grunt and blew it out of her way. When it drifted in front of her eyes again, I tucked it back with the other one.
“I can’t live like this,” she said.
I gave her chin a tweak. “You won’t have to.”
“Thanks,” she said. “For everything.”
My chest ached, but not from an injury. I took one of my sedatives, anyway. I turned the TV on for Brooke and crashed out in my room. It felt like heaven.
When I got up, I couldn’t get settled. Even with Frank and Brooke there, the apartment felt empty. I missed Ramon.
The sudden inactivity after weeks of tension and adrenaline was driving me crazy. I needed to find something to do. Luckily, after checking my messages, I realized I had plenty. The first thing I did was get hold of my lawyer. Detective Dunaway had called several times; while I couldn’t put off the interview forever, I needed to buy myself some time. I asked Mankin to take care of it. It was nice to hand a problem off to someone else. I should have gotten a lawyer years ago.
“Are you ready?” I asked. We were losing light, and I didn’t want to trip over any gravestones. The wind blew cool against my cheek as I waited for Frank. I could smell freshly cut grass and a mixture of flowers.
He nodded, his brown eyes open too wide, like he was trying not to cry. He wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Do we really have to do this? I mean, she’s not dead, just sort of in limbo, right?”
I could understand his resistance. Who wouldn’t want his loved ones back, even if it was just a piece of them? And the part of me that hurt, the part that was still raw over Brooke, started to bargain with the rest of me. Why not keep her around? I had the ability, so why not use it? But looking down at Brooke, at the state she was stuck in, I understood how selfish that feeling was. So I told the raw part of me to shut up and deal with it. “She’s a head, Frank. That’s pretty close to dead, or at least pretty far from life. She deserves more than some crappy half life.”
“But—”
“It’s okay,” Brooke said. “It’s time. Being a head blows.” She flashed him a smile. “Besides, I’ll always be with you in your heart.”
Despite the situation, we all started to snigger. “Thanks,” I said. “I needed that.” My heart felt lighter than it had in weeks. We stood in silence, staring out at the cemetery. Even before I knew about the whole necromancer thing, I’d always liked cemeteries. They were peaceful, like libraries and churches. The trees around the perimeter blocked out any ambient noise, so all I heard were birds. All I smelled was grass and flowers. It was a good place to be.
“C’mon,” Brooke said. “Let’s blow this crap-shack.”
Frank carried Brooke’s bag to her grave site. I grabbed one of the green plastic vases the cemetery staff had left by the trash cans and stuck it into the ground. I put the bouquet of gladiolas that I’d brought with me into it. Brooke had been fascinated by the fact that she could pick out her own flowers. There were several other bouquets already surrounding the temporary marker. They hadn’t had time to put up a permanent tombstone yet.
Frank opened up Brooke’s bag. “Nice,” she said with a sniff as she looked around. “I’d like to know who brought those carnations, though. Yuck. I hate carnations.”
Frank patted her hair awkwardly. Brooke smiled at him, taking the gesture as the act of comfort it was meant to be.
I heard a car door slam. Dunaway walked across the grassy slope toward us, his long stride