Sleeping and Waking

She was sleeping. She was dead. It didn’t matter. She didn’t move and he didn’t move. The room was a messy diary detailing her night. Small, red button looking pills spilled out on her nightstand. Pictures of her naked with someone he’d have to find. A gel filled sleep mask hanging from the drawer of her nightstand. He wanted to take it off and hand it to her. Help her sleep. The forensics team moved around him like he was a piece of furniture. She was dead.

“Suicide?” His partner.

He walked out of the room and a forensics guy with tweezers and a plastic bag took his place. In the hallway outside the apartment he leaned against the wall and reached into his pocket. Where were his smokes? Where was his lighter?

“We need to find out who the guy in the pictures is, right? Should we show them to the boyfriend?”

“Whose boyfriend?” He checked pants pockets for his lighter.

“The victim’s. Linda…Linda…” His partner flipped through his notepad.

“Bower.” He checked his back pocket.

“No,” his partner closed the notebook, ”Goldstein. Where’d you get Bower?”

“I-I don’t know. Where’s the husband?” He checked his coat pocket again.

“Downstairs. He’s with the family. Do you want to show him the photos? Do you think he saw them already?”

He looked around. Hallway. A hotel. No. Apartment building. Linda was sleeping inside. She was dead.

“She couldn’t stand it.”

“Who?”

“Linda. Bower. She couldn’t live with him knowing. She couldn’t stand to have her husband look her in the face and forget everything before. She couldn’t live being judged for just that moment.”

“Goldstein?”

“Yeah. Right. You seen my smokes?”

“Didn’t you quit a year ago?”

“Right. Yeah. Let’s talk to the husband.”