14

As it turned out, the medics who worked with the fire department were thorough. It was hours before they let me out of their clutches, and then a couple hours more before I could convince the Captain of my story and get him to call off the dogs in the department’s continued search for the arsonist. I’m not sure if he totally bought my story about the fire sprites, but given the lack of physical evidence at Fletcher’s place of business, he was willing to let it slide barring further fires popping up over the next few days.

The barest glimmers of sunlight still hung in the sky as I made it back home. My apartment door creaked as I opened it, long shadows trailing from the living room window and crawling up the walls. A calmness hung over the apartment, the toys on the floor having been cleared and put away. Could Tommy be asleep already? It was possible. The little guy did seem to need about fourteen hours of rest a night, which was a much better situation than what he’d offered during his first four or five months of life. Still, I’d thought Nicole would be up, reading or tapping her foot impatiently, scowling and waiting for me to make amends. She’d probably retreated to our bedroom, shut herself in there, using the walls as a barrier, both physical and metaphorical.

I headed to the kitchen, this time finding no dinner on the stove, cold or otherwise. Not that I wanted anything to eat, not after everything I’d gone through at Fletcher’s and later at the hands of the medics.

I reached into a cabinet for a glass and dug in the back of another, higher one for a bottle of caramel-colored liquid. I pulled the stopper, poured myself a finger, and tossed it back. My throat burned as the whiskey passed across it. I took a sharp breath and exhaled in response.

What the hell was I going to say to Nicole? That I was sorry? Of course. But I doubted that would be good enough. I needed something more. Something heartfelt, and gods, was I terrible at that. I knew I’d screwed up with Tommy’s birthday. That I’d screwed up by not apologizing sooner. I might’ve screwed up this afternoon with Magdalena, too, but I was willing to write that one off as outside my control. Besides, I was the only one who knew about it. Might as well keep it that way—forever.

I started to pour myself another finger and stopped with the whiskey dangerously close to the lip of the bottle. Did I really need to be drunk to say I was sorry? Wouldn’t that blunt the impact of the apology? Gods, I couldn’t be that much of an alcoholic, could I?

I put the bottle back and headed into the hallway, stopping at Tommy’s closed door as I had the night before. I cracked it open, stretching my ears to hear his breathing. I waited for a few seconds, then a few more.

Nothing.

I opened the door and walked in slowly, trying to keep the floorboards from creaking. The shades were still drawn. With the day’s light all but gone, shadows enveloped the room, but Tommy’s crib stood out plain as day.

It was empty.

I ran, my bedroom door bursting open under a blow from my shoulder. “Tommy! Nicole! Where are you?”

I looked about wildly, my heart racing, my fingers numb. Where could they be? Oh, gods, what if something had happened to them? What if the succubus hadn’t died? What if she’d come back in search of revenge? Found a way to make me pay even though she hadn’t succeeded in dragging me to the abyss? What if…

I froze. Something rested on Nicole’s nightstand. A letter.

I snatched it and tore it open, ripping the paper from within and unfolding it with shaking hands. I had to hold it to the window to read it, the lettering sharp and precise.

 

Jake,

 

You know I love you. I will always love you, and nothing can change that. Your inability to prioritize us, your family. Your inability to remember your own son’s birthday. The way you storm off after a fight instead of trying to make it right. I love you through all of those things. And that love is what makes everything you’ve done to me and Tommy so hurtful.

But love isn’t enough, Jake. I’ve learned that. Effort matters. Desire matters. Actions matter. What you’ve done to me, what you’ve done to Tommy, and more importantly what you’ve done for us, isn’t enough. I’ve tried to convince myself it was, to see if from your point of view, but I can’t. I just can’t.

I’m sorry, Jake, but the man you are today isn’t the man I married. I can’t do this anymore. Not with you. I want a divorce.

Nicole

 

A drop fell and splattered across the paper, spreading the ink. I reached up and tested my cheek, feeling the tears wet my fingers. The letter fell from my other hand, fluttering to the floor.

I sat down on the edge of the bed, for a moment feeling empty, but the solace of nothingness didn’t last. The tears started to flow, and heavy, suffocating pain smothered my chest. The anguish of loss. A dagger to the heart.

Alone in the darkness, I cried.