Hard Case Crime: Songs of Innocence

by Aleas, Richard

  She’d done all that, and then she’d pulled out our copy of Final Exit and followed its simple, rational, fatal instructions.

  My cell phone rang. I saw on the readout that it was Susan calling.

  I hesitated, then turned the phone off.

  As I climbed down onto the tracks, I thought about Dorrie, about Jorge Ramos, about Candace Webb. All dead because of me. So was Douglas Harper, of course, and by my own hand. So was Miklos. So was Miranda, my Miranda. So were others—too many others.

  No man should lose count of the number of people who have died because of him.

  The tracks were well-lit, dry, cleaner than I’d have expected. A thrown-out soda cup, a few candy bar wrappers. Not too much worse than the platform itself. I sat down in the well between the two narrow rails, rested my head on one, draped my knees over the other.

  I’m sorry, Dorrie, I whispered. I’m sorry.

  I hadn’t meant to end up this way, counting the dead, apologizing to the ghosts of women I’d loved.

  But here I was with apologies to make and so little time to make them.

  The track extended into darkness in either direction. I closed my eyes. When the light came, I didn’t want to see it.

  How had this happened? How?

  I’d been a decent, normal person once. A good person.

  I thought I heard a rumble, felt the slight hint of a tremor in the rail.

  I’d been an idealist once. What had Julie called me? An innocent. A goddamn innocent.

  The tremor built, and I felt a fluttering breeze on my cheeks.

  I thought: I was a human being once.

  But then we’ve all been things we aren’t anymore.