Honestly, bad things really do pile up.

If they’d come one at a time, nicely spaced out, I’m pretty sure I could’ve handled each of them. I’m not some wide-eyed teenager anymore. With thirty just around the corner, I’ve weathered most of what life throws at you. Meditation, anger management, a list of professionals on speed dial for emergencies—I had the full toolkit for pulling myself back together.

But stack this many disasters on top of each other, and even I can’t help seeing the worst in everything.

I glanced at the mud caked on my arm. Normally I’d have wiped it off immediately, and brushed the dust from my clothes while I was at it. I certainly wouldn’t be sitting on bare earth like this, my back against a dirt wall. Sure, I’d had days before when every direction seemed blocked and the only way out was straight up. But who could have predicted that all directions would be blocked literally?

Somewhere up above, countless small lights were probably still shining. But I didn’t have a scrap of strength left to look up at them.

Lost in a daze, looking back over my life, my left hand moved without my permission, slipped into my pocket, and pulled out my phone. Without so much as asking, it brought up a contact.

A man I’d blocked three years ago. A number I’d sworn I would never dial again.

If you asked me why I hadn’t deleted it, I’d have trouble answering that myself.

After a moment’s hesitation, I pressed call. My future was probably over anyway. Might as well hear his voice one last time.

Still… in the middle of all this, the only thing I want to do is call him. Not my life—hell, even my own thoughts never go where I want them to.

I pressed the phone to my ear. The dial tone had barely begun when it cut off with a soft beep, and a familiar—too familiar—low voice reached me.

“Darcy speaking.”

God. There was a time when just hearing this voice could send me to heaven.

I let myself steep in nostalgia for a moment, then greeted my childhood friend with impeccable courtesy.

“Hey, Brian.”

A beat of silence. Then he dropped his already low voice into something closer to a growl.

“Luke, you…”

“I know, I’m sorry. I had no intention of calling you. But I’m really at the end of my rope here—cornered, literally, and it’s kind of a disaster.”

The more I talked, the lighter and less convincing my own words sounded. I could feel myself getting flustered.

“Hey, Luke—”

“You used to be a cop, right? Not that I need anything, but I figured—why not give you a call, hear your voice one last time before the end.”

Even I had to admit—it was a complete mess.

“Alright, alright. Calm down, Luke.”

Brian tried to steady me from the other end of the line.

“One thing at a time. What do you mean, ‘the end’?”

“Brian…” I found myself gripping the phone. “Brian, Grandma’s gone.”

“…Grandma? Your mother’s mother?”

“Yeah. Mom called to tell me.”

“I’m sorry. She was a wonderful woman.”

At times like this, old friends are a godsend—no explanation required.

Grandma had poured so much love into me. And come to think of it, her death had been the start of this whole run of misfortune.

She’d given me so many words over the years, but the one she repeated most was this: When you’re exhausted, do whatever you want most in that moment—be kind to yourself.

I’d handed that same line to all sorts of people over the years. But for the first time in my life, I was learning that being kind to yourself could be the hardest part. And all those people I’d tried to feed Grandma’s wisdom to—they’d probably wanted to punch me in the mouth and make me stop talking.

Brian continued:

“But if your mother called you, does that mean the estrangement’s been lifted?”

“No. We’re still officially estranged. We just… keep in touch sometimes.”

“…I’m not sure I follow, but go on.”

“Right after I hung up with her, Kirk called.”

“Kirk?”

“A colleague. He keeps asking me to design furniture for him, but the guy can’t open his mouth without throwing in some criticism. My designs are ‘unconventional,’ or ‘it’d take a genius to build an interior that actually works with this’…”

I could feel my own energy draining with every word.

“I know he respects my work. I’m used to it by now, so normally it’s fine. But the timing was awful. It made me feel completely useless.”

“Luke…”

“And then the bastard went and used my design exactly as I’d submitted it! If you’re going to use it anyway, why start with the criticism?”

“You should tell him that directly. If you plan on continuing to work together, you really ought to—”

I talked right over him.

“Anyway, I just wanted someone to say something kind to me, so I went to Lexandra’s bar.”

“Whose bar?”

“Lexandra. Alexandra. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten. Tanned, muscular, green eyes. Around fifty, I think.”

“…You mean Max?”

“That’s his usual name. He told me Alexandra is, uh—the name for setting free a part of his soul that doesn’t normally come out.”

“…Right. Got it. And then?”

Brian sighed in resignation and prompted me forward.

“So I get there, and Leo’s at the bar, completely wasted.”

“I see. And who is Leo?”

Brian asked with saintly patience.

“Leonardo. An ex of mine. He kept getting all over me—clingy and way too familiar, so there was no way anyone could just sit and listen quietly. He was even joking about the time we’d spent together. That made me feel completely worthless.”

“A drunk’s words aren’t worth wasting your life on. Is that everything?”

Mm. I sighed, glancing down at my scraped arm.

“I fell into a hole.”

“You what?”

“I didn’t want to see anyone, so I took a quieter route. Turns out it was under construction. I stepped through some stacked boards, and now I’m down a hole I can’t climb out of. Present tense. I don’t have the energy to last the night down here, so I’m probably going to die.”

I half expected him to be exasperated at the melodrama, but instead, Brian simply let out a breath. Deep and quiet.

“…Okay. Where are you? I’m coming to get you—”

“What? No, that’s fine.” Then I remembered—despite appearances, he was annoyingly considerate. The thought hit, and something shifted. As though a spell had broken, I came back to myself.

Bare earth filled my field of vision. Clay soil, probably yellowish or tawny brown—I stared at the wall of it, stunned. Beneath where I sat, a concrete pipe lay exposed. The boards I’d stepped through had been plywood, which meant this wasn’t a planned project. Most likely an emergency repair on the water or sewer mains. From somewhere not far off came the heavy bass of what sounded like club music and off-key laughter. The air against my bare arms wasn’t all that cold. Not for a midwinter night in Brisbane.

It hit me then—just how completely I’d shut down my senses. If I’d been that far gone, no wonder I’d walked straight into a hole. I might even do something the usual me would never consider—like reaching out, of all things, to an old friend I’d cut off myself.

“Luke?”

“No—I’m fine. Really. Talking to you has actually calmed me down. Why did I even call you? I’m really sorry.”

“Just tell me where—”

“Besides, now that I think about it, I’ve got a detective’s business card right here. Might as well put him to work.”

At that, Brian’s voice dropped. Low and careful.

“…Hold on. Why do you have a detective’s business card?”

“About that.”

The grief I hadn’t been able to feel properly—everything had been too surreal until now—came flooding up from somewhere deep, and I hung my head.

“Alan’s dead too.”

“…And who’s this one?”

“A friend. We’d grab a meal sometimes, talk. Just a normal friend.”

“I see.”

“The detective told me he was dead. And then they questioned me.”

On the other end of the line, I felt Brian go still.

“He was murdered. And apparently, I’m one of their main suspects.”