Salt

Chief Gilbert gawked at me.

"What did you say?"

Gripping Ambrose's hand tighter, I didn't look away. I'd come here on a whim, a sudden rush to bring justice to Ciara's name. She deserved better than to be deemed an 'accident', I was pretty sure there was more to this... because there just had to be.

I dug through my pocket and produced her fully-powered phone. The diamond seashells cast a cerulean glow upon his face, shimmering and glistening like the body of water it once co-inhabited.

"She must have revisited the campsite before..." I snuck a glance at my friend before I resumed. "It was hidden, almost like she had reason to."

He pressed the start button, staring at the home screen for a beat before he spoke again.

"Were you able to get into it?"

"Yeah. I can note down the passcode," Ambrose piped in, quickly taking the pen when it was offered by an officer on his right. We both looked up, to see Fletcher grimacing tenderly at us. Ambrose returned it ever briefly before he started writing. "She uses – used – the same couple of passwords for everything. Here."

A flicker of emotion flashed across Mason's face until he regained his usual professional composure. But I think it was gratitude. Even though nobody really 'got on' with Ciara Ford, she was still a person that had been brushed aside because of a damn toxicology report. Besides, he was a man on the right side of the law, he was going to work furiously to make certain all details regarding that day were precise and true. His career and reputation all relied on hard facts and making tough decisions, whether they proved to be right or wrong, in the end.

He must have known some circumstances regarding that day were just downright bizarre, I was relieved it wasn't just Ambrose and I who thought so.

Taking the sheet of paper from Ambrose, the man of the town studied it thoroughly.

"So, what made you go back to the campsite?" When I didn't say anything, he peeked up at me through smoky black lashes. "That wasn't supposed to be a stumper, Ashley. What's going on with you?"

Wring my neck and call me Shirley, I thought. How could I phrase anything anymore? I hadn't engaged in conversation with an adult that didn't involve shouting and crying in pain for so long. To be considered, to be heard, to be shown sympathy... it was all rather upsetting.

I'd been in the cold, drowning (literally) all on my own. No one had saved me, nobody had reassured me that all of my feelings and thoughts were valid. In the pinnacle of the icicle, I'd dived so deep in, to bring anyone else with me was selfish and terrible. You can drown alone, or be brought back to shore with stronger arms.

For more than a month, I was frozen solid. In the same place I'd always been. Reliving and dying, over and over again. And nobody could pull me to the surface in time.

Like he had whacked me with a sledgehammer, the ice shattered, and I unloaded everything. And I mean, everything. Meanwhile, Ambrose and Fletcher stayed in the room, roped in finally.

After I unveiled what I knew and had experienced so far; the blurry watercolor, the letter and ripped shreds of my dress, how scared Ciara had been that fateful day... I was waiting on the moment Ambrose would drop my hand and call me out for ignoring his sister's obvious pleas for help.

But it never came.

Meeting his eyes, they shined, brighter than the liveliest color. His fist closed over mine, stronger and more hopeful than I could ever.

"Wow, Ashley, I..." Clearing his throat dryly, Mason addressed his desk and notes. "Is this what you were trying to tell me at the diner?"

I nodded. "So, what now? Are you going to whisk me off to the loony bin?"

To my surprise, he laughed, smile wonderfully able to fuel thirty years of this rotten station.

"Of course not. Look, let's not pussyfoot around the topic; you drowned. It's bound to construct some trauma, so you've created a shadow to place blame on. Something to hate till you get all the answers you need and, in due time, you'll find them. You may need prompting or you could recover the memories yourself. There's no telling how long it will take, but there's no deadline either. If you don't find it, eventually it will come to you."

I exhaled. He put it simply, but I understood the undertone too. This was going to be a battle. I'd fight and I'd fight until my broad sword would either snap or rupture the heart of my enemy. One of us would be left standing and, so far, I'd spent most of my time awake on my knees.

They bled when my blood was soiled, marked by death and anger and disdain. I could cover it with the appearance of stars and twilight, but the scars were there. Not only on flesh, but in the barrens of my mind.

How long? How long could I fight before the idea of a catatonic state seemed like perfect ignorant bliss?

"What if I..." Licking my lips because he was watching me so damn closely, I tried not to stutter. "How will I know what's real?"

As if I could ever expect anything else, he shrugged, albeit limply.

"Maybe you could call someone?"

The only other person I'd told was... Jesse.

True, he'd been there for me when I woke up. He held me, warmed my frozen mind and heart, whispered sweet nothings I wasn't sure he made. I hadn't seen him in over a week, and he clearly hadn't finished work yet, since I left him a note telling him to call.

He was my support so far, but what if all this time I had it wrong?

I glanced at Ambrose, then back to Mason.

"I think I have–"

A shrill frequency reverberated through the room, as my zipped up pocket vibrated. Pulling it out, I suddenly felt like I had conjured the devil.

Stepping away from the three men, I left to the lobby, accepting the call.

"Hello?"

"Ashley, is everything alright? I just got home and you left me a letter. Did something happen?" His voice was sweet, calm but panicked. Even just the way he said my name made parts of me tingle and hunger for more.

Nobody warned me that being friends with your ex was a waiting game of torture. Most people break-up and don't make up, they just move on and find their happiness elsewhere. But we had the same circle, my friends were his too, and while we had our awkward moments, I'd never hated him once. He made it hard to do so. When you're so perfect and passionate about life, it's a struggle to hold a grudge.

But I also knew when my love should be celebrated. And right now, he wasn't reimbursing me for all those months spent pining.

I had Ambrose. Who was smart, perceptive, appreciated that I appreciated him and I didn't have history with.

But I was just a girl. I knew much and yet very little. I wanted Ambrose. I wanted to want him.

I needed Jesse.

And, uncertain which is worse or better, that was all the confirmation I required.

I surrendered every time.

"I had a fight with Mom, it's okay. It wasn't important."

"Ash, with you it's always important."

I forgot how to breathe. It was selfish moments like these that reminded me why it was impossible to let go. No matter the toxicity (if any), the fights at three in the morning, the tears we triggered in each other, the beautiful and haunting 'I love you's exchanged hours before the end.

I had them imprinted, forever inked into the depths of my soul.

But still, this was no time to be enamored. There were bigger things at stake than my relationship status.

"I'm sorry, Jesse, this is a bad time. Can we talk later?"

On the other end, there was stunned silence. I had to end this now, I couldn't sink in.

"Please?"

"Um, yeah, sure. Talk to you then, I guess." His voice was muted, deep, and raspy. We'd been in a fifteen month relationship, I was always aware when he was feeling down. And I'd been there every time.

But I had to be strong. I had to do this. Not just for me, but anybody who could likely be targeted. The monster hiding in the dark had to be buried before we dug anything else up.

So, I hung up.

Almost immediately, I had the urge to call him back and apologize. It took all of my will and patience to leave my phone in my pocket. Some wounds weren't worth bleeding over until they'd taken time to scab. We'd pick at them soon enough, maybe too soon.

Wiping my snotty face, I took a large breath before I went back in.

With my statement taken, Ciara's mobile handed in and the promise to drop off my own evidence tomorrow, we were done for the day. It was nearing nine at night, Ambrose and I'd been here for slightly more than two hours, but it definitely felt more like two years.

I was leaving with my Styrofoam cup of iced tea, and Ambrose adding cream to his coffee when Fletcher caught up. Capturing my bottom lip between my teeth, I dared to think he was here to compliment my honesty.

"I can't believe you. I told you to retrace your steps, to get into the head of your attacker and you come here with all your evidence? Are you fucking stupid?"

My jaw dropped, I tried picking it back up but I stumbled when I should have thrown up my arms.

"I thought we were friends, I thought you valued my opinion."

"I do!"

"Then why didn't you warn me before you came bustling in?"

"I don't know, I–"

"Everything I said was to help you, to make sure you were taking control of this, controlling your future. I can't help you now, do you know that? I'm 'too close', no matter what I do or say to defend my authority and reputation, they'll believe I could tamper with scenes, that I could withhold evidence just to protect you. So, I'm off it. I can't ever throw my two cents in since I'd be interfering. Congratulations, Ash, you officially don't have me on your team." Scowling, it broke me apart. We didn't argue often.

Fighting back the tears, I combatted his glare with one of my own. Fletcher was the most honest person in our circle, but I still never expected this. He was my oldest friend, I'd run into a burning building for him, so it hurt that he couldn't understand my reasoning.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking about you. You know, on the account of my being attacked and drowned. Somehow, I had the conception that your friend dying was more important to you than a singular case." His nostrils flared, prepared to jump in, then I held a hand up. "You can have dozens of chances in the force, Fletch, but you could at least try to imagine the fact that I might never have woken up. I'd be dead, gone forever. I don't know about you, apparently, but I think that stark reality would make me nervous."

Thrusting my cup to his chest, he staggered, as I whirled around and walked back to Ambrose. The poor boy didn't get a word in before I pulled him out of the station, racked with the fear that I'd lost someone precious.