Page 68 of Kneeling for Them

“Oh, hi,” I say.Mind still on Sebastian, I rush out, “Is everyone all right?”

“No,” the detective says.

I forget how to breathe.

“It will no longer be necessary for you to answer any more questions about Bryan Crowley.”

“Bryan Crowley, my apartment manager?”Relief swirls through me.This isn’t about Sebastian, but something else entirely.At least Sebastian is safe.Clearing my throat, I say, “Why won’t you need my help anymore?”

“Because Bryan Crowley is dead, Miss Marchand.He took his own life in his cell an hour ago.”

Sixteen

Sebastian

The ocean waves are calming, I guess.In their way.Every day, I stare at them for most of the morning before going into the beach house and lying on the sofa.Because apparently I’m a heroine in a Victorian novel and I must have at least one daily swoon.

I brought notebooks with me.Several of them.There’s a guitar in the closet.

Have I written a single fucking song?

Nope.

I got as far as tuning the guitar.But when I tried to strum a chord, my throat got tight and the void in my chest expanded.Emptiness shouldn’t feel so full.It makes no goddamn sense, and yet it describes the sensation exactly.My chest is full of emptiness.

Fuck.

Angst is supposed to be good for art.That’s the cliche, anyway.It’s not working for me, though.

The breeze carries the freshness and saltiness of the ocean.I turn my back on it and walk across the deck toward the sliding door that leads inside.

A softmeowstops me in my tracks.

Turning, I see the stray that lives beneath the deck.He’s black as night, with yellow eyes that he closes in a half-blink whenever he sees me.I do it back, and his rumbling purr is loud enough to hear from several feet away.I could pretend to be puzzled by his continued presence, but since I met him a few days ago, I’ve been feeding him pieces of fish, so the fault is mine.

The feline has been growing bolder by the day.The first time I saw him, he wouldn’t step within ten feet of me.Now, he walks right up to my bare foot and rubs his chin over my toes.

When he’s finished claiming my foot as his own, I step through the sliding door and into the beach house.

The cat comes with me.Bold motherfucker.

Looking around the living room, it’s easy to imagine how great this retreat would be if Ella and Kingston were here, too.The three of us could be enjoying a long weekend together.

I hate that she couldn’t accept me, but I can hardly blame her.

And then there’s the matter of Trina and my incident that up until recently, she kept a secret.She’s going to reveal it; I’m certain of that.

“Maybe the best thing to do is come clean before she tells the world,” I say to the cat.

Hemrowrsat me, his expression inquisitive.He wanders over to the kitchen, then back to me.

“I don’t have any food right now,” I tell him.

Coming clean won’t bring Ella back, though.And she’s all I really care about.Fuck fame, fuck my career.I’ve had a good run.People might rip me apart on social media.They might choose to never listen to my music again.It’s their decision, and I’d respect it.I could live with all of that.

But I can’t live without Ella.

I slump down onto the sofa.The cat jumps up next to me.He’s making himself right at home.He’s plumper than he was when I first found him, now that he’s getting some meat on his bones.His coat is shinier, too, and he’s better groomed.