Dying Eyes by Ryan Casey Page B

theatrically.
    Cassy fixed her gaze on Brian. He moved in his seat, trying not to make eye contact with her. Was she still looking? Why did people do that?
    “What’s going on with you, man?”
    It felt strange, hearing those words. It had been a long time since anyone had tried to do anything other than brush his problems under the carpet. Did she know? Did she suspect something? He scratched at his arm automatically.
    “Just this case. We’ve been rushing ‘round for what‌–‌two days? Already it’s doing my nut in. Feel like we’ve got absolutely nowhere.” He took a larger gulp of his pint and focused on the door. His cheeks tingled.
    “No, I’m not talking about the job.” Cassy smiled as she dangled her pint below her mouth. “At home. What’s going on?”
    Brian shrugged. “Nothing. Nothing’s going on.”
    “Brian. You were off sick from September to December. You turn up smelling of booze every single day. What’s going on?”
    Brian almost took another sip of his pint, but sighed and placed the glass down. At least the booze smell trick was working. “Just Vanessa. My wife. Well, ex. I’m trying to, y’know, do the right thing for her and my boy.”
    “And what do you think is the right thing for her and your boy?”
    His hands weren’t shaking anymore, just lightly tingling. Brian folded his arms and looked away again. He was like an oyster, closing off from the world. It wasn’t often he got asked about these things. “I just want to get the divorce sorted and to prove to her that I’m fit to see my boy again. I just miss him.”
    Cassy took a small sip of her drink and diverted her gaze towards the bar. “Y’know I have a son?”
    “I didn’t know that, no.”
    Cassy cleared her throat. She avoided eye contact with Brian. “I was silly, really. Got pregnant when I was seventeen. Gave him up for adoption. Really wanted to keep him, but my dad wanted me to go to university and all that, and the kid’s dad wasn’t around to support us. It’s weird. It’s been well over ten years now. Sometimes I think I see him. I dunno.”
    Brian tried to catch Cassy’s wandering gaze. Her eyes started to well up. At least the conversation had moved from him to her.
    “Just work on building bridges with your wife, Brian. It’ll take time, but don’t give up. You have a son, after all, and I know you don’t like talking about what happened, but if you ever want to talk…”
    Brian closed his eyes. “I’m not fit to be a dad. My head, it’s…‌It belongs in the police. I’ve done some bad things, and I don’t expect her or him to forgive me. But what happened, I’ve gotta live with that.”
    Cassy bit her lip and averted her eyes. He knew she was preparing to ask him the question.
    “What did happen, Brian?”
    Brian smiled and stood up, stuffing his coat under his tender arm. “Maybe another time, okay? I should…‌We should get an early night. We’ll have forensics calling for us to see the body any day now, and we’ve got to properly investigate the surrounding area of the crime scene. Don’t want to go missing any vital pieces of‌–‌”
    “Brian.” Cassy shot to her feet. “If you ever want any company, you can always, y’know, sleep on the sofa. It’s not great‌–‌in fact, it’s pretty shit‌–‌but yeah. Just a thought.” Her cheeks were turning pink.
    “Thanks, Cassy. I appreciate that, but I’ll be okay. Now come on‌–‌there’s a cab outside with your name on it.”
    Brian’s breath frosted as he waved Cassy off. The taxi disappeared down the road in an unhealthy cough of engine fumes. He blew warm air against his fingers and walked into the 24-hour shop a few doors down.
    “Mr. McDone,” the Asian man behind the counter said. “The usual?” He reached for a bottle of Bell’s whisky.
    “Make it two,” Brian said, and slid a Gillette razor blade over the counter.
    The routine was growing all the more familiar: throbbing head, scent of