Page 82 of To Have and to Hold

I launched past ambulances, firemen, cops, police tape, arms, shoulders, bodies. Fuck danger, the risk of secondary incendiary devices; I had to know. Knox’s curses followed me but faded once I unleashed my first punch. I shoved a guy who dared to step into my path. The other one held a hand to his jaw, head still ringing with my swing.

My throat hurt and metallic fear burned against my tongue. I was losing the ability to understand how raw I was, how unhinged I became the closer I fought to where she was. Eventually, the halting hands stopped and I found space inside the foyer, the aftereffects of smoke prickling and watering my eyes, or that was how I argued it.

Knox’s hand landed on my arm—

“Don’t, man.” I spun around, mouth and hand shaking as I rammed it into his chest. “I will never forgive you for preventing me from going down there.”

Knox grabbed my arm, and instead of shoving it back to me, he held it so hard my bones crunched. “I’m the one who told them to let you through.” He gripped me harder. “And I’m going to be the one to stand beside you when you take those basement steps. Hear me?”

I opened my mouth to say something, but couldn’t. I tried once more to speak, only managed wheezes of air.

“Come on,” Knox said, releasing his grip.

My legs still worked, and they responded to Knox’s command. We rounded the steps, and after a brief discussion with the fire marshal, put on paper booties and latex gloves. I went through the rigamarole with rigid ease, even though my insides were trains colliding into massive disaster.

We were told it was safe to descend. I navigated the steps smoothly because my attention never left the staircase as Knox negotiated with the fireman. His steadiness was no longer at my back because I was four, five, six steps ahead.

No direction was needed on where to go after that. A group of crime scene technicians stood in a crowd to the left of the stairs. A few bulbs were lit from the ceiling, but the camera flashes were so much brighter.

If I stood there much longer, I wouldn’t be able to make it. I’d get to remember Emme how she was: smiling, giggling, kissing, crying, all the expressions that imprinted on every surface of my heart long ago. Her almond-shaped eyes, not only beautiful but exuding the kind of intelligence that meant she’d spar with every argument that came her way. The quirk that appeared in her top lip every time she was up to no good. The taste of her. The feel of her.

I would erase all of that if I were to take one more step and replace it with the ice of death. I wouldn’t be able to recall her face without this new vision spreading its truth and tainting the memories.

One technician, outfitted in the plastic white uniform of forensics, said, “I’m not sure you should be here.”

But he stepped aside enough to create an opening into the small metal door of the crawl space. Another technician was inside, bent over and clicking their camera.

A bare foot swam into view, the sole dirtied with the grit and dust of having to navigate without shoes or socks. It was all I registered when Knox came up beside me. “He’s with me, Carl.”

“This is far enough, don’t you think?” Knox asked me.

My mouth was too dry to swallow, but I attempted anyway. I shook my head. “I owe it to her to be there.”

“Okay,” he said.

I took another step, more technicians noticing me and drifting out of the way for a moment. Evidence preservation meant I couldn’t get much closer, but if I bent down enough, I could see. I would understand that she was lost and there would never be another chance for her. No fights, no choices, no more memories. Emme had everything taken away, and it was now I felt just what that took from me. My life was going to be lived without her, not simply as a parallel beside hers, but for good, forever. Our breakup adopted an entirely new consequence, and I wasn’t sure I could handle that realization quite yet.

I put my palms on my knees and peered in.

“You know him?” the technician beside me asked.

Knox was quicker with the processing. He said behind me, “Him?”

“Yeah, in there. Looks like he’s been dead a few days.”

I didn’t rise, but leaned closer, using the top of the crawl space as leverage. The ping of the camera and the resultant flash caressed the flaccid face just as recognition dawned.

Staring out past my shoulder with eyes milky in death, was Ed Carver.

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