The Matter of Abbygale Neely by D. Lane Sharp

Author:D. Lane Sharp
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: urban fantasy, suspense, science fiction, pacific northwest, portland, fiction fantasy, fantasy action adventure, fiction fantasy urban life, suspense supernatural, portland oregon author
Publisher: D. Lane Sharp

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Sarah’s body lay lifeless and cold on a metal table.

A rolling cart of her personal items was next to the table. Evidence.

Bruce noticed a pink negligee neatly folded, blood stained. He’d never seen it before. Next to it was Sarah’s cell phone, her wedding band, the clothes she had worn yesterday.

He looked back to her face.

It wasn’t her, but it was her.

It was for real.

She was dead.

He couldn’t not believe it now.

His eyes burned with the image of her lifeless face. When he closed them, he could still see this final image of her, branded forever on the corner of his mind. He knew he would never forget it.

He turned and vomited violently into a metal trashcan. He heaved until he was empty and heaved some more.

Detective Doughty stood next to him, bobbing from foot to foot. His shift was long over, but he didn’t feel like he could go home.

“Let me take you home, Mr. Denman.”

Bruce, still bent over the trashcan, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I don’t want to go home.”

“Is there anywhere you want to go? I’ll take you.”

“I want to go back to yesterday.”

“C’mon,” Doughty said. “Come with me.”

Bruce followed him. He followed Doughty’s back out of the Coroner’s office out onto the street. He followed Doughty’s back down the block and into a low lit bar.

He followed Doughty’s back to a bar stool and sat next to it.

“What’ll you have?”

Bruce shook his head. He didn’t want anything.

“Two burgers, Larry, and two beers.”

“And whiskey, neat,” Bruce said.

Larry, the man behind the bar, nodded. He didn’t say anything, but he reached behind the counter, pulled out a bottle of whiskey and set it and two glasses in front of Doughty.

Doughty poured. Bruce drank.

“You have family?”

Bruce shook his head. He took a large swallow. The whiskey burned down his throat. He didn’t have anyone anymore. Sarah was his only family. No one was left.

They ate in silence. More specifically, Doughty ate, Bruce drank. When Doughty was done with his meal, he offered once more to take Bruce somewhere, but Bruce declined.

Doughty slid his business card with his cell phone penned on the back. His son had a basketball game, and he was running late for it. Lisa would give him hell if he missed another one.

“Call me for anything,” he said to Bruce.

To Larry, Doughty handed a fifty-dollar bill and asked him to call a cab when Bruce was ready to go home.

“You got it, Mike,” he said. “He gonna be ok?”

“You hear about what happened in Belltown this morning?”

“Yeah.”

“His wife.”

“Ah.” Larry nodded soberly. “I’ll keep an eye out for him. No problem.”

“Call me for any reason,” said Doughty. “I owe you one.”

“Nah, never. You’re always good with me, Mike.”

Doughty slid his arms into his coat and patted Bruce on the back before leaving the bar.

Doughty hesitated at the door and looked back. It didn’t feel right to leave him.

He thought about what he’d say to Lisa, and how she wouldn’t care, and how that would make him think a little less of her.

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