Page 18 of Carter

Chapter eight

Carter

The shadows on the ceiling from the cars driving by usually put me to sleep. Tonight, they’re keeping me awake.

No.

It’s not the shadows doing it. It’s that cop.

Detective Nash Bennett.

He’s too nice. It doesn’t make sense. It isn’t adding up. Why is he so interested in Ryan’s case? No one ever was before. Not even when it first happened. Now, suddenly, this guy is putting most of his time into it? It doesn’t seem right. It can’t be right. There has to be an ulterior motive here. But what?

Ryan’s case didn’t make headlines, and he wasn’t famous or notable, at least not to anyone but me and a few of his friendsthat accepted all too soon that his killer wouldn’t be caught, so it’s not like this detective would get recognition for solving it.

Maybe there is a new incentive on the police force to solve old murders. Maybe he’ll get a bonus for solving more cold cases than anyone else—but he said he isn’t doing this for the numbers. He could be lying. Cops lie all the time.

But he isn’t rushing me. He is taking his time, getting to know me. Today, he did nothing more than ask me about Ryan. He wanted to learn about him. As a person. Someone trying to solve the most murders wouldn’t do that, right?

Would it matter?Doesit matter?

It sucks, yes, but despite his reasoning behind solving the case, Ryan deserves to have his murderer caught. And not to say that Detective Bennett will be the person to do it, but he’s trying. He’s putting more effort into it than anyone else has. And he has a better chance of figuring it out with me helping him. Because I am the only witness. The woman that was being assaulted was never found. She never came forward. The man who stabbed Ryan was wearing a mask over his face, so even the cameras didn’t help. It was just me. Me and Ryan. And Ryan is no longer here, so it’s up to me to help.

Which is why I will, no matter how bad it hurts.

After work, instead of turning left toward the coffee shop, I turned right to go home. I got a whole block before I realized I was making a mistake, and I jogged back to meet the detective.

I knew it would hurt, and that was scary. And it did hurt, but not enough to stop. Because it’s nothing compared to what Ryan went through. I have to be strong for him. No one else will. I’m the only one left. And he would do it for me.

I make sure my alarm is set before rolling over, hugging my pillow, and closing my eyes. It takes a while to fall asleep, but I’m determined not to feel like shit tomorrow. I’ve had too many days of feeling like shit lately. I need a good one.

My alarm goes off, waking me. I snooze it, then lie in bed for a moment, contemplating getting up. I turn my head toward the corner of my room, as if something is pulling my attention. The boxes.

Ryan’s boxes.

After he died, I couldn’t afford the apartment we were in on my own. I’ve gone back and forth between being mad about it and grateful. There were so many memories that it would have hurt to stay. But I lost a lot of our stuff because I couldn’t bring it all here. Wouldn’t fit. Then I decided it was better off because the less I saw of him, the easier it would be to move on. That was a lie. Every day still hurts as if it’s happened all over again.

I throw the blankets off and put my feet on the hard carpet to get up and go to the boxes. They’re labeled in my scribbled handwriting, and I take the one off the top that says bedroom.

I put it on the ground and pop the top. The faintest scent of Ryan hits me, causing my chest to constrict. His clothes are in here. A box of my favorites. I couldn’t keep everything, I didn’t have the space, but I kept the ones he loved the most.

I lift a sweater from top. It was the softest thing he owned. Light grey with black speckles. V-neck. I bring it to my face and inhale. For a split second, there’s nothing but calm, until a shuddering breath leaves my lungs. I leave it in my lap, then dig through the rest. More shirts. A pair of sweatpants. One pair of slacks that he was wearing when we met.

On the bottom is a jewelry box that I haven’t thought about since I put it in here. I pull it out and open it up. Ryan didn’t wear a lot of jewelry but he loved this box. He found it at a craft event. It’s handmade. Beautiful. Inside, are a few rings,a friendship bracelet he got from his brother when he was in middle school. And a silver chain that Ryan wore every single day.

My fingers tremble as I reach for it, and I swear when my fingers graze it, a shock is sent through me. A warning? I’m not sure. But I hold it in my hand and allow myself to just feel.

This is what I need to keep going. This is the reminder I need to keep doing this.

My alarm goes off again, making me jump out of my skin. I turn it off this time, shove everything but the necklace back into the box because I can’t handle any more of this today.

I wish I could wear the necklace as a reminder, but I fear it’ll only make me break down at the most inconvenient times. So I start small. I leave it on the end table beside my bed. Then I get ready for work.

My hours fluctuate day to day and week to week, which is why I sometimes end up working late on Fridays and can’t attend group. Upon being hired, I told Eileen that I would need Tuesday nights off no matter what, because I needed to be at that group consistently. I needed one night to be consistent. I’ve only worked at the library for two years. It’s not what I wanted to do, not what I was in school for. But then Ryan died, and I needed to do something that made me feel close to him.

Books.

He loved books. Had I had this job when we were together, he’d have been thrilled, probably spending more time with me there than at home. I like to think he somehow knows this is where I’m at and is happy for me.