As the evening wore down people began disappearing. Checking the back of the building and the music faded out and did not return. Arla will still need to pack up her stuff, I figured. Yet when I got back I found Chelsy cleaning up and everyone gone. “Where’s Arla?” I asked. “Oh, she said she needed to run but that she would leave her stuff up and maybe come back to play some tomorrow.” “Thanks!” I hurled over my shoulder as I bolted towards Arla’s home.

  Ahead I could see Arla had reached her door. As I called out to her she started and frantically tore her door open and bolted inside. I mentally called to a nearby spirit to stop the door from being able to close. The door swung quickly, slamming into its doorframe and to Arla’s surprise it popped back open. She glanced at me striding toward her and closed it again and again. “Arla, stop.” I said calmly as I stopped a couple steps from her door. The panic faded from her eyes, replaced by steely anger. “I owe you nothing!” she spit at me. “I didn’t say you did. I am here as a watch officer.” Shock was chased off her face by suspicion, the panic returning. “You can’t use the law to force anything on me!” Her voice climbing shrilly high. I kept my distance, cocking an eyebrow. “When have I ever forced anything on you, Arla? I think you know or at least suspect why I’m here. Can we step inside and talk or shall we lay everything out here in the street?” Her jaw muscle stood out as she clenched her jaw. I could see the internal fight. She did not want to let me in. What’re you hiding Arla? What did you do? I thought.

  “Can’t close the damn door anyway.” She muttered as she walked into her home, her shoulders sagging. I followed her in, shutting the door behind me and followed her down the hall and around the corner where she sat on her knees in front of a low table. Without looking at me she tiredly asked “So why are you here?”

  How to proceed? Perhaps the direct route is best, it worked with Crai. “Why did you kill Garen?” She sighed and shook her head. A tear ran down her cheek. Got you, I thought. “I didn’t mean to.” She wrapped her arms around herself. She shook a bit then looked at me, her eyes narrowing. “I am sure he was either a necromancer or was in league with a necromancer! Why else would his dog be undead?” “You killed him because you thought he was a necromancer?” Arla was nodding. “The guy that helped you start your business?” Her face hardened. She stared at me incredulously. “What???” She yelled. “He HELPED me!? Helped ME!!” her voice climbing in volume and tone. She leaned forward, raising up “He helped HIMSELF!” she screamed, slapping her hand down hard with a loud crack on the table that had to sting but if it did she didn’t show it. “He held that loan over me! Used me and when I was stupid enough to think he loved me he PASSED ME AROUND! He offered me to his friends like some kind of PET!”

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  My skin crawled. “He took away the things I loved! Forbid me to play music, to entertain! Then he poisoned them, making me do them for him, threatening to cast me and my daughter out, all the while strutting around the town, adored for being such a wonderful person.” Choking she sobbed. Her little girl ran from a back room to her mom, hugging onto her, it seemed, as small as she was that she was trying desperately to heal the wounded creature before me. I watched, speculation forming in my mind. “I had his child.” She stated softly while she stroked her daughter’s hair lovingly.

  My mind reeled. A disaster unfolded in front of me getting worse every time I thought it was as bad as it could get. She turned her tear-stained face to me, her sneer turning feral. “Yes. I wanted him dead! I hate him! I hate myself because of him! I wanted to kill him myself! I dreamed about it!” She dropped her hands to her side. Her crying daughter held her even tighter, squeezing her like if she could only hold her mom tight enough it would fix everything.

  Arla looked at her hands. “But I… I didn’t mean to.” She said softly, almost to herself. She sounded surprised. “I went into the mob. I just wanted to hurt him. Get in a punch, a kick or a bite. He wouldn’t know.” She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. “He wouldn’t know. He wouldn’t be able to hurt us for it. The mob it… it was so much. The noise. The pushing. I was lost. I was… I just wanted out! Suddenly he’s falling on top of me. I couldn’t be under him again. I couldn’t” She had curled herself around her daughter and was sobbing, rocking back and forth. “I slammed my hand up, as hard as I could. His head turned and I felt a crunch through his jawbone. His neck. I broke it.” She said, almost like she couldn’t believe she did it. She looked at me, a crazed look in her eye “He deserved to die.” She stated with a sniffle “Why…” Hiccupping she sobbed, wailing “Why do I feel like this??” I didn’t know what to say. “Flesh is torture. Release this poor spirit!” cut across my mind, demanding. At this moment I couldn’t disagree with him.

  I wanted to tell her it would be alright. I wanted to avenge the pain done to her but the vengeance was done and the pain was still there. I reached out to touch her hand, to do anything to comfort the miserable creature in front of me. She snatched her hand back as though scalded. “Don’t touch me!” she shrieked then added in an angry hiss “You don’t get to touch me! He made me give you your room. Told me that I had to give you whatever you wanted! Every time you came to me, I knew you were here to demand my services, to remind me I was his beast.” I reeled as though struck. She cradled her hand eyes distant, lost. She continued softly “You can’t touch me.” I stalked down the hall, mind ablaze. Yes there was a necromancer out there, but a monster had died. A monster that had permission or perhaps even collusion, my mind supplied, horrified at the thought that the man I worked for may have been involved in taking advantage of Arla. As I staggered out of Arla’s apartment into the evening Arla’s hiccupping sobs seemed to follow me.