No, she said.

Why?

I’m trying to make a decision. Tell me what you remember.

So you told her. You remembered the speech at the wedding, you remembered coming home and watching it online over and over. Her face tightened into a scowl when you told her you were drinking. You told her about sneaking out the window.

To go and see Belinda, she said.

You shook your head. Just to go for a walk. To stretch my legs. To find a bar somewhere.

She looked like she didn’t believe that. And then?

And then I was back in my office.

Tell me about the shirt, she said.

What?

Your shirt. I checked the laundry and it’s not there. I can’t find it anywhere. She looked at the floor. Is it under there?

You thought about lying, but what was the point? Yes.

You hid it, she said.

Yes.

Then why not hide the knife?

Because—

She held her hand up. I get it. Because you didn’t know you’d done it. You found the shirt, but not the knife. That’s why I’m not calling the police, she said, because I know you weren’t in control.

It was time to ask her the question. What are you going to do?

I think the question is what are you going to do?

She stared at you then, and finally you got it. She wasn’t deciding whether or not to call the police, she never had been. Sandra was giving you another option, an option that, under the circumstances, shows just how much she still loves you. It was an option you were already in the process of taking, and perhaps she sensed that. You had humiliated her and ruined Eva’s wedding, you murdered a young woman, but Sandra was only thinking of you. She was going to allow you to decide what was coming next. Future Jerry, just know that in that moment you have never loved your wife more.

I just need a little time to figure it out, you said, the words slow and even, their unspoken meaning clear, and you never looked away from her and she never looked away from you. How about you take a walk to clear your head?

She said nothing for a few seconds. You’re sure she already knew what she was going to say, but the silence was appropriate. It gave the moment the final bit of gravitas it needed. Then she said, I can do that. How long do you need?

You needed twenty minutes to write the second note. Most of everything else was in order, it was just going to come down to the semantics. You had to choose what you were going to wear, and what kind of mess you were going to make. You pictured how long it would take to line some plastic trash bags around the floor of the office so you wouldn’t ruin the resale value of the house. It will be messy, but your office is where you want to do it. You pictured cutting the bags open, laying them flat, and hanging a couple of them on the wall. You pictured drinking one more gin and tonic, then perhaps a second, sitting in the office chair, the doubts, the belief this was going to happen, more doubts, the stereo off, no sound at all, then one giant sound. You’re not sure if you’ll be thinking of the girl you killed when you pull the trigger, or your family. You’ll know soon. You did some quick addition: twenty minutes to place the trash bags and twenty minutes to sit in your chair drinking your drink and coming to the end.

An hour, you said. I need an hour.

She stood up. She wasn’t crying, but she was close. Her mouth was shaking a little. You walked over to her, and you felt strong. She put her arms out and you stepped into them and wrapped your own around her and she sobbed into your neck and held you tight, and she felt like she’s always felt, warm and comfortable, and before Captain A ruined your life you would hug Sandra like that all the time.

I love you, you told her.

She couldn’t bring herself to say the words back. She couldn’t say anything. Then she was running out of the office and out of the house, leaving you alone.

Completely. And utterly. Alone.

You will never see another person, Future Jerry. Never talk to another person.

Since then you’ve been busy. You told Sandra an hour, but that didn’t allow for the Madness Journal entry, but thankfully other things haven’t taken so long. The suicide note was ten minutes. It took fifteen to tape a couple of trash bags to the wall, and there was a tarpaulin in the garage that you’ve ended up laying across the floor. The mess should be pretty well contained. You also have a pillowcase to put over your head to contain the splatter. Since then you’ve been writing and ignoring the phone that keeps ringing, because what could you possibly say to anybody calling? Everything is ready to go now, and these words on this page are now nothing but a stalling tactic. It’s time, Future Jerry, to put down the pen and conclude this messy affair. What will the bloggers say? The ending was predictable, maybe. From Jerry Grey’s first book it was obvious he would blow his brains out in his office.

Still stalling. Sandra will be back in ten minutes. The gun is on the desk. It’s heavier than you remember. It’s going to make a hell of a sound, but with the office door closed, nobody is going to hear it.

Still stalling.

It’s time.

Jerry stays sitting in the car as Hans makes his way inside. The front door of the house is adjacent to the garage, so when Hans opens it Jerry can hear the conversation through the wall. His instinct that the police have arrived early is proven to be correct. They introduce themselves as Detectives Jacobson and Mayor. He’s sure they are the same two men who drove him into the police station. They tell Hans he must know where Jerry Grey is.

“What makes you think I know?” Hans asks.

“Because we ran the number he called from the SIM card he purchased, and that led us to you,” one of the men says, and that’s why they’re here so early. Neither Hans nor himself, nor Henry for that matter, made that connection. Jerry figures he’s lucky not to be in the back of a patrol car right now. Then he figures that may still happen depending on what Hans says.

“Yeah, he rang me,” Hans says, “and yes I picked him up from the mall. He was confused and lost. I rang his daughter and told her he was safe. I was going to take him back to the home, but then she gave us some news to make me realize we needed to head to the police station.”

Jerry’s heart sinks at the idea of Hans turning him in. Carefully he opens the door, making no sound. The idea he is innocent is taking hold, and he’s not going to let these people take that away from him.

“So he’s here at the moment then,” one of the detectives says.

Hans laughs. “Sorry, guys, but you’ve jumped the gun on that one. When I told him I was going to take him to you, he hit me when we were stuck at the next set of lights and jumped out of the car. He ran across the road and by the time I was able to turn the car around I couldn’t find him.”

Paused at the doorway between the garage and the hall, Jerry considers what he’s just heard, then slowly makes his way back into the garage.

“So you let him go? That makes you a bad friend,” one of the men says, but Jerry is thinking the opposite. The fact Hans isn’t betraying him makes him a good friend. The best friend he could have right now.

“No, it makes me a good friend for not hitting him back.”

“You knew he was wanted in connection with multiple homicides, and you didn’t feel any civic duty to call us and update us?”