Dr. Ian West

Sunlight warms my face, and I squint against the overpowering brightness. For the second day in a row, I wake up in Porter’s bed.

Buried in her down comforter, I inhale her lavender scent. There’s a brief sense of rightness. Complete. Fulfilled. As I reach my arm out to draw her body to mine, I’m lost in that dreamy satisfaction, before reality crashes through the haze.

That internal alarm is triggered, and panic fuels my racked muscles to move. I scramble out of the covers, my bones made of cement. Every ache and pain comes alive as I pat myself down to locate my phone.

Head braced against my hand, I wait for Mia to answer. “Did you find anything on the phone that can help us?”

“Morning, Dr. West. Have you had coffee yet?”

I groan. “No. The phone, Mia?”

“It’s clean. A burner. I’m sorry.”

A defeated sigh escapes. I didn’t expect Shaver to leave a trail, but there’s always a chance. He’s delegating this thing from behind bars. Mistakes can be made.

This thought springs me out of bed completely, and as I end the call with Mia, I look at the cups. Even in my wrecked state, I used a tissue to touch them. Because of the chance for evidence.

I call Charlie and tell him to bring all his evidence collecting tools to Porter’s apartment, then I check the time. Court starts in less than an hour.

I pace the hallway. Eddie picks up on the second ring. “What’s going on?” he says. “Wait. I don’t know if I can know this. Dammit. Just tell me something good.”

“Make the deal.” I let myself lean against the wall.

“What?”

“Set it up with Shaver. However you can. After I give my testimony tomorrow, I want Porter released right then.”

Shaver made it clear that Porter would be kept until after the trial. If he was acquitted. I just need more time… I need Shaver to believe I’ve given up. But in the event I fail, I need Eddie on board.

The silence between us stretches, marking the actual distance. If it comes down to Eddie throwing the case, I’ll lose Eddie’s loyalty. He’ll do it. Because he’s one of the good guys, because he will have to do what’s necessary to try to save Porter. But once it’s done…we will be, too.

“All right, boss,” he finally says. “I’ll do my best. And, Ian. You don’t have to feel guilty. After yesterday’s sessions, this trial is looking pretty grim on my front.”

I hang up, feeling guilty regardless.

Shaver has manipulated the system, and he may cost me a good friend. Eddie and I, our partnership, our friendship, will never be the same.

Impatient, I search Porter’s cabinets for coffee while I wait for Charlie. By the time he arrives, I’ve ingested too much caffeine. But I’m awake. Alert.

Sleep on it.

It’s what therapists say, and really, it’s good advice for a reason. Our subconscious reveals problem-solving solutions while we give our conscious mind time off. I may not have the answer, but I have a destination.

I shrug on my suit jacket, decided.

Charlie pauses while putting on Latex gloves. “Where are you going?”

“To prepare my expert testimony.”

* * *

For three years, I’ve come to this place on the anniversary only. But it’s not where I talk to Mel. I said once that I don’t have to…that she just knows…but that’s not entirely true.

The actual truth is, I don’t have to talk to a slab of marble, because I never stop talking to her.

She’s always in my thoughts. I whisper offhand remarks to her as if she’s still in the room. I mentally tell her about my day when I’m thinking about a case. I tell her I miss her all the time—because, God, I do. That constant ache that will never fully disappear is her unremitting presence in my life.

But I’m here now, because I need her in a way that only speaking openly, out loud and at her place, can grant me.

I kneel before her headstone and touch the cold marble. The witch charm I brought her is still here, and I reach inside my suit jacket and take out my flask. I set that next to the charm. The ache is fire in my chest. “You’d be so disappointed in me.” I suck in a fast breath to staunch the burn in my eyes. “Porter got mixed up in something bad. I wasn’t there for her. Now she’s gone. I don’t know how to help her, or where to find her. And what’s worse…” I trail off, hating myself.

Shit. “I love her, Mel. You probably already knew this. But I love her. I always did; she’s my friend, she’s ours…she’s family. She’s a raging pain-in-my-ass on the defense team lately—but that doesn’t change the way I feel. I’m sorry. I broke some rule, I’m sure. Some arbitrary rule about who you’re allowed to fall in love with, and I’m sorry if I’m in the wrong, but it doesn’t feel that way.” My thumb glides across her name. “If it was really wrong, I wouldn’t have been able to be with her. That sickness would’ve consumed me. The guilt would’ve torn me apart. But I felt none of that with Porter. Because you love her too, and you would want both of us to move on. You were the unselfish one, and I’m positive you’ve been trying to get me to see how I felt about Porter with all my annoyance with her—” I laugh.

“I get that now. And I’m here, talking to you like some crazy man, because I need your help.” I pull the Tarot card from my jacket and lay it at the base of her headstone. “This was here for a reason. That sadistic fuck thinks he used your place to get to me, but really, you were trying to tell me something. As always, I was too stubborn to listen, but I’m open now. Tell me where she is, Mel. What am I missing?”

There’s no answer. I’m not a fool, and I’m not delusional. I don’t expect Melanie to swoop down on a bed of clouds and point the way. I’m not really sure what I do expect…

A sign.

More time.

Forgiveness, maybe.

For the pain to finally stop.

But that’s not the answer, either. We feel pain for a damn good reason. Pain lets us know there is something wrong. We have to learn to listen to the pain instead of block it out.

I swipe my hand along the stone, and the jagged edge slices my palm. “Damn.” I pump my fist, blood trickling from my palm. I start to untuck my shirt, to tear a strip to bandage it, when I look down at the Five of Cups.

A drop of blood pools on the card, right on top of the image of a bridge in the background. I pick it up to inspect closer. Wipe the blood away.

When that moment of comprehension seizes you, it takes your breath away.

I am a fool. The Fool Tarot card should’ve been my card, not the blasted cups. I’ve been thinking about Shaver’s victims, the scenes he sets. His stage.

But it’s not his; it’s mine. The scene is linked to me.

And Porter.

“Thank you, Mel. You’re still the smart one.”

I tuck the card in my pocket and stand, nearly shaking with my certainty. I fumble my phone out of my pocket and call Charlie.

“Can your dad organize a search party?”

“Absolutely. When and where?”

I look off into the distance, marching toward my destination, my future. Yada fucking yada. Fuck you, Shaver. I always get the girl.

“The Yards Park.”