I say confidently

this must be sh

be dead,

down to the precinct w

nd drooling on some cheap, scratchy motel bed. Or maybe he didn't even make it that far. Maybe he's curled up in the nearest ditch, behind a godfors

. Isn'

on the clock set in her dash. My knee is bouncing-the hurt one, not the good one-which is strange. I tell myself I'm

trophobic stairwell in the back. "The Accident resulted in a head-on collision that topp

I wrap my arms around myself, teeth chattering. She's still

e good to recognize the charcoal stench of burned flesh. I

t as we can." Then she's pulling the blue shee

horror. It's the human instinct to recoil from s

I can breathe again. Whoever this poor, barbe

ing to tell you

y lips when I see

ne finger, to

ing at me one more time from beyond the grave. I touch my cheek, and even though it stings because the

I realize. I can eithe

n fall

t least that one comes

U

ere a

is female, bright, and faux-cheery in a bri

remember exactly what I was doing. Or meant to be doing, anyway. I'm not sure I properly identified my boyfriend's corpse bef

go home,"

g," the voice explains. "He needs to make

open. Maybe I am disorient

s. Her face hangs over me like a

t have

prematurely with decades of sad stories passing

t know

e says, her eyes softening instantly. Real sympa

U

preg

nant at

t my baby's fa

el

ow. You'd think that being in a crowded funeral hall would

close to creepy. I frown, vaguely recognizing his spindly hunch and his distinctive b

ay. I'm just

his can't be

gues all left. It was nice of them to show up, but it made me sad to realize that they

k, hoping he's not offended by the f

hat's failing to cover up the tobacco stench. "Yes,

rian hasn't-hadn't-perfo

s, still not volunteering his name.

's all hazy and indistinct. Even the image in my mind's eye of his fingers glidin

ramed picture of Adrian. Floral arrangements bloom on both sides.

eople probably think I'