Murder Mountain by Stacy Dittrich

that, I diagnose myself with every terminal illness on the planet for the next month. Of course, my condition just screams therapy, but since I had no use for therapists, I tried to deal with it on my own.
    After I’d started on my second glass of scotch and had begun to feel its effects, I opened up and told Eric everything. When I was done, he just looked at me and said nothing.
    “Hello? What’s the matter?” I snapped, a little irritated by his lack of response.
    When he finally did speak, he did so slowly, saying, “I think it’s pretty clear that what happened to Boz today had something to do with your case. And for you to sit there and pretend that you don’t know for sure is pure bullshit.”
    I thought I liked his lack of response better, because what he did say moved me from being somewhat irritated to being plenty irritated.
    “I’m not pretending anything! We know absolutely nothing that links Boz to my case. I’m being realistic. You’re being an ass!” I was getting angrier.
    “Do you realize that would have, not could have, but would have been you today?” Eric was clearly angry, something I was not used to.
    “It entered my mind, but I refuse to dwell on it. If I did, you would be putting me in the nut house right now. I can’t think about it; it makes me sick. Not to mention that I’m overwhelmed with guilt, thinking that should’ve been me, not Boz, and happy because it wasn’t!” I started to feel the tears coming again.
    “You better dwell on it.” Eric wasn’t letting up. “You better dwell on it hard. I don’t know what you’re getting yourself into with this case, but it sounds to me like these people are downright dangerous!”
    I cut him off. “You were the one who told me the whole story was ridiculous in the first place! Remember? At Selina’s game? You said I was ridiculous for believing Hensley then, but now, I’m foolish for getting mixed up with dangerous people! Which is it Eric? Do you believe all of this or not!” I yelled.
    “Just relax,” he said, trying hard to keep his voice calm. “Yelling at each other is not going to help. All I’m saying is watch yourself. Did you call the FBI today?”
    “I told you I’m not calling them until I have a lot of these facts confirmed.” I thrust my jaw forward stubbornly.
    “You had a cop get his god damn head cut off today! What other confirmation do you fucking need?” He was shouting again.
    “Eric, please quit yelling at me. I really can’t take this tonight. I have no evidence to give the FBI. If I call them right now, the first thing they’ll ask me is if we checked into arrests Boz has made in the past, did he piss anybody off, blah-blah-blah. We’ll have to get those answers, or significant evidence linking his murder to my case, before they’ll help. They won’t come down on a hunch. You know that.”
    “Okay. You win, but like I said, watch yourself. If it starts to get too out-of-hand, I’ll call the FBI myself.” Eric got up off his chair and came over to sit next to me. He put his arm around me while I laid my head on his shoulder. “I love you,” he said quietly. “I worry about you. The girls need a mother more than anything. I didn’t mean to yell at you, but thinking about that being you today scared me to death.”
    We spent the rest of our evening in silence. I barely remember walking up the stairs and into our bedroom. I was so emotionally exhausted, plus clobbered by two and a half glasses of scotch, that I think I fell asleep taking my shoes off.
    When my alarm woke me up, I felt like I’d just been asleep for about fifteen minutes. I was undressed and under my sheets, though, a clear indication that Eric had put me in bed. It took a few minutes for the events of the previous day to come crashing down on me, almost bringing me to tears before I even sat up. I thought about the day ahead and truly didn’t think I could bear it, but knew I had to.
    By the time I got to work, which