“Thank God. I couldn’t live with him being in there forever. I know he didn’t kill Tracy.”
“Yeah,” Sarge says again.
Hearing him say it this way makes me question Ryan’s innocence for a split second, but then I remember that I know Ryan. We’re partners. He’s innocent. Margaret is the killer.
That night I can’t sleep. I toss and turn. Though I try not to, I wake Emmitt with all my movement. I tell him I’ll go watch TV in the other room, but he says he’s fine just lying there with me. He wraps his arms around me, hoping that will make me more comfortable and allow me to fall asleep. But it won’t. Nothing will. I can’t stop thinking about Margaret. That she was in our house. That the hand of one of her victims was in our house.
Our house. I am engaged to be married, no longer responsible for just myself, but for another person, as well. And I just skirted the rule of law to get another man out of prison.
It’s not just Margaret; there must be something wrong with me, too. I focus on that until Ryan takes over my brain. Whether Ryan belongs in prison or on the streets. Whether Ryan and I can ever be partners again. Whether or not I love Ryan.
I shake my head at that thought. I love Emmitt, not Ryan. Well, maybe I love Ryan like a brother, but nothing more. We’re friends, coworkers, nothing more.
I snuggle closer to Emmitt and finally fall asleep, solidifying the fact that he is the love of my life.
I’m waiting outside. I see Ryan approach. He stands just past the barbed-wire fence and looks to the sky. He inhales deeply a few times, his eyes closed, relishing the fresh air. Even though I haven’t been locked up for months, I do the same. It’s refreshing, revitalizing, life-affirming. I feel like I have been in a prison of my own, and just like Ryan, I too am free.
“Want me to drive you home?” I ask, having driven to the prison in my own car, expecting to take Ryan somewhere.
“I don’t know where that is anymore. I can’t go back to my place. Maybe a hotel. Can you take me to a hotel?”
“Sure. I’d offer to let you stay at my place, but . . .” I trail off.
“Your fiancé wouldn’t appreciate that,” Ryan says with a chuckle.
“I’m sure he’d be okay with it for my sake. I think it would just be a little weird. I’m afraid he’s gonna get tired of putting up with my shit.”
“Having a serial killer sneak into your house will do that to a guy.”
We laugh again. The things that make us laugh are strange sometimes, but I’ve learned that we live strange lives.
“Aren’t you cold?” I ask, noticing Ryan’s summer attire, even though it’s chilly out.
“Nah. These are the only clothes I have. I bet my house is in foreclosure by now. Bank probably took everything.”
“Sarge has been paying your mortgage, car payments, even checked on your house, I think. Still wouldn’t blame you for not wanting to go back there, at least not right now.”
I usher him toward my car. I don’t want to tell him it was really me who paid all his bills, working as much overtime as I could handle.
“Wow. That was nice of him.”
“They’ll give you back salary, too. You’ll be okay financially. How are things up there?” I point at my head.
“I’m not so sure,” he says with a laugh, “how are they?”
“Ha ha,” I deadpan, and then point at his head. “In there.”
He gets in the passenger seat, and I get behind the wheel, start the car.
“I’m not sure yet,” he says. “I’m still processing all of this. I don’t know if I ever really thought I’d be free again.”
“Well, you are.”
I start driving, even though I’m not really sure where I’m headed.
“Can we go grab some dinner?” he asks. “Prison food isn’t so good.”
“Of course,” I say. “What sounds good?”
“A burger, fries, and an ice-cold beer.”
“Done,” I reply, and drive toward my favorite bar. It’s a little off the beaten path, but has the best burgers I’ve ever had. It strikes me as odd that Ryan and I haven’t been there before, and I’m nervous to take him now. I go there with Emmitt all the time; the bartender knows us by name. I feel like maybe I shouldn’t take Ryan there, like I’m doing something wrong. I don’t know why I feel this way, but the feeling isn’t stopping me from driving closer and closer to the bar.
I throw my napkin on my empty plate and lean back in my chair.
Ryan looks guiltily at me. “I’d like another.”
“Beer?” I ask. “Sure, I’ll get the bartender.”
“No, a burger.”
I laugh the hardest I’ve laughed in a long time. “Were you on Survivor or in prison?”
“I’m not really sure there’s a difference,” Ryan answers.
I flag the waitress over. “My friend here would like another burger.”
She smiles. “It’ll be right up,” she says.
“I’m glad you’re back. We’ll catch some bad guys, share our secrets.”
He chuckles.
“What?” I ask.
“No secrets between partners, huh?” he says coyly.
“Of course not,” I say, knowing we’ve always been open with each other, and tried not to judge, even if sometimes that was hard. Like when he told me about Beth.
“Good,” he says, “no secrets.”
But I know he has one. He’s hiding something from me.
“Did something happen in prison?” I ask, thinking about the time he got in a fight.
“No, I was fine in there.”
“What is it?”
“Nothing. It’s nothing. It’s that I want a third burger.”
“No, it’s not,” I say, my smile vanishing. “Tell me what’s going on.”
He leans in close to me. I can smell his onion breath. Our breathing is synchronized.
“I did it,” he says. “Tracy. I had to. But you understand,
