I wake up alone, a plush pillow nestled in my arms where Brendon should be. The covers are tucked in and smoothed down, so he had time to get up and go, he wasn't in a hurry. The door is open and the hinges squeak like a bitch whenever they're touched, so it's safe to assume he wanted me to stay asleep. The digital alarm clock is blank and unplugged. The bathroom mirror is fogged over, and I can see water droplets on the shower door that tends to swing open on its own. The sunlight doesn't shine through the blinds enough, so I know it isn't the afternoon at least.

Immediately, I feel a sharp pang in my gut like something is wrong. The discussions I had yesterday come flooding back. I take things too far, I become too wrapped up in whatever I do, my instincts jump to the worst possible situation. It's stupid and irrational, but I've seen the worst happen and I know it will happen again. Maybe this is that time. Maybe he's dead.

Slowly, I crawl out of bed and take my time creeping across the carpet because the floor creaks and if something is wrong, whoever or whatever is downstairs would hear me. I make sure the door doesn't make a sound when I inch it open just enough so that I can slip out.

Blood has a distinct scent, like sharp iron. It's difficult to miss if there's enough of it. I wish I could fucking smell. Instead of bracing myself, I'm tiptoeing down the stairs in sweatpants and an old basketball shirt from college, severely underprepared for the possibilities that could stand in the kitchen.

The layout of the house doesn't allow me to see what's in the kitchen from the stairs, which is where the noise comes from. Sizzling and the sound of a knife hitting a cutting board. Both of those could mean a variety of things. Murder or breakfast. Probably murder.

With my back against the wall, I grab an unused picture frame off the steps, one of the frames we were going to put in storage last week when we had the motivation to crawl into the attic to move them. This could either be nothing, or the beginning to the second worst day of my life.

My heart pounds so loud, I can barely hear the stove turn off and the cutting board slide into the sink. After that, there's silence. I grip the picture frame tighter. I hope the corners would be enough to do a fair amount of damage.

"...Dallon? Is that you? Don't worry, everything is fine." Brendon sighs. The knife ceases. I take a breath for what feels like the first time in forever. It is not the worst outcome.

I set the picture frame down as gently as I can and round the corner. Sure enough, everything is fine. Everything is wonderful, because there is a plate of omelettes set on the countertop. "I didn't know where you were."

He raises an eyebrow and turns to wash off the dishes. "Where else would I be?"

He's been up for a while. There's already a pile of kitchen supplies in the sink. Bowls and spoons hold up a waffle machine with burnt batter stuck to the side. There's a Clorox wipe on the edge of the counter where one of the outlets is. There's a small puddle of soupy red liquid and a small bowl beside the stove. Remnants of waffles and assorted berries for breakfast, omelette for me.

I shrug and slide the plate my way. It's still steaming. Bits of bacon and various vegetables poke out from the cheese topping. "I don't believe you would be happy with my thought process. I demand a lawyer if we're going to continue with this conversation. Can you just leave me a note next time or something?"

I know he frowns. I know he does. "Unfortunately, I'm not the biggest fan of what you're implying. However, I will give you a pass this time."

"Ooh. I like the sound of that."

"This is the one and only," he waves a knife at me from inside the sink, "and I mean the only, time you get a free pass."

That's a lie. He's given me the last free pass a dozen times. I know I shouldn't be continuing on with the topic, but I do. "Can I ask why? I'm asking why. Why?"

"Because I didn't tell you I was making breakfast and I did forget that you couldn't smell it. I assume all you could hear was the eggs cooking and the knife doing the chopping thingy. I'll start leaving notes behind for you, I guess."

I don't immediately see any utensils for the omelette and I don't need them. "You're correct. Great observations this morning. I guess I've really been rubbing off on you recently."

He glances at me over his shoulder. "Don't push it, dork. Do you have to eat that with your hands? Can't you just use a fork and knife like a normal human being? Last time I checked, we don't live in a barn."

"I don't feel like using utensils. And I'm just curious, why didn't you make me some waffles too? You had already made the batter and everything."

That catches him off guard, even though he should probably be used to it by now. I notice everything. "Burnt the majority, as usual. I'm really bad at using a waffle iron. I thought you knew that already."

I have a flashback to the second year we were together, when the fire alarm was triggered from waffles burning to a crisp. Truly, they are his weakness. "I didn't. You're such a good chef, I never would've thought you could have an issue with an appliance. That is an inconsistency."

"You're too sweet." He lets the dishes be and hops over to press a quick kiss to my cheek. "Thanks for lying."

"Anytime." I say. He swats my shoulder like my comment irks him but after a few minutes pass, he takes a chair beside me with his bowl of berries.

"How'd you sleep?" He asks. There's a raspberry sitting on the tip of his index finger like it's a hat.

I honestly don't know. I don't remember waking up or falling victim to a nightmare. "Good, I guess. How about you?"

"Slept alright. I woke up once or twice because it sounded like you were having some shitty dreams, but I didn't have an issue passing out again after I got you to relax." He pops the berry in his mouth and adds another without chewing through the first one. "Why're you looking at me like that? You took your sleeping tablets. Maybe we should invest in something a little stronger this time around."

I didn't realize I was frowning until he mentioned it. "I didn't dream about anything. At least, I don't remember."

He shrugs. "I mean, I woke up for something. That's why I let you sleep in; figured you could use a little more shuteye." 

"Huh. Thanks, I guess. I appreciate it."

Brendon smiles and rests his chin on the back of his hand, propped up on the counter by his elbow. "Anytime." He says.

By the time I finish breakfast, it's lunchtime. Technically, I had brunch, but brunch is a social construct intended to draw more money from the rich crowds that can afford for meals a day. That is not necessarily a bad thing.

Brendon relaxes back on the couch and scrolls through the television channels, trying to figure out which ones have the best lineup so he doesn't have to switch between networks. Whenever I point out he takes ten minutes to switch the channel to another adequate thirty minute program, he gets a little ticked off that I notice such a superfluous thing. That only makes me want to point out the little quirks even more.

Once he finds an adequate channel, he curls up under two blankets and snuggles into a throw pillow. He'll be asleep in twenty minutes.

I head upstairs and grab my backpack. The case files are still in it. Sushi trots behind me and climbs up on the bed, nudging under my arm as I sift through the information and try my best to separate it into obvious sections. One for the autopsy, one for crime scene analysis, one for possible motives and overall causes.

The pictures are gnarly, to put it nicely. In the ditch, it was difficult to make out every single detail. The camera crew tried their best with their shots, but nothing could do the gore justice.

The driver of the yellow mustang had died from hypothermia, obviously. There was no room for error or other possible cause. The passenger, however, told a different story. There was in fact a gunshot wound to the back of her head and the mangled chunk of a metal bullet buried in her eye socket. In a seemingly hopeless situation, I would assume it was suicide. Both position and angle of impact contradicted that; the bullet entered closer to the top and back of her skull, which would have been inconvenient if it was self inflicted. The analysis team had not located a gun either. Not in the mustang, not in the van, nowhere in the ditch, and it would've been almost impossible for an animal to drag a weapon out of the pit.

There was a small handful of personal items found at the scene. Everything else that could have been counted as evidence had been removed from the scene before anybody knew the two cars were down there. I find pictures of a blue Five gum wrapper found under the driver's left foot, a frozen yogurt stamp card, and a plastic spoon. Other than that, the van is completely empty.

On the other hand, the mustang was a little more gracious with personal items. Blankets, pillows, suitcases, whatever someone would need for a weekend getaway. The abundance of possessions drives me to think they weren't supposed to play a part in the incident the van endured. The accident in the van appears as if it was done on purpose, and the mustang was just collateral damage.

Collateral damage from what? No drugs in any systems, no outstanding evidence, no weapons, no identification, no nothing. Not even the autopsies could provide substantial information to any part of the investigation. There hasn't been anyone to contact and nobody has even bothered so speak up anonymously. Without a breakthrough of any type, the case will most likely remain unsolved.

I flip though the rest of the report, through the confused autopsy conclusions, through the dozens of failed attempts to contact any type of family. Whoever we found will be buried as John or Jane Doe, and that will be that unless someone chooses to step forward. No matter how many times I search through the files and details, the connections have already been drawn and the red strings have been pinned to dead ends.

As much I want to dig back into whatever I can, I don't know if there's anything for me to look into. No leads, no outliers, no significant shady business that would warrant a deeper investigation. Useless. Cold.

Brendon knocks on the open bedroom door. He's bundled up in one of the blankets I left him with, watching me. "What're you doing?"

His gaze turns to the papers spread out on the bed. There's no use in trying to hide everything. "Nothing."

"It's okay if you're looking at the case. I'm not mad about it or anything. I was just curious." He says and I can feel all the tension in the room disintegrate. "Did you ask for the files or did they give them to you?"

"Healthy combination of both. You know they had to give me something or else I'd be trying to break in to Swift's office. Again."

He stares at the papers and nods slowly, still coming out of sleep. "Cool. Fridge is broken."

"What?"

"The fridge," he vaguely gestures downstairs, "is broken."

I frown. It was fine before I came upstairs barely an hour ago. "What? How is it broken?"

"I dunno. Look inside it when you get the chance. The cooling system has given up." He shrugs and kicks the blanket out of his way as he marches over to sit beside me. "What do you want for dinner?"

"It's barely three o'clock. Too early for dinner."

"Yeah, but if you want something special I'll probably have to start now. I also need to get rid of the ingredients in the fridge that will perish. D'you want a popsicle? They're probably gonna melt soon. The freezer won't stay cold forever if it's unplugged."

It's the middle of winter. There is still snow on the ground and grey clouds polluting the sky. "Blue?"

"You ate all of those. We have red, yellow, and purple." He rolls off the bed and heads back to the bedroom door. "I'll get you a red one."

I gather the files and close them all up in the Manila folder. "Hold on, hold on. I'm coming downstairs with you. I want to take a look at the fridge."

He grins and watches me struggle to fit all the photos and reports into one folder. There was a specific arrangement and I fucked it up when I scattered all the information across the bed. Sushi paws at some of the pictures I have to leave out and arrange later. I pick her up and cradle her like a child as I head down to the kitchen behind Brendon.

We round the corner and immediately, it's obvious the fridge is broken. He's emptied the entire thing and piled every item on the countertop. Both doors are swung wide open and have fingerprints all over the grey stainless steel from his efforts to remove the device from its indented spot in the wall. The freezer section is still shut.

Brendon throws the blanket over the back of the couch and I set the cat down on top of it. She curls up and goes back to sleep. "Take what you want before it spoils."

I grab a Gatorade, set it aside for later, and peer into the fridge. The only thing to note is a red Kool-Aid stain, the flickering lights and a few shriveled leaves in the transparent vegetable drawer. The familiar hum of the inner workings captures the kitchen in an odd silence, but it's also unplugged and apparently broken. "What happened to it?"

He shrugs. "It's not cold. Feel it."

I touch the shelves and sure enough, the fridge is filled with warm air. "You said the freezer is still cold."

"Yeah, because I'm trying to keep the cool air inside so we don't have to get rid of everything in there. Don't open it. I don't want the cold air to escape. We have to sustain the popsicles."

I look at the countertop packed with all the perishable food. It's not even that much, and the majority of our stash is drinks that are best served cold. It could take ages to fix the fridge, let alone if we would need to replace it.

I shut the doors and run through all the possible scenarios in my head. There's a reason neither of us are mechanics. "I think... we should just go shopping for new food tomorrow. Grab some takeout for the next few nights until we can figure it out or buy a new fridge."

Brendon lets out the longest sigh known to mankind. "I don't have a problem with that, it just sucks the fridge is broken. Like, we need that."

"Not anymore. Now we eat like slobs and doomsday preppers. I'll make you some Kool-Aid."