After these interviews were complete, Abbie sat in a small room with a couple of tired police detectives and Ana, her lawyer, and recounted her story. She started late, implying she had arrived in town in time to see Ndidi attack Gary, but after that she was pretty honest. Though she never confirmed she had used a gun and didn't confess to any murders.
At last, Abbie was free. The detectives who had interviewed her warned they might be in touch. There were bodies to account for, and charges could still be brought. But both Abbie and Ana were content she was in the clear. Her details wouldn’t be wiped from the database—not since Ben and the organisation he represented had cut ties—but that was okay. The ordeal was over.
Or almost over, anyway.
"I guess you'll be heading to the hospital?" said Ana. "Bet you can't wait to see Bobby."
Standing atop the stone steps, Abbie smiled at the sun but felt a strange churning when she thought of Bobby. When she considered the fire.
"I'll be heading that way," she said. "But there's something I have to do first."
"What?" asked Ana.
“It's not quite over," said Abbie. "Not until I tie up the last loose ends."
This time, Ndidi welcomed Abbie into his home with open arms. He made her coffee and even offered her biscuits, which she politely declined. When the drinks were ready, the detective placed the mugs on coasters on the table and took the armchair. Abbie took the sofa where Norris and Stanton had sat the previous day.
"How's Isabella?"
It was the first question Abbie asked. It had occurred to her that of all the people Abbie's dreams had sent her to save, Isabella was the one with whom she had had the least contact. Before Abbie checked Ndidi's gunshot wound and soothed the girl, they had never met, and Abbie had not seen the child since.
"She's safe, and that's the main thing," said Ndidi. "But it's a long road, and there'll be hard times ahead."
Ndidi collected his mug, not to drink from but to have something to distract his hands.
"Kids are amazingly resilient creatures," said Abbie. "She'll get back on track."
"I hope so," said Ndidi. "I've told her the truth about her mother." He shook his head. "It was wrong of me to lie, to tell that poor girl her mother had left her. She's too little to comprehend what her mother being dead really means. Still, at least she won't grow up believing Leilani abandoned her. I couldn't have lived with myself if I had allowed that to continue."
Abbie collected her own drink and sipped the hot coffee. "I think you've done the right thing."
Ndidi tried a smile, but it was weak. For a little while, they sat and sipped their drinks.
"What about you?" Abbie asked at last. "Will there be charges?"
Ndidi let out a long breath.
"That's the question. I certainly broke plenty of laws. I lied to my superiors. Lies which led to an expensive and unnecessary operation. I was complicit in the break-out of a dangerous criminal who went on to murder one of our officers."
The thought of Christine caused his face to crumple. He gripped his coffee a little more tightly, though the surface of the ceramic had to be red hot.
"That's the big one," he said. "I'm responsible for Christine's death. I don’t believe there's any appetite amongst my colleagues and superiors to see me convicted, but it may be unavoidable."
As Ndidi bowed his head, Abbie sipped some more of her coffee and kept her counsel. There was plenty she could say, but she sensed Ndidi was not yet done. Not quite.
"I'll never forgive myself for what happened," he said. "If it wasn't for Isabella, I would run to the station and beg them to put my wrists in cuffs. I would gladly see a judge sentence me to however long in prison she deemed necessary. But my little girl has lost her mother. Maybe it's arrogance, but I believe she needs me. As long as I'm convinced of that, I'll fight to stay free."
After he finished, and following a short silence, Ndidi looked up and met Abbie's eye. She saw he wanted her opinion. It was unclear whether he sought validation specifically or whether he wanted an honest view. Unfortunately for him, if he wanted the former, that wasn't Abbie. An honest opinion, in this instance, was all she could give.
"I struggle to think of Christine," she said. Which was true. Posthumously, Christine's superiors had praised her. There would be awards and commendations delivered to her parents, who would be told how brave Christine had been. How she had died a hero. All of this was true, and maybe it would help take the edge off the significant loss over time. In the short term, it was meaningless. Christine was a young, kind, honest woman. She had sacrificed her happiness and brought addiction on herself to do what she thought was her duty. Christine had earned a happy ending. What she got... nothing could make up for that.
"I understand," said Ndidi.
"Maybe," said Abbie. "I'm wracked with guilt. Bobby wasn't going anywhere, and if I'd stayed put, Christine might still be alive. I'll never forgive myself for the decisions I made, nor should you forgive yourself for yours. Your daughter was in grave danger, but I'm sorry, even with that in mind, I can't offer you solace after what happened."
Again, Ndidi hung his head. Wiped his eyes.
"You're right. I know it."
"Still," said Abbie, before Ndidi could break down entirely, “your daughter’s lost a mother and doesn't deserve to lose a father. Whatever happened over the last few weeks, I hope you escape jail time."
At this last sentence, Ndidi looked up and met Abbie's eye. She didn't look away. Maybe he heard it in her tone or saw it in her look, but he realised there was more to come.
"You're not here to comfort or condemn me, are
