Darkness peering by Alice Blanchard

is, if all life is sacred, then do mosquitoes end
up in heaven, too? Or just cats and dogs and things we like?"
    Hughie laughed drunkenly. "I don't have the faintest fucking idea."
He laughed until he nearly choked, and Nalen had to pat him on the
back, then his shoulders slumped in a defeated sort of way and he said,
"We're gonna nail this guy. Right, Chief?"
    Counting out his money, Nalen pretended not to hear.
    Hughie turned to McKissack. "We're gonna find him, right,
McKissack?"
    "Don't worry, Hughie," McKissack said with a wink. "The chief here
could look up a bull's asshole and give you the price of butter."
    "That's what I thought." Hughie nodded confidently.
    "I guarantee you we will nail this guy," Nalen said, and in the silence
that followed, you could hear an evidence bag drop.
    "Look, look, look." Hughie passed out, his nose squashed flat against
the tabletop, gold flecks buried in the pink Formica.
    "I'll take him home," Nalen said.
    Vera hurried over. "Uh-oh, he's dead." She giggled. "Quick, check
his pulse."
    "Hughie?"

    "Come on, partner." Nalen helped him to his feet, and he and
McKissack supported him between them. People were smiling. Waving
good night. "See that, Chief?" Hughie said. "You're a lot heavier
than you look, Boudreau." "You see it?" "See what."
    "Her eyes? Did you see her eyes, Chief?" "Shut up, Hughie." "You saw
her eyes, too, didn't you?" "You're skunked." "You saw her eyes,
too."
    IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, NALEN FELT A CAT WALKING
    across the foot of the bed, only they didn't own a cat. He bolted
awake and yanked his pistol from its holster, heart hammering.
    Melissa D'Agostino was seated at the foot of the bed, mattress bobbing
as she restlessly shifted her weight. She looked just like her
pictures--dark hair, green eyes, that endearing pie face. She sat
perched on the end of his bed as if somebody had told her to wait
there. She didn't seem to want anything from him.
    Nalen realized he was dreaming. He tried to wake himself up, heart
slamming around in his rib cage. He couldn't move his arms. "Wake
up," he told himself, then felt two dead fingers on his forehead.
    His eyes popped open. The room was checkered with shadows, vague forms
appearing just beyond his range of vision. His arms and legs felt
weighted with bricks. He struggled to sit up. Through slitted eyes,
he saw a dark figure flit out into the

    hallway. Fully awake now, he reached for his .38 and leapt out of
bed.
    The floor was cool. Nalen headed down the hallway in a combat stance,
head snapping at the slightest sound. Hands shaking.
    Thwunk.
    He spun around.
    "Dad?" Billy came out of his bedroom, rubbing his eyes. He reminded
Nalen so much of the sleepy kid who'd once crawled into bed with them
because he thought there was a wolf in his closet. "Dad, what's
wrong?"
    Nalen stared blankly, then slowly lowered his pistol. The boy's
expression did not change; he seemed unafraid, still half asleep. When
he yawned, Nalen could see the velvety deep part of his throat.
    "Nothing," Nalen said without smiling. "Go back to sleep."
    nalen's stomach turned sourly as he belched up the taste of the chili
dog he'd had for supper. All his men were out in the field, so he was
stuck doing phone duty. Several evidence bags were lined up on the
desk before him--the dozen or so shards of green glass; the matchbook
from Dale's Discount Hardware, no fingerprints; the length of red
thread, perhaps from the girl's missing friendship bracelet; and the
small piece of paper torn in the shape of Italy, some gummy substance
on one side from where it had wedged itself into Melissa's sneaker
tread.
    Now the phone rang and he picked up. "Police department, how can I
help you?"

    "Hello?" came the hesitant, high-pitched voice of a teenage girl. "I
have some information?"
    "Go ahead, I'm listening."
    "About the girl who was murdered?"
    "Yes?" He leaned forward to scribble the time and date in his logbook.
"Go on," he