I busted into the station door, my black, polished shoes squeaking on the vinyl floor. Everyone’s eyes moved towards me; the white-LED lights illuminating the surprised expression of everyone in the room.

“We did it guys,” I said, a smile plastered over my face. “Jefferson was found guilty.”

Everyone’s mouths were wide open, supposedly dumbfounded from my words. A beat past until the building eventually erupted into applause, scattered cheers and whoops emerged from parts of the crowd. Many people walked up to me, patting me on the back and offering even more condolences. I acknowledged their presence, nothing more. People thought that finding Eve’s killer would help seal the hole of emptiness. It helped a bit, but it was still there.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by a different set of words. “How? I thought we didn’t have enough evidence,” A police officer asked as he walked up to me, causing Mark to head over to interject.

“You know Oliver? Elijah’s detective friend?” He said, gesturing to me. The police officer nodded in response. “He found the murder weapon. After looking through the crime scene for, like, the sixtieth time.”

My mouth shot open. “Oliver was the one who found the weapon?” I asked. I guess no one felt like notifying me about this crucial information.

“Yeah. I thought you and Oliver were good friends? Weird no one felt like telling you.” Mark’s words started to soften. “Especially with your position in this case and all.”

            “I’ll be right back.” I said, face turned away from them as I headed towards my office.

I fell down onto my chair, spinning it to face forward. I lifted my elbows onto the desk and put my head in my hands; the thoughts in my brain giving me a headache. Why didn’t anyone tell me? Why didn’t Oliver tell me? How did Oliver find the weapon? I looked through the crime scene millions of times. I slowly lifted my head, realizing what I had to do. My hands instinctively jolted to the drawer, rummaging through it as though they had a mind of their own. I quickly pulled out a piece of loose leaf paper and a black pen. I slammed the writing utensil to the sheet but abruptly stopped. Where would I begin? This man was the reason I could go to sleep a little easier at night. The reason I didn't have to worry about Becca or me being next. The reason my daughter has finally received justice. The reason Jefferson would rot in prison for the rest of his life. How could I express my gratitude to him in words? In a letter? After considering all of this for a while, I decided to write him as though he was just a friend. Because that's what he was: a friend.

Dear Oliver,

Why didn’t you tell me about what you did? Now that I think about it, you always have been quite modest. I still would’ve liked to know. Anyways, enough with the scolding, I didn’t want to do this in person because I know how much you hate the sappy stuff but thank you, Oliver. You know how much I wanted to find my daughter’s killer, and you are the reason he was prosecuted. Rebecca and I owe you our lives. Without you, Jefferson would’ve gotten away with it. The judge was this close to dismissing the case. I still don’t know how you found the weapon. You always joked about how you were the better detective, and I guess you were right. My 15 years of work seems pretty futile compared to you. I searched that crime scene just about a million times and completely missed it. I’ve never missed something that crucial. I will spend my entire life trying to find ways to make it up to you. How about Shooters tomorrow night?

Until then,

Elijah Brown

I looked down at my letter. Not my best bit of writing, but it will have to do. Oliver will appreciate the lack of flawlessness. He always found my incompetence rather amusing. I stuffed it into an envelope and licked the dried gum arabic to seal the note. I wrote his name on the front part of the letter. Pretty useless, but I always enjoyed adding that finishing touch. I jolted up from my chair and headed down the hall to Oliver’s office.

“Oliver!” I yelled out, knocking on his door with my knuckles.

There hasn’t been one day since this case was opened where Oliver wasn’t at his office. I decided to open the door without an invitation, expecting to find him dozed off on the small empty part of his desk. To my surprise, he wasn’t there. Not only that, but his usual disheveled desk was completely cleared off. As I looked around, I noticed his desk wasn’t the only thing out of the ordinary. His whole office was empty. No chalkboard, no huge pile of papers, nothing. The only thing that caught my eye was the envelope on his table, addressed to me.

I need to leave. Elijah is going to know.

I swept the contents of the top of my desk into a box, shoving the lid on it.

I curved my neck to the side of the door, looking for a potential witness. No one was in sight. I ran down the hall, towards the exit. The items in my box moved around rapidly, going up and down with each of my strides. I slammed into the door, opening it up to the parking lot. My car was right in front of the door. The trunk popped, awaiting me to load it up. I brought the box to the car, placing it on top of the four other boxes. I turned around, running the same exact route as before.

I looked around my usually distressed room. It looked as though this room had never been touched by anyone ever before.

Good.

I grabbed my phone, my keys, and my wallet and turned to face the door. I gave my home of five months one last look and said goodbye forever.

I jammed my key into the slot, turning it rapidly. The car jolted up immediately, giving me the cue to press the gas. I tried to put my foot down. I knew I didn’t have much time. But I couldn’t help myself. I felt strange. An unknown little feeling eating me up inside.

Guilt.

I had never felt this way before. Never in my 25 years of living have I had even the tiniest appearance of regret. Despite this, there it was. It would be there for a while. I even if I could forgive myself for what I did to Elijah, he would never. The feeling would stay for as long as his hatred.

You shouldn’t.

I repeated to the words to myself in my head, eventually starting to recite the words out loud. But I couldn’t help myself.

I leaned into the back of the car and opened the top box. I quickly grabbed a piece of paper, placing it on the arm rest to the right of me. My hand went down into my pocket, pulling out a black pen.

Dear Elijah,

I knew from the beginning you would be the one to figure it. Everyone else was to incompetent or undetermined to get even slightly close to uncovering the truth. It was always going to be you. I never expected this to go on as long as it did. The lack of evidence against Jefferson was quite the bummer. I had to throw something in that would seal the deal. I know it doesn’t help, but I did consider you a friend. In my own twisted way. If I knew you before, I don’t think I would’ve done what I did. I have to go. I’ll see you soon.

Your friend,

Oliver

I was right. I had searched that crime scene a million times. I was right. I would’ve never missed something so obvious. Emotions flowed through my body. Anger, sadness, frustration: all developing into one feeling. Only being able to release in one way. My cheeks became soaked, the excess moisture dripping to the floor. I soon followed, on all fours with my head loosely facing the ground.

How could I have been so stupid?

Why was I able to trust him so easily?

What should I do?

Was there anything to do?

I analyzed these questions for a while, never being able to find a veracious answer.

‘I’ll see you soon’

The words rung in my head as though Oliver had a megaphone pointed straight into my ear, showing no signs of stopping. I had to get out of town. The small town of Ely, Nevada was no longer safe. Not for Rebecca. Not for me.

“Becca!” I called out as I opened the door.

“I heard the good news,” She said, coming down the stairs. She leaned in for a hug.

“No. We need to leave. Does your sister still live in California?”

“What is your problem? Can’t we just celebrate this win?” Becca asked, clearly annoyed.

“You don’t understand. Jefferson didn’t kill Eve. Oliver did.”

            “Oliver? Oliver Louis? Your friend from work?” Her voice started to waver. “What are you talking about, Elijah? He’s been in our house, he’s eaten dinner with us.” She collapsed into me. “No. He’s your friend.”

Her chest pounded against mine, her screams growing louder by the minute.

Her cries began to waver, soon being replaced by small sobs. “Becca, we need to leave,” I helped her off; her body still slightly limp. “Go pack a bag.”

 ˜˜

My key slid into the ignition, pressing on the gas slightly to warm up the engine. Right when the car was ready to go, Becca came rushing out the door. I jolted out of the car to pop open the trunk. Rebecca gave the bag to me, and I sloppily threw it into the back.

I ran to the front of the car, jumping into the driver seat. Rebecca soon followed, landing to the right of me.

“How do you know it was Oliver?” Becca asked quietly, still in shock from the information I told her just about half an hour before.

I grabbed the letter from out of my pocket, hanging it to her open.

She took a few minutes to read, putting her hand over her mouth as she approached the end.

She folded the letter up, handing it to me as she said, “I called Emily. She said her and Rob would be happy to have us stay with her.”

I slammed on the brakes; the car rolling to the top of the driveway. Car still moving to a stop, Rebecca jumped out of the car, gulping down air as if it had been denied from her lungs. I turned the keys out of the knob, slowly releasing the hold of my seatbelt. I headed towards the truck, grabbing hold of two suitcases to bring into the house. Becca and I approached the front door, soon being met with warm greetings. I could see it in Rebecca’s eyes. They were stained red from tears, having cried for the whole car ride. The couple soon released us. They turned around, indicating we should follow, and brought us to a cleared-out room.

As soon as we arrived in the room, Rebecca collapsed onto the bed, her face turned down. I considered comforting her. I brought my hand towards her back but decided against it. She wanted to be left alone.

I headed to the attached bathroom, undressing myself in order to get cleaned. I had showered just the night before, but I felt so filthy.

The warm water hit my face in a matter of seconds, washing away the grief and guilt for a moment, but it soon returned. Along with worry.

My legs fell out from under me; my bottom hitting the cold tiles below me. My body became encompassed by the warm and the cold, each of them fighting to overpower the other.

For one of the few times in my life, I broke down in tears. My mind shot back to just hours before when I broke down in Oliver’s office, but this was not the same. Instead of shock, these were cries of grief and betrayal. The tears blended in with the water that continued to crash down on my face. They eventually gathered in a stream of liquid and followed each other down the drain. I wrapped my head in my hands, wishing the thoughts in my head could exit my body with the tears. Alas, they continued to linger.

What if Oliver followed me? He knows about Rebecca’s sister. It would be easy for him to put the two together.

No, he won’t.

He couldn’t.

Oliver would be stupid to come to California, the most populated state in America. He would be caught in a matter of seconds. He would barely be able to get his foot over the state line.

Right?

Music loud, top down, the wind on my face. The ride was even more pleasant than I could’ve hoped. The guilt passed; the hole being filled with it usual self-satisfaction.

I didn’t feel bad about what I did; it was who I did it to. If I had only met Elijah before. Before everything. This whole scenario could turn out much different. I could be at the bar with him. Drinking an IPA while beating him in pool.

My mind went back to the memorable moments we had. Eating dinner with Becca. She made the best lasagna I have ever had. The taste returned in my mouth.

My eyes lingered in my memories; the long empty road surrounded by an endless desert drifted into the distance, soon being replaced by the walls of Elijah’s dining room. I looked down towards my lap and saw that I was no longer in the driver’s seat of my rental car. I was instead in a wooden chair, Oliver to my left and Rebecca standing to my right.

“Would you like another piece?” Becca asked, her hands wrapped around a large pan filled with the savory smell.

I brought my plate up and she carried a piece over to me. I thanked her and began to eat my second helping.

“Wow, you must’ve been rather hungry,” Elijah said, a deep snicker reminiscing in his throat.

I nodded. Him and I talked for a while until I noticed the absence of Rebecca. I asked Elijah where she was.

“She went to grab Eve,” he replied. “Lasagna night is her favorite.”

“Eve?”

“Yes, our daughter.”

On cue, a little head of blonde bobbled up towards Elijah. He bent down to lift her up and sat her down on his lap. A small piece of food was already cut for her, so she began eating.

I didn’t notice Rebecca’s return until her voice filled my eardrums. “Are you alright, Oliver?” She asked, concern in her voice. My eyes follow her hand which landed on my forearm. I jumped at the touch.

This isn’t real. This is not my memory. I met Elijah far after Eve’s death.

What I felt was more real than even a memory. It was what could’ve been.

My eyes soon became gathered with the image of my present time. My car had begun to drift into the left lane, but I quickly turned the steering wheel.

I looked down to notice my hand shaking. The same one Rebecca had touched to comfort me. I didn’t deserve those words of worry, but I had received them none the less.

I missed her. I missed Elijah.

I do plan to see them soon.

A fitting song pulled me out of my lingering thoughts, reminding me of my destination.

California Dreamin’