“What you are is in a purgatory of your own making. You don’t seek redemption, but you don’t embrace sin either.” Alex stood up, frowning at him. “It’s like you have no purpose—you exist just to exist.” He clapped him on the shoulder. “Take care. I’ll see you around.”

And he was gone, leaving Gabriel with a half-chewed bite of burrito in his mouth and the knowledge that Alex was right. Until he knew if he had killed Anne or not, he could never move on.

To what he didn’t know, but that was a step for another day. First he had to get to the truth before the doubt consumed him and the loneliness eventually drove him back to the comfort of the bottle.

Sara was struggling to stay awake, knowing it would be a disaster to take a nap at five in the afternoon when she was already having trouble sleeping at night. She paced back and forth in her apartment, hating the dingy gray carpet, the purple and gray tweed sofa. It was cheap furniture, but that wasn’t what bothered her—she didn’t need labels or expensive fabrics. What she didn’t like was that it had no character. Nothing in the room reflected her—her likes, dislikes, interests. She loved houseplants and artwork, soft, aging quilts, and flatscreen TVs with TiVo so she could watch all the reality shows she couldn’t get enough of.

It had only been two days, and she was already realizing that she was no transient. It wasn’t her personality. She needed her possessions, her life, surrounding her with familiarity and a sense of comfort, of sturdiness. But her life was all boxed up in a storage unit in Naples.

When the phone rang, she dove for it, grateful for the distraction from her sleepiness. She was afraid if she sat down, she’d be out for the count, and then all possibility of actual REM that night would disappear.

“Hello?”

“Is this Sara Michaels?”

“Yes.” Wishing she had checked the number on the screen, Sara answered cautiously.

“This is Robert Blackman with the Naples Daily News, and I wanted to speak to you about Dr. Marino’s acquittal.”

Shit. Sara sighed. “No comment.”

“Is it true you’ve moved to New Orleans?”

“Who told you that?” she asked, shocked. It sent shivers up her spine to realize they were watching her, tracking her in essence. Then in an attempt at recovery, hoping he would drop the issue, she added, “No, it’s not true.”

“No? But I know you’ve sold your condo and your mother’s house and quit your job. So when Dr. Marino moves to the West Coast, you’ll be going with him then?”

A shudder of disgust rolled over Sara. “No.” She hung up, shaking. It wasn’t over. It had followed her.