This day would stay with her for a long time, and in her darker moments she’d recall the pine-needle smell of her husband’s aftershave, his gentle breath across her cheek and the luxuriant warmth of his skin. Her last truly happy moment.

In her dreams she’d sometimes visit this memory, but awake with her pillow wet with tears, knowing she’d never be that person again. She’d tell herself for a long while that what happened between her and Greg was hell, and she wondered why she ever thought she could live a normal life; that this was payment for her arrogance. But, in hindsight, like most bad luck, it would turn out to suit her just as well as any good luck that had come her way.

34

To William the world grayed, growing ever fainter, and the lights on the other side of the river faded to a peephole of glowing silver. He heard the rushing water but for a moment none of it made sense. What was he doing here by the river?

“Morris,” he whispered, as everything came back into focus and he remembered the last few minutes. A sharp pain flashed inside his heart as if a firecracker had exploded. He leaned as far out from the bank as was safe and tried to make out any movement in the water besides the natural peaking waves of the flow. His hope was he would see Morris climbing back up from the eddying mass, which for a moment, he thought of as a hungry monster.

“Morris,” he shouted and waited for a reply.

He searched for a head bobbing in the current or a waving hand. For seconds he stayed silent, listening for cries of help that didn’t come.

“MOHHH-RIIIS! Mohh-ris!” This time louder.

How did he disappear in such a short time? Or was it that quick? How long had he been fazed out?

He scanned the river again, as the panic climbed up into his throat, but there was no Morris saving himself. If he couldn’t swim, and even if he could, that current at night was a death trap.

William stepped back from the edge, dizziness trying to grasp hold of his consciousness. He knew he was in shock and that he needed to clear his head and make some decisions. If he couldn’t save Morris, he needed to work out how to save himself.

His legs felt wobbly and uncertain. God, this was ridiculous. He’d come here to kill the man, but he had changed his mind. How could the cursed man die by a stupid accident? This was black humor at its worst. If it was a dinner story he’d laugh. When it was happening to him he found no humor.

You need to get away from here. You look guilty.

Well, at least the demanding voice was back, and for once, talking sense. Before he did follow the advice, he took one more look at the place Morris had fallen. Shoe skid marks on the high bank’s soft soil, near a small mud slide, told the story of a scuffle more than an accident. He looked around and saw security cameras on one of the light poles nearby.