When Jasper was four, not long after his father left, a man broke into the tiny house he shared with his mother. Jasper's mom had gone next door to bring an ailing neighbor a meal, leaving him napping in the home's sole bedroom. Awoken by the sound of the front door being forced open, Jasper wandered out of the bedroom towards the clatter, imagining his mother accidentally locked herself out of the house. He remembered most of the story from her recounting it to him when he was older, a second-hand recall of events he'd had firsthand knowledge of. But in his own memory, there had been a towering man with a thin body, hollowed eyes, and pock-marked skin.

The man hadn't expected Jasper to be there. He shoved the young boy back into the bedroom and then into its tiny closet. With a gravelly voice he told Jasper to stay there and so Jasper spent the next unknown period staring at his mother's modest collection of shoes. He was probably only there fifteen minutes or so before she came home and screamed his name, but to four-year-old Jasper, it might as well have been fifteen hours.

Now, sitting in a dingy room in a dingy police station, he was that little boy all over again. He could leave the room but also, he couldn't. He could tell them everything he knew or suspected, but not really. He was trapped for a short time that seemed like forever, and his impatience with the situation was growing.

"Goldie and I had our differences. You ever disagree with your family? It's normal."

"But in your case," Detective Ryan, a man in his late thirties with an enviable beard said. "The person you had differences with was murdered."

"Not because we disagreed on the value of carbon neutrality, I can assure you of that."

Detective Garcia, gripping her clipboard like it would explode if she let go of it, gave a sharp intake of breath. "Are you saying you know the reason she was murdered?"

If you don't want to be honest, answering a question with a question was always a good strategy. "When did I say anything remotely like that?"

"You are so sure she didn't die because of a quarrel with you, and that's because you know why she was killed."

"That's a huge stretch. Aren't you supposed to be better at this?"

"You know something. Or someone," she said. "You have an idea as to why someone would be motivated to kill your stepsister, only you won't share that with us. Were you romantically involved with Goldie?"

The concrete walls closed in. Jasper staring at his mother's shoes, the only light coming from a dim crack under the closet's door. "She's my stepsister. I've known her since she was in middle school. No, we weren't romantically involved. Jesus Christ!"

"It's a long-standing fan theory," Ryan told him, as though he wasn't already well acquainted with that trash.

"Seriously, fuck all of her fans and their asinine theories. We weren't blood related, but we regarded each other as brother and sister. Since day one."

Ryan wrote something down on his own clipboard. "What about Tam Martin. How long have you been with her?"

"Since never days ago. Tam is a co-worker. She can barely stand to be in the same room with me much less date me. You won't solve Goldie's murder by watching EpiGolds." He glanced at his watch, a high school graduation present from his mother that he wore on the same wrist as Goldie's friendship bracelet. "How long is this going to take? I have plans."

#

The detectives must hold a grudge against him. It didn't seem logical, but here they were dragging on this interview like as soon as they ended it, the world would be thrust into an eternal night. They made him go over the whole day of Goldie's death. What had happened at work, when had he left, where did he go, what frame of mind was she in when he last saw her, who was she with last, as far as he knew.

As far as he knew wasn't far at all. He'd left in the afternoon and Tam had been wrapping up her work, getting ready to leave around the same time. After that, he had no clue. He'd gone home, pissed away a few hours, then went out on a date and pissed away a few more. He hadn't talk or texted with her. There'd been no reason to.

They asked for the name of the person she was involved with, since he claimed it wasn't him.

"I've been informed that she was seeing someone. News to me. She's been so focused on Lucre, honestly, it's hard to imagine she was pursuing anyone."

"So, she never mentioned someone special?" Garcia asked.

"It couldn't have been too serious. She would have told me if she had fallen in love."

"Maybe she didn't think you'd like them."

"I haven't liked most of the people she's dated, and it never mattered to her before."

"Tam Martin said Goldie wanted to keep her personal life under wraps."

"Sure, but she always slips up and I always find out about it." He needed to get out of here soon or he was going to be late. He scrutinized Detective Garcia's severe brow line for the dozenth time. "Did we go on a date, like maybe a year or two ago?"

Detective Ryan snorted and Garcia scowled. "No."

"Are you sure? Because when I saw you the night...the night Goldie died, you seemed like you expected me to know you somehow but—no offence—I wasn't in the mood to care if maybe we'd slept together once upon a time, not with..." He cleared his throat. "Anyway, now that I see you again, you maybe are a little familiar and I'm sorry if I was shitty to you or something. I'm a shitty person and therapy has yet to cure me, so don't take it personally."

"We never dated. Your stepmother recognized me from a café near her home that we both have frequented. Maybe you remember me from there too."

"No, that's not it." He sat back and stared at her, but the connection wouldn't come. "Guess you have one of those faces."

"Maybe so."

He kept his gaze on her, but his attention panned far away, to a drawer in his bedroom dresser that now held a box. A box with secrets gifted to him from one of Goldie's obsessed fans. Secrets that weren't his. "You have five more minutes to drill me with your pointless questions before I get the fuck out of this depression era torture chamber."

#

He'd factored in traffic and the uncertainty of parking availability by Tam's choice of meetup locations to make sure he arrived when he wanted to. He'd beat her there. That was the goal. Be lying in wait. This shit between them had to end. It was too much, having to wonder what happened to Goldie while navigating this back-and-forth cryptic fuckery with Tam. Truth needed light. Based on the last four hours spent with Garcia and Ryan, it seemed obvious that cops could not be relied upon to crack this case.

It had to be him. Goldie needed it to be him.

He was going to strip back every deceit and deception until he knew who had killed Goldie and why.

He found a parking spot half a block from the café, checked for Tam inside and out to make sure she hadn't arrived early, then retreated to wait in the shade of the café's awning near the building's front corner. Based on the location of her apartment, he guessed she'd arrive from the north end, or possibly from the alley to his left. Either way, he'd be ready.

Pressing himself back against the building, he studied the stretch of sidewalk leading in Tam's most probable direction and waited.

Heat lulled him. Minutes passed. The hour neared. Time moved ahead but also backwards and Jasper found himself walking in a dream again. Dream closet, dream time. Three noises all blurred together—the caw of a crow from the building's eaves, a car revving its engine across the street, a woman's muffled scream.

It took forever in dream time and seconds in reality, for him to distinguish the scream from the other sounds. And then he moved, fast but also impossibly slow, homing in on the sound, and then processing the visual that went with it.

A man in a gray t-shirt wearing a dark ski hat in the middle of the summer turned away from Jasper and bent over a prone figure, a woman. Tam.

He moved faster. Hollered at the man. His shout wasn't the only one. Another customer sitting outside near Jasper had heard Tam's screams as well. That man jogged alongside Jasper, two impromptu superheroes running towards danger.

The ski hat villain had mere seconds to make his escape, but he was too preoccupied kicking his boot into Tam's stomach to notice he was being approached. Jasper tackled him around the shoulders and threw him off Tam, both of them rolling to the side. Rage like a waterfall, Jasper's fist met the man's face. His hat went flying, but the villain was not ready to give up. He took the punch, then grabbed Jasper's arm, slamming his elbow into the pavement. He used that momentum to gain back his feet.

Temporarily stunned by the throbbing in his elbow, it took Jasper a moment to steady himself and rise. By then, his café sidekick was in pursuit of the assailant. He glanced at them running away before turning his attention back to Tam.

"Tam," Jasper laid his hand on her face, turning it up towards him. A lump had begun to form on her right temple. "Tam, wake up."

He waited for her to do as he instructed, a small crowd of a dozen people gathering around them, everyone oohing and ahhing. This town loved its spectator sports.

His gut pulled like taffy. Tam would open her eyes, or she would never open them again. She knew what happened to Goldie or she knew nothing. She tolerated him or she despised him.

He brushed his hand over her hair. A low groan and a fluttering under her eyelids. When they opened, he stared into them and saw fear.

She tried, with the elegance of a newborn foal, to back away from him. "No!"

"Tam, it's okay, he ran off."

She continued to struggle, pushing feebly against his chest to keep him away.

"You hit me!"

She might has well have put a bullet through his head. "No, I stopped the person who hit you. You're confused because you took several blows to your head."

Jasper's brave sidekick came back up the alleyway, holding onto his side and breathing heavily. "He ran fast and I lost him. I'm so sorry."

"Damn it."

Tam looked around her and then settled on the man who'd tried to help. "Who are you?"

"I'm Brian." He offered her a little wave with the hand not clenching the stitch in his side.

"Brian, what happened?"

"I was drinking an ice coffee when I heard something in the alley. This guy," he pointed at Jasper, "heard it too and we ran and found a man attacking you. Your friend punched him, but dude had skills. He hiked himself up and ran."

Tam moaned and slumped against the side of the building, but the fear had subsided from her eyes. "So, I was being followed."

"Don't worry," Brian said. "The police will be here soon. I'm sure they'll catch that asshole."

Jasper snorted. "Super confident that will happen." He scrutinized the bump on Tam's head. "Can you stand?"

She brought a hand up to her forehead and winced. "Probably."

"Good. Then we need to get out of here."

"What?" Brian eyed them both in alarm. "The police are on the way. And she should leave in an ambulance."

"I'm fine," Tam said. She clamped a hand onto Jasper's shoulder and used it to steady herself. They rose together. When she wobbled, he caught her around her waist, careful to avoid the area where she'd been kicked.

Tam took a step forward. "Why do we need to leave?"

"The man who attacked you," he whispered, hoping the gawkers couldn't hear. "I know who he is. And I'm pretty sure he doesn't work alone."

______

The mystery man who attacked Tam... who do you think he is? How does Jasper know him? Will he attack again???

I'm having a lot of fun hearing from you all. Keep the theories coming!

PS: Tomorrow (March 21) is my birthday. I am accepting virtual birthday cake. Tam was going to throw me a party but she's... a bit preoccupied at the moment. So instead, all would-be partygoers (that's you!) are asked to hug the people you are able to hug and give yourself the time and space to relax and, hopefully, feel happy. Xoxoxo