I Shouldn't Be Here
The strangest thing about the day I was murdered will always be coming home to my family after it was all over. Finding everything exactly the way it should have been when I walked into my front door was all too much.
My daughter Emma dropped her Tom Tinker in a heap to give my leg one of those hugs she hands out like the sweetest candy that, at that moment, was so strangely tasteless. My wife called out from the kitchen over running dishwater to welcome me home but life itself was so surreal it stole my tongue. I must have been silent longer than I thought since Rose thought fit to pull herself from the sink, poking that pretty pale face of hers around the kitchen door frame.
“Machiavelli?” It snapped me back, clearing the messy fog that had all but blinded me on my walk home. “Is everything okay?”
“It is.” I knew she could tell I was full of it. “I just—” I missed a beat, giving my head a quick shake to rattle the rest of the dizzy off. “I think I need a moment.” In the end I'd need a lot longer than that.
My Number's in the Pages
Immortal: Forced. Not asked for, and not wanted.
Private Investigator: Everyone's got dirt. He's got a shovel.
Little Black Book
Those Old Tunes
Peggy Lee - Black Coffee
- I'm feelin' mighty lonesome
- Haven't slept a wink
- I walk the floor
- And watch the door
- And in between I drink
- Black coffee