To be clear I’d said nearly a decade ago, “You haven’t been reading any secret files on my computer.”

Fierro seemed generally confused as he pulled the unremarkable sedan into a parking spot on the corner of Chautauqua Lake’s retro-fitted main street. Warm lights and the smells of dinner and good clean fun emanated from the cluster of prefab building emulating a Swedish village

“Why do you ask”, he said stepping out the car in a black full length wool coat, wool cap, and dark scarf that would most certainly find its way into Sorell Quinn’s wardrobe. There was even the walking stick but this was for a far more nefarious purpose.

“No reason.”

We walked purposefully from the car towards the shopping center but instead of walking into one of the establishments we continued through an alley between the buildings and kept walking through the back lot and out into the woods.

I followed Fierro who had etched the path in his memory. It was only a few minutes until the woods gave way to the darkened shadow of the Chautauqua Town Hall. The building sat at the end of a paved drive, it had an old world charm and even more old world security.

“Alright then”, I said feeling like the real life Luther, “This is what I do now.”

With that Fierro used the side of the walking tick to break the window. The glass shattred on either side. I’d worried about getting through without leaving any fibers but these coats would be burned later. Climbing in was not a graceful affair and we both made it in without spilling a drop of blood.

Using flashlights I followed Fierro down to the basement. The smell of old paper and mold reminded me of my days as a Post-doc sifting through documents in church basements.

We split up scouring the room for records, we ended up meeting in the middle where a cabinet was labeled with files from 1943-1957.

“Maybe we should burn the place down”, I said, “What if we miss something or someone notices what we took.”

“That’s arson, it’s a crime Emile.”

“So is breaking and entering.” I remind him.

We each took a drawer flipping through the files, Fierro paused more than I did. Each name or file connected to a memory or person he may have known.

I was glad my fingers danced across the name first.

FIERRO, ADI

I pulled open the yellowing folder and spread out the stiff brown documents. I hadn’t expected the police report to be in there, but there is was. I set it aside and Fierro slid out the death certificate before I could even glance at it.

“Is that it?” I’d asked

He nodded.

He set the certificate down and turned his attention back to the folder. When he wasn’t looking I peered at the death certificate angering at the cause of death.

Blood lost.

Which meant it was entirely possible when Roger DeLune strangled, stabbed an threw him into the quarry…he may have still been alive.

I turned to see Fierro quietly reading the file, his eyes were darkening and his entire posture had gone intense.

“Fierro ?”, I asked

He closed the file and peered into the darkness. Then he suddenly turned on his heels and ran up the stairs.

“Fierro”, I called but had enough sense to gather the documents and set the drawers right. When I went to grab the folder I realized what he’d been looking at. It was a blurry over-exposedd black and white photo if a bloate han...belonging to a body, “No. no. no”

I gathered everything up and ran up the stairs and out through the window. I ran through the woods trying to find my own way.

When I made it back to the shopping center I saw Fierro going through the trunk of the car. He was breathing hard and out of breath.  He kept rooting around until  he found what he was looking for. I stepped up, threw the documents in the car and snatched the shovel away from him.

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked,

“I have to know Emile.” He said.

“No you don’t”

“I do”, he said and both our eyes glanced at the coroner’s report laying on top of the file and that one blurry photo. I turned it over.

“Fierro, stop this”, I said no longer seeing the eyes of my patron but of a young man on the edge who just weeks earlier had learned he was a father.

“You don’t understand Emile.”

“Oh, I understand. But you swore the past was behind you.”

“I have to know what’s buried in at grave Emile. Am I…is this…”

“Fierro.”

“Why am I here Emile?”

“Why are any of us---“

“For godaskes Emile”, he said, “You know what I mean.”

“You are human Addison Fierro.”, I said , “The how and when  are complicate but none of us know why we are here, but we carry on. The why isn’t important.”

“You can’t say that.”

“Fine then. You are a father now Fierro. That’s why you are here. You are my best friend that’s why you are here. Isn’t that enough?”

“I need to know what’s under there.”

“No you don’t”, I said, “You need a drink.”

He set the shovel back in the car and peeled off the gloves.

“Promise me you won’t ever think about this again. Look me in the eye”, I said in the intervening silence.

It took a moment but je looked to me but he didn’t make that promise, his eyes met mine an instead of opening his mouth he closed the distance between us. His mouth was warm against the cold of the frosty November evening, the comforting smell of smoke and fresh rain lingered as the kiss went from tentative to explorative. I felt a flood of cold when we separated.

“Emile I—“, he began.

“No. it’s okay. I know quite well how that sentence ends.”

“Emile—“

“It was nothing I said”, truly it hadn’t been. It had been fulfilling almost therapeutic but it wasn’t what I was looking for.

Author's Note

So, that was it. I wrote the kiss in here because I wanted to sort of see how it would play out, but I think ultimately it probably would have gone a little differently.