Some of the details are fuzzy but I remember waking up on the ground, just before dawn. Was it yesterday? Seems like ages ago. In my jacket pocket, I found my passport and my wallet, with a brass key tucked inside it. It took me a full minute to recognize it. It belongs to a house, somewhere far away. Maybe it unlocks nothing—I don’t know.
I don’t want this key, but I know who to give it to. I crawled away from those ruins until I felt my strength returning, then I got to my feet and started walking. Left my identity back in a smoldering building. Nora who? That woman has enemies, some that still pursue her. Maybe those enemies will think that she has perished in that fire. Maybe they will give up now.
Even if they don’t, I can’t be bothered to care right now. They will have to catch me and I won’t make it easy for them—now that I know they’re still looking. Dao, the man I’m convinced is after me, has shown his weakness—and if he thinks revenge is anything but weakness, he should take a look at Ryan Russo.
For now, I keep moving, staying to the shadows. Staying low. Gathering my strength. Death is all around me here in Detroit, but I won’t be here for long. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but I have a key to pass on.
I yearn for Whisper by my side, as I always do, but she’s with me in spirit. I’ll see her soon enough and we’ll sit by the rocks and look out at the ocean. We’ll think of Seb and I’ll eat pad thai while she gnaws on a fresh bone. We’ll get nice and fat, the two of us, and maybe there will be no more secrets between me and Leo.
In the burning warehouse I was ready for it to be done, but it’s not nearly over yet. I’m like the hero in an absurd war novel. Look at me, in a canoe. Paddling away. Except I’m on yet another filthy street in Detroit, and I can barely put one foot in front of the other.
There are no canoes in my future, but there’s a great big bridge. A few hours past it is a girl I have to see. To hand over a relic of the past, one that has crossed continents and come through fires. Someone should have it, but that someone isn’t me. I’ll tell the girl about my father, who was a good person, a decent human being who fell in love with the wrong woman. She’ll also hear about my mother, who was a cold bitch who walked away and never looked back. She’s got an aunt in Vancouver who hates me, but may not hate her. It’s not a perfect story, but it’s ours if she wants it.
The key is warm to the touch, so I hold it in my palm. I need as much heat as I can get for the road.
I have a bridge to cross.