Page 2 of Investigation of a Quest

“Yeah, I know.” He didn’t care that she’d recited his words back to him. He just disliked that she was so comfortable being honest about his truth when she hid from her own. “I’m glad work is going well,” he said instead, smoothing her feathers with the compliment. “And haunted houses sound fun. You’ll enjoy judging them.”

“I hope they don’t scare me too much.”

“You sur—” Eamon caught himself before he brought up the part of her life that she apparently despised because of his influence. She’d left the Bajka P.D. because she’d shot a homicidal barbarian, but her PTSD had somehow convinced her that Eamon’s nature had poisoned her morals. “You’ll be fine,” he corrected. “Probably the bravest of them all.”

“Probably.” She shrugged, a shadow flickering across her face anyway, and he wanted to lunge across the table, grab the darkness off her cheeks, and strangle it. This meek lunch date wasn’t his Isobel. She wasn’t some community volunteer who judged haunted houses. She was the one who rid the living of their hauntings. She was the brave soldier who marched on despite the death and destruction. She was the best of them, and he wanted to scream. This wasn’t his Isobel. This wasn’t his life partner. This was a half-person he walked on eggshells around, and Eamon had never once walked on eggshells in his centuries-long life.

Bel changed the subject, and they passed the rest of the meal with superficial small talk. When he paid the bill, she kissed him goodbye, and he finally released the smile aching his lips. He didn’t know what to do. He was failing her, and the longer she hid from herself, the more he feared nothing would pull her back from the numb abyss.

“Eamon?” a familiar voice asked as he emerged from the sandwich shop.

“Sheriff.” He slowed so as not to plow over the smaller man.

“Having lunch?” Sheriff Griffin asked.

“I was.”

“Is Emerson here?” Griffin’s eyes searched the restaurant for the detective who’d avoided him since she’d surrendered her badge.

“She was.”

“Oh…” Disappointment colored the man’s face. “How is she?”

“The same,” Eamon said, and then, in an uncharacteristic moment of vulnerability, he confided in the man Bel considered her second father. “Frustrating as hell. This isn’t the woman I love, and every day she slips further from our Isobel Emerson. She’s locking herself away, and I don’t know how to help her.”

“Walk with me.” Griffin nodded for him to follow, and the duo strode down the autumn-colored street. “I thought her quitting was a knee-jerk reaction to the shooting, but it’s almost Halloween. I’ve given her space, but maybe that’s not what she needs. Maybe I should talk to her.”

“It won’t help,” Eamon said.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because my words haven’t helped her. We love her too much. She knows we’ll justify the situation because we care for her, and she doesn’t want to hear that she’s innocent. She firmly believes she killed Triton in cold blood and that she crossed the line from hero to villain.”

“That’s just ridiculous,” the sheriff said. “She single-handedly saved herself, Gold, and those two young girls. What part of savior does she think spells murderer?”

“The one where she wanted to pull the trigger.”

“She didn’t want to pull the trigger. She had to, and she knows it.”

“She might know it, but she refuses to believe it,” Eamon said. “And I can’t convince her because she doesn’t trust my motives. I’m only a good man because she deserves it. If it weren’t for her, you would have someone far worse than Triton on your hands.”

“Don’t tell me something like that.” Griffin rolled his eyes.

“It’s the truth,” Eamon said. “I’ve killed more people than you could fathom, but Isobel demands better. She knows death comes easy to me, and she also knows that I would stand by her side no matter her sins. She could become the worst serial killer to walk these United States, and I would find a way to justify her actions. I would protect her until my dying breath, even if she became a monster, so when I tell her that killing Triton wasn’t murder, she doesn’t believe a word I say. She isn’t stupid. I would do anything to shield her.”

“But I’m the sheriff,” Griffin said. “I uphold the law, so why would my talking to her not work?”

“Because you love her.”

“So?”

“And she’s clinging to her guilt, so when you assure her that she did nothing wrong, she’ll believe you’ve followed my lead. She’ll assume you’re justifying her murder because you love her too much to arrest her.”

“That’s a load of bull. If Emerson crossed that line, I would arrest her.”

“But what about the grey areas?” Eamon challenged. “Sure, you’d stop her if she became a serial killer, but that’s not the issue. This is about what happens in the grey. Morally, she might falter, and how far would you go to justify her actions? Because from where I’m standing, I trust you’d play mental gymnastics to protect her.”

“I…” Griffin fell silent as he contemplated Eamon’s observation.