Page 94 of Healed Heart

Murderer.Fraud.Butcher.

Hands grip my shoulders, drag me down.Cold steel bites into my wrists.My hands—my ruined, broken hands—are shackled now.

The gavel cracks like a gunshot.

And then I see them.

My wife.My daughter.Standing just beyond the bars.Watching me.

Disappointment in their eyes.

No.No, please, no!

I didn’t do it.

The lights go out.

And I wake up gasping, drowning, choking on what has become of my life.

Where am I?

Then Tillie.Her tongue scraping against my cheek.

Angie’s.I’m at Angie’s.

I scratch the little dog behind her ear.“Where’s Angie, girl?”I ask as if she’s going to respond.

I love dogs.Have always loved dogs.But Lindsay was allergic, and after she died, I couldn’t get one.It was too much of a reminder of what I’d lost.

Shock whirls through me when I check the time.Nearly noon?

I scramble out of bed, pull on my jeans, and let Tillie out.I have no idea how long Angie’s been gone, and Tillie probably needs to pee.

Some cold coffee sits in Angie’s coffee maker.I pour a cup and heat it in the microwave.I open the refrigerator, though I’m not hungry.She’s got bacon, eggs, lots of different kinds of bread, probably from her cousin’s bakery in Snow Creek.

I grab a croissant, take a bite of the buttery dough, and let Tillie back in.

“I should get back to my place,” I tell Tillie.“But Angie will be home soon.”

Will she?I don’t know her class schedule.Anatomy at eleven this morning, though that’s over now.I wonder who subbed in for me?

God, what a reminder of all the crap my life has become.

I finish the croissant, take a few gulps of the coffee and burn my tongue, damn it, and then go back to Angie’s bedroom where I put on the rest of my clothes.Saying goodbye to Tillie, I leave Angie’s place, making sure the doorknob lock clicks behind me.I’ll have to get a key from her so I can lock the deadbolt.

I walk the few steps to my place, unlock the door, and enter.I’m heading for the shower when my phone buzzes.

I don’t recognize the number.

“Jason Lansing,” I say.

“Dr.Lansing, this is Detective Felicity Mann with the Boulder Police Department.We’d like you to come in and answer some more questions.”

Fuck.More of this?

“You should be calling my attorney,” I tell her.

“I’m sorry.I didn’t see an attorney listed on your file.”