Mistletoe in the Mortuary (Inspector Rames)

Chapter 16

Even in the afternoon, the street was dim. Long shadows stretched across the concrete, and a breeze pulled at him with cold fingers. He could see her ahead, near the alley, her platinum blonde waves almost silver as they shone in the weak light. He longed to call out, but he didn't want her to stop and turn around. Didn't want her to stand still in the open. In a few more seconds, she'd reach safety.

His instincts registered the danger a moment too late. By the time he saw the figure, he could hear the gunshot.

Cassia hit the floor.

Fear broke over him. He ran, and everything he'd been taught abandoned him as he dropped beside her. "Cassia?"

There was a wound in her forehead. A bullet hole with an abrasion ring. Her eyes were glassy.

"No!" His hands clamped over her shoulders. "Cassia!"

***

He woke up with a hoarse shout, then drew air into his lungs to yell her name again even as some part of him entered reality. Gasping, he reached across the bed.

She wasn't there.

Jesus Christ, it hadn't been a dream. He stared at the unmoulded half of the mattress. She'd gone, and she'd taken a piece of him with her --

Then his exhaustion cleared, and he remembered. She'd gone, but she was alive.

Relief ebbed into his veins, mingling with a loss that hadn't shifted since the previous evening. She'd left him, but he hadn't been ready to let her go.

He climbed out of bed and staggered into the living room. Tinsel and glittery baubles winked on the Christmas tree. Out of habit, he powered the fairy lights up and watched them glow. He remembered the way she'd got tangled in them and how beautiful she'd been.

"Merry Christmas, Sebastian," he muttered.

Once, it had been a difficult day of the year. Now it felt like the worst.

Her love had changed everything, and he didn't know how he'd ever bridge the gap between them. As well as no more sex, there would be no more trips to the pub or wayward pottery classes, no more casual conversations or feeling at ease when they attended crime scenes. No more understanding, either -- because he didn't understand how she felt. He didn't understand what love was.

Occasionally, other women had told him they'd fallen in love. Usually while screaming, and sometimes while throwing things. It had confounded his belief that love was something to be afraid of. But Cassia had been different. She loved him, and because of that, she'd set him free.

The problem was that although he was afraid of commitment, he didn't want to be free anymore. He knew he'd never look at another woman the way he looked at Cassia. His playboy days were over. He didn't want to move on.

He strolled to the window and looked at the city lights shouting in the darkness. She'd liked them because they were so alive. They'd represented survival to her.

He didn't know how he was going to survive without her.

He wanted to live with her again, to cook with her, and to decorate the Christmas tree with her every year. He wanted to bring her home from the mortuary or come home and find her here. He wanted to tell her his deepest feelings and darkest fears, and to hold her when she told him hers. He wanted to kiss her, to have sex with her -- to make love to her.

He realised that he desperately wanted to be in love with her the way she was in love with him. He assessed his feelings again, wondering what was missing. Was anything missing?