[Dalyia]

the dark surrounded him,
sucked at him like mud when the

dream shoved him out of sleep. His breath whooshed out as he broke
the surface, floundered his way to the air. His skin was clammy with
sweat as he fought his way clear of blankets.
The scent in the air was unfamiliar—cedar, stale coffee, some underlying
tone of lemon. Then he remembered he wasn’t in his Baltimore
apartment.
He’d gone crazy, and he was in Alaska.
The luminous dial of the bedside clock read five forty-eight.
So he’d gotten some sleep before the dream had chased him back to
reality.
It was always dark in the dream, too. Black night, pale, dirty rain.
The smell of cordite and blood.
Jesus, Nate, Jesus. I’m hit.
Cold rain streaming down his face, warm blood oozing through his
fingers. His blood, and Jack’s blood.
He hadn’t been able to stop the blood from oozing any more than he’d
been able to stop the rain from streaming. They were both beyond him
and, in that Baltimore alley, had washed away what had been left of him.
Should’ve been me, he thought. Not Jack. He should’ve been home
with his wife, with his kids, and it should’ve been me dying in a filthy
alley in the filthy rain.
But he’d gotten off with a bullet in the leg, and a second, in-and-out
punch in the side just above the waist, just enough to take him down,
slow him down, so Jack had gone in first.
Seconds, small mistakes, and a good man was dead.
He had to live with it. He’d considered ending his own life, but it was
a selfish solution and did nothing to honor his friend, his partner. Living
with it was harder than dying.
Living was more punishment.
He got up, walked into the bathroom. He found himself pathetically
grateful for the thin spurt of hot water out of the shower head. It was
going to take a while for the spurt to carve away what felt like layers of
grime and sweat, but that was okay.Time wasn’t a problem.
He’d get himself dressed, go downstairs, have some coffee. Maybe
he’d give Mayor Hopp a call and go down to take a look at the station
house. See if he could be a little more coherent and brush off some of
that first impression of a bleary-eyed moron.
He felt more like himself once he’d showered and shaved. Digging
out fresh clothes, he layered himself into them.
Picking up his outdoor gear, he glanced at himself in the mirror.
“Chief of Police Ignatious Burke, Lunacy, Alaska.” He shook his head,
nearly smiled. “Well, chief, let’s go get you a star.”
He headed downstairs, surprised at the relative quiet. From what
he’d read, places like The Lodge were the gathering spots for locals.
Winter nights were long and dark and lonely, and he’d expected to hear
some bar noise, maybe the clatter of pool balls, some ancient countrywestern
tune from the juke.
But when he stepped in, the beautiful Alaskan Rose was topping
off coffee, much as she’d been before. It might’ve been for the same
two men, Nate wasn’t sure. Her boy was sitting at a table, coloring industriously.
Nate checked the watch he’d set to local time. Seven-ten.
Rose turned from the table, smiled at him. “Chief.”
“Quiet tonight.”
Her whole face lit with a smile. “It’s morning.”
“I’m sorry?”
“It’s seven o’clock, in the morning. Bet you could use some breakfast.”
“I . . .”
“Takes a while to get used to it.” She nodded toward the dark windows.
“It’ll lighten up for a while, in a few hours.Why don’t you have a
seat. I’ll bring you coffee to start you off.”
He’d slept around the clock, and didn’t know whether to be embarrassed
or delighted. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten
more than four or five patchy hours of sleep.
He dumped his outer gear on the bench of a booth, then decided to
make an effort at community relations.Walking over to Jesse’s table, he
tapped the back of a chair. “This seat taken?”
The boy took a slow, under-the-bangs peek, and shook his head.
With his tongue caught between his teeth, he continued to color as
Nate sat down.
“Pretty cool purple cow,” Nate commented, studying the current
work-in-progress.
“Cows don’t come in purple ’less you color them that way.”
“I heard that. You take art in high school?”
Jesse’s eyes rounded. “I don’t go to school yet ’cause I’m only four.”
“You’re kidding. Four? I figured you for about sixteen.” Nate eased
back, winked at Rose as she brought him a thick, white mug and poured
coffee into it.
“I had a birthday and we had cake, and a million balloons. Right,
Mom?”
“That’s right, Jesse.” She laid a menu beside Nate’s elbow.
“And we’re having a baby really soon. And I’ve got two dogs, and—”
“Jesse, let Chief Burke look at his menu.”
“Actually, I was going to ask Jesse to give me a recommendation.
What’s good for breakfast, Jesse?”
“Short stack!”
“Short stack it is.” He handed the menu back to Rose. “We’re fine.”
“If that changes, you let me know.” But she was pink in the cheeks
with pleasure.
“What kind of dogs?” Nate asked, and was entertained with the exploits
of Jesse’s pets throughout breakfast.
A plate of pancakes and a charming young boy were a much better
way to start the day than a recurring nightmare. His mood improved,
Nate was on the point of calling Hopp when she came through the door.
“Heard you were up and around,” she said, and tossed back her hood.
Snow showered from her parka. “You look some sturdier than you did
yesterday.”
“Sorry I faded on you.”
“No problem. Got yourself a good night’s sleep, decent breakfast,
good company,” she added with a grin for Jesse. “You up for a tour?”
“Sure.” He got up to pile on his outdoor gear.
“Skinnier than I expected.”
He looked over at Hopp. He knew he looked gaunt. A man dropped
more than ten pounds from a tuned-up one-sixty on a five-ten frame,
gaunt was the usual result. “Won’t be, I keep eating short stacks.”