of it. I needed to—to what? Buy Fluke’s dog treats and act like nothing had happened? Go and open the store? What did any of that matter?
A policeman sat me at one of the tables in the front of the shop and asked me a few questions about what had happened, but not many. It wasn’t as though I had much to tell. The man collapsed. I tried to help, but I couldn’t do anything.
He patted me on the shoulder in an attempt at comfort as he stood, but that was when I remembered. “The guy in the black hoodie over there filmed it.”
The cop sighed and shook his head, muttering to himself as he made a beeline toward the man. I wasn’t sure if there was a law about filming things like that, but it seemed like there should be. The dead man could never consent to having that moment publicized, so it shouldn’t be.
“Are you okay?” Gideon’s deep, rich voice asked. There was such concern in it, and it was like a balm for my soul.
I took a deep, slow breath and then shook my head. “No.” I stared at Fluke, who was wrapped around my legs, his head on my lap, so it might look like I was talking to him. “I’m definitely not okay.”
They had covered the man with a sheet, but he was still sitting there in front of the coffee shop counter. In my mind, I could see my kitchen. Another body, under a different sheet. A bloody one.
This man’s death had been fast and bloodless, but just as pointless. Just as awful.
At least his ghost had seemed pleased to see someone. My mother’s had only tried to hug me, and she’d sobbed when it didn’t work. Then the social worker had come and taken me away from the house, put me in state custody overnight until my father could be contacted. By the time I saw that kitchen again, years later, it had been scrubbed clean of both blood and any lingering spirits.
I hugged Fluke tight against me and tried not to think about that. To focus on the tragedy of now, which might have been awful, but was at least less personal.
The cop was looking through the guy’s phone while the man sat in his chair with his arms crossed. When he saw me looking, he shot me a nasty scowl.
He probably realized I was the one who’d ratted him out, but I wasn’t the least bit sorry. A man was dead. His dashed plans to go viral on 8chan or whatever didn’t matter.
The coroner took the body away, the police took my information and left, and I kept sitting there for a while.
Finally, Gideon spoke again. “Maybe you should skip work today. Put up a note that says you had an emergency, and go home.”
I considered it for about ten seconds. Then I pictured my father’s reaction when I did that, and how much he would harass me when I got back to work the next day.
“No. Work will be good for me.” It was bullshit, and anyone could see that, but Gideon didn’t question me.
“Okay,” he agreed. “Are you ready to leave here? You could stay and have another cup of coffee.” I thought he might have muttered something about whiskey in it, but I didn’t quite catch it.
Whiskey sounded like a great idea, except that I’d never had any and had been known to get smashed on half a beer. “Fluke’s treats. I need to buy Fluke’s treats. That’s all.”
Fluke had dropped them on the floor when the man had collapsed, and they were still sitting there, not far away from where the man had died.
Kurt, the police had said his name was.
I was slow on my feet, but Fluke didn’t pull ahead and Gideon didn’t complain. They walked with me to where the treats lay. I picked them up and turned to the girl at the counter.
She shook her head and waved me away. “On the house,” she whispered. She looked as shattered as I felt, hollow-eyed and limp from her hair to the way her arms dangled at her sides. I hoped her boss would send her home early. “Thank you for trying to help. You were the only one.” She glanced around the shop at the other customers, nervous, as though thinking about how they would do the exact same nothing if she died.
I offered a vague nod and turned to the door. I wasn’t sure