And then he felt his phone vibrating against his hip. If he’d already lost the most amazing thing he’d ever have in his life, why put himself through this torment? The idea that she was out there, living the life she had always deserved, sustained him.īut, of course, the voice had an answer to that, just as it had an answer to everything. The only consolation was that he knew she must be happy somewhere, and that their separation had saved her from a life with him. It had been so many years now, but he wondered where Sally was and what she was doing. Battles often make more sense from the sky. As with his memories of his father, distance had helped him understand all that. And because he believed he was undeserving of such love, he had slowly drunk himself into a man who was. He had loved her as deeply as she loved him, but the gift and receipt of love was a language with foreign grammar to him. The way Sally’s eyes were wide open to the sun, her skin luminescent, whereas he seemed unsure of it, as though a part of him were reluctant to allow the light in. Although they both looked happy, the signs were there.

She had tried so hard to help him, but in the end it had always been the drink he’d turned to instead.Īnd he could see that in the photograph. The feeling of failure was too ingrained to be dispelled with a list. Many years ago, in an effort to combat the self-hatred that plagued him, Sally had encouraged him to make a list: two columns, one for his positive attributes, one for negative, so that he could see for himself how well they balanced out. He pressed his hand to his chin, slowly rubbing the skin around his mouth, and looked at the photograph of him and Sally. It felt like there was an inevitability to him drinking.

And yet the idea of returning the bottle unopened to the kitchen cabinet brought a sense of despair. After all, he had resisted the voice in the past. The urge was stronger than ever, but he could survive this. The sad truth was that the bastard had more friends in prison than Pete had out of it. He was involved.īut what use was he? An afternoon spent investigating visitors to friends of Carter’s inside had proved fruitless-so far, at least. Last night he had been determined to forget about Neil Spencer, but that wasn’t possible now. Despite the fact that Pete had waved away Amanda’s comment, the killer’s description of his dream about Tony Smith had gotten to Pete. Seeing Carter always did, but this was much worse than usual. He had been staring at them for a long time.

The whisper man novel