No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change.
You just come out the other side...
Or you don't.
― Stephen King
I stopped by the scene of Sarah’s murder to pay respect to her memory.
It was surreal.
I was standing on the ground where my partner, Sarah, was murdered, as memories of that day began to flood my mind.
Ironically, it was the same month, same weather, same unbelievable silence despite the wind.
I allowed the scene to unfold inside my head. And then I was back there, reliving the day.
"Why is it so quiet?" Sarah had asked me.
I glanced around at the empty vista and deserted trails. There was nothing, nobody but us.
"It's October, a cool day and no campers or visitors, I suppose."
"But no birds too?" she wondered, smiling.
I shrugged, unable to give an answer as the sun came out from behind a cloud. That's when a red rose bloomed on her forehead and she crumpled to the ground.
I dropped to the ground out of instinct as the sound of the report reached my ears.
The vividness of the memory was shocking. It was more a vision than a recollection.My body shuddered and breath came in gasps.
And then just as suddenly as it came, the vision ended.
I was back in the present, standing in the same place where I had been that day. The flashback, if that's what it was, was over, leaving me shaken and puzzled.
I actually shook my head as if that would clear my thoughts.
I tried to puzzled out what I just recalled.
Why the delay between the impact and the report?
How far away could the shooter have been, or was that the sound of a second shot―intended for me? If so, he missed, because I had dropped to the ground.
Having this realization now made no sense. Why didn't I see that before? I questioned myself.
Maybe the shock of her death produced a brain fog and it never got sorted because I shut down.
Or, it never got sorted because I ran.
I felt sick and distraught, both sensations welling up in me at the same time.
How could I do that―abandon her―forsake my duty because of fear?
I had been pacing aimlessly by the boardwalk and now began to feel faint. Trembly and shaky, I sat down on a slab of black rock at the edge of the feather grass.
Did I block the memory of that first bullet, not wanting to hear the sound again?
I shut my eyes hard to keep the tears from coming and held them tightly shut until the feeling subsided. When I opened them I glanced at the cliffs above me and and then suddenly I saw it―a bright glint near the edge.
Without thinking I twisted sideways and rolled behind the outcropping. I crawled on my belly toward a scrub bush to my left and glanced upwards.
There was nothing now―but I saw it―a momentary flash of light in the sun that caught my eye and was gone. I knew it was a gun barrel and I was in the cross-hairs .
Then it dawned on me.
Ever since I came back, he had been following me.
I was a marked man in a dangerous game.
We were stalking each other