MERCY KILL

It deeply bothered Wren that she could remember most of Thursday and Friday but nothing to do with Wil or the texts between them. She thought about Friday at work. What kind of mood had she been in? She could recall nothing beyond documents she’d handled, work-related conversations she’d had with co-workers and that she’d gone for a walk during her lunch hour. Any anticipation or excitement she’d been feeling didn’t come back to her. She even remembered arriving home, probably minutes before sending Wil the text about supper, but nothing outside of that.

There were no incoming calls from Wil on either phone. Not even any payphone or unrecognized numbers that could have been him calling from anywhere other than home. She imagined him panicking at the last minute, begging Amie to let him stay and try to work things out. To call and explain that to Wren would probably have been beyond his limited emotional skills.

The last thought surprised her. She’d usually thought the best of Wil and made whatever excuses necessary in her head for him with barely any effort. To realize that what was filling her at the moment wasn’t shock or grief or sadness but a hot fountain of anger was a bit surprising.

She pushed off the sofa and flung open the balcony doors, striding out to the railing and glaring downward yet again. The grisly round stain stared back up at her through the branches and she clenched her teeth. Had she thrown herself down there over him? Was that what had happened?

She was repulsed by the idea. She’d never seriously entertained the idea of suicide before. She’d feared that things could end between them but she hadn’t suspected she’d not want to go on at all. The possibility that she hadn’t been able to envision a future without him shocked her deeply but more than anything she was disappointed in herself. Whatever she’d tried to do she was here now; alive despite the impossibility of it. If this was a second chance she had to make the most of it.