Page 18

Colum shook his head, his vision going gray.He was no stranger to panic attacks, having suffered with them since he was a kid.Back then, Josephine would help him get through, rubbing ice on his temples and wrists, talking to him in that soft, lilting voice.

All along the banks of the Royal Canal.

He was vaguely aware of Annie speaking to him, but her words were garbled.Colum bowed his head, his dry, tearless eyes blinking rapid-fire as he sought to regain control, despite it being pointless.He knew what came next, knew he was too far gone.Too far down the rabbit hole.

All along the banks of the Royal Canal.

He rose, roughly bumping into the table in his haste to escape the booth, the silverware and glasses clinking loudly.Reaching into his wallet, he withdrew several Euros, tossing them down.He needed to say something, anything that might make him look less crazy.“Forgot to do something.Have to go.”Unwilling to see Annie’s reaction to his abrupt, rude escape, he turned away, rushing toward the exit.He almost made it when that fucking line came again.

All along the banks of the Royal Canal.

Once he was on the sidewalk, he quickly walked back to the archive, praying Annie didn’t follow him.He needed to get off the street, away from people, away from scrutiny, away from…

Just away.

Entering the archive, he slammed the door behind him, locking it.In his haste to get somewhere alone, he hadn’t considered his direction.If he’d been smart, he would have taken the stairs down to his flat below the archive, where he could crawl under the covers of his bed.Instead of backtracking, he forged forward, climbing the steps to his workspace, not stopping until he reached the desk.

Colum sank down on the chair, gasping harshly, trying to get air into his lungs.Bowing his head in his hands, he rubbed his forehead as if he could somehow erase those words, the cursed, fucking words of that song.

All along the banks of the Royal Canal.

It didn’t work, and all the things he fought to forget came back to him in a rush.

Josephine going out to pick up dinner for them.

Josephine teasing him, telling him he was going to miss her when she was gone.

The phone call.

That fucking call that never should have connected, the one that allowed him to hear her killer carrying her body along the banks before throwing her into the Royal Canal.

A sob escaped, the first sound he’d managed since escaping the pub.He tried to push the grief down, refusing to lose himself in the pain.For a split second, he considered fetching the bottle of whiskey in the liquor cabinet, the one he kept on hand for whenever Eric stopped by and the two of them shared a wee dram.Or, at least, they used to.

Before Josephine’s death.The chasm.The fucking chasm.

Before.After.

Colum lifted his head, his eyes locking on the framed photo he’d moved from storage to his desk just a few months ago.

After Josephine’s death, he’d taken down every picture of her, packed away all her favorite books and the few pieces of clothing she’d left behind—a couple of sweaters, a T-shirt, an old pair of tennis shoes.He had attempted to wipe out everything that reminded him of her, foolishly thinking it would ease the pain.

It hadn’t worked.In fact, it had made it worse.Not being able to see her smile, to flip through one of her books, recalling her voice as she talked about why she loved this character or how brilliant a scene was, to catch the tiniest whiff of her scent, had compounded the grief.Nothing except the whiskey managed to blot out the agony and even that was short-lived, only lasting until the buzz wore off.

He wasn’t sure what had driven him to pull the photograph out of storage.All he knew was he’d woken up that morning with an overwhelming desire to see her face again.So he’d dragged the box out from the back of his closet and pulled out the picture, placing it on his desk, the place where he spent the most time.And instead of being dragged back down into his grief, seeing her smiling face filled him with the strength he needed to plod through another lonely day.

Colum picked up the picture, clutching it to his chest, drifting over to the couch.Sinking down, he sat for several minutes, simply staring at Josephine’s beautiful, sweet face.God, but she looked like their nan.

Suddenly tired, he twisted, lying down, the framed photo resting on his chest, just over his heart, his arms wrapped around it as if he were hugging her.

“Josephine,” he whispered in the quiet room.He couldn’t recall the last time he’d spoken her name aloud.

Closing his eyes, he imagined her wandering around the room, touching everything as was her habit, moaning about being bored.There were a million things his brilliant sister had been good at, but stillness hadn’t made the list.It had been physically impossible for her to talk without waving her hands, sit without that damn knee of hers constantly bouncing.The only time she managed to settle down was with a book and even then, she had a bad habit of stopping to discuss what she was reading, despite the fact he was reading his own book and she was annoying the hell out of him.

“Josephine,” he whispered again.“I miss you.”

That confession brought a sense of peace and within moments, he fell asleep.

Colum blinkedseveral times in the dark room, trying to get his bearings.Rising, he had to act fast to catch Josephine’s picture.He’d fallen asleep with it on his chest.Remaining on the couch, he didn’t bother to turn on a light.There was enough light from the streetlamp outside the window and the moon to allow him to see, and he preferred the darkness.