Chapter 11: Crossed Lines (Jack’s POV)

The next morning, being cautious not to disturb Sarah, I get out of bed. Her hair is splayed over the pillow as she continues to sleep. I observe her for a time, a knot tightening in my chest. Things are becoming too complex. What was once a partnership between two people on the professional and emotional fronts has devolved into a haze of conflicting feelings. Furthermore, I'm mindful that on the off chance that I don't put some distance between us, it will simply deteriorate.

I attempt to clear my head as I advance toward the kitchen. I rest up against the counter and gaze vacantly at the wall as the smell of coffee floats into the room. I'm helped to remember how desperate I've gotten by the drugs in the cabinet close to me. My memory and my sanity are valuable assets that I'm risking losing, and I feel like I'm getting closer to losing both every day.

After a few minutes, Sarah wakes up and emerges into the kitchen, yawning and pulling back her hair. "Good morning," she says, flashing me a weary grin. "You don't look like you slept well."

I make a cup of coffee for myself. "I have too much on my mind."

Her eyes locked with mine, she pulls a mug from the cupboard and fills it. "Are you still reflecting on last night?"

"Yes," I reply, sipping my coffee. "They were watching, whoever that person was."

Sarah nods despite her worried expression tightening. "We'll work things out. We always do."

Though I can't get rid of the feeling that things are getting out of hand, I want to believe her. To be honest, I'm beginning to question whether or not I'm the one manipulating without even recognizing it.

"Sarah," I began, my voice thick, "we need to talk about this… about us."

She raises her head, hiding her emotion. "Jack, we're not required to..."

"Yes, we do." With my fingertips hitting the counter, I put down the mug. "This is becoming too difficult. The case, Lila, and we are all becoming indistinguishable. I cannot afford any more distractions."

Something flashes in her eyes, either hurt or frustration. "Is that what you see this as? A distraction?"

"That's not what I mean," I hurriedly say while stroking my hair. "But you know of the nature of this work. You are aware of the damage and expenses it has caused me. I'm unable to... I can't continue to make the same errors."

I can see the conflict in her eyes as she looks down. "I understand. But Jack, you're not the only one taking chances here. It involves me as well."

My voice softens as I add, "I know you are. And for that reason, I must be sincere. I do not wish for you to suffer."

Sarah steps forward and shakes her head. "Jack, I work as a detective. I was prepared for what I was in for."

"Maybe you did," I respond, becoming more serious. "But this is no longer just about the work. It concerns me and what I could do, or have done, in the past."

Her gaze finds mine, and I can sense the concern in it. "What do you mean?"

My phone buzzes on the counter before I can respond, relieving some of the stress. Marcus is the screen I check.

"Shaw," I murmur, my voice growing irritated. "What does he want now?"

Sarah changes her demeanor and takes a small step back. "You should answer it."

I put the phone to my ear and nod. "Shaw, what is it?"

"Williams," he continues, adopting that arrogant tone that I've grown to detest. "You might want to see something I have for you. An eyewitness."

"A witnesses?" I look at Sarah and say it again. "For what scene?"

"The most recent one," he replies. "The witness states that they saw a person who fit your description not far from the location. At one of your purported "blackouts."

I feel my heart skip a beat and tighten my grasp on the counter. "You're joking."

He responds, "Wish I was," and I can sense the relief in his voice. "How about you come to the precinct so we can talk?"

The blood beating in my ears, I hang up the phone. "He claims there's a witness," I tell Sarah, hardly controlling my rage in my voice. "Someone who claims they saw me at the crime scene."

Sarah's eyes enlarge. "But it's not possible. You were with me that evening."

"Not all night," I answer, the doubt creeping in. "There were gaps."

She reaches over and takes my arm. "You know you didn't do this, Jack. We'll work things out."

But there's no solace in her remarks. They just make my fear continue to grow. What if the witness is telling the truth and I am the one at fault? What if these blackouts are causing me to lose more than just memories?

When we go to the station, the accusation looms large over me like a stormy cloud. Sarah stands near me, her hand resting on my shoulder, although it feels like an undeserved lifeline. As I push through the doors, the precinct's noises suddenly overwhelm me: the sound of ringing phones, cops talking, and steps resonating on the tile floor.

Shaw is standing near the conference room, with a smug expression. "Williams, Mills," he nods to say hello. "Happy you could join."

"What's happening?" With a firm voice, I demand.

He gestures for us to follow him inside. "I think it's best if you hear it for yourself."

As soon as we enter the space, I fix my gaze on the woman seated at the table. Her eyes are big and anxious, and she appears to be in her mid-40s, dressed simply in trousers and a sweater. She fumbles with her hands, looking from Shaw to me.

"Mrs. Cartwright," Shaw addresses her as he moves a chair over and takes a seat across from her. "Detective Jack Williams is this person. The man you reported seeing."

The woman appears to be seeing a ghost as her eyes enlarge and she slightly withdraws. "Yeah, that's him," she mumbles. "He was present. I saw him."

My hands clench into fists and I fight to remain calm. "Are you positive it was me?"

Her hands shake as she gives a rapid nod. "At about midnight that night, I was bringing out the trash. I noticed you standing next to the dumpster in the alley. It appeared as though you were in a daze."

Shaw is staring at me and observing how I respond. "And you're certain that he did it?"

She says, "Yes. I recall the way he looked at me, as if he was barely aware of who I was."

The words struck me hard, and for a split second, everything seemed to be whirling. Midnight. That is around when the blackout occurs. At the same moment when the body was found. My thoughts whirl, attempting to piece together bits and pieces of the evening, but all I see is blackness.

"I don't recall being there," I admit, my voice growing more doubtful.

"excellent," Shaw murmurs. "You expect us to believe that?"

Sarah interrupts, her tone acerbic. "Jack spent the majority of the evening with me. We're investigating his medical condition and any potential effects on him."

"Yeah, I know about his condition," Shaw replies in a sarcastic manner. "However, this is a severe matter. Williams' inability to recall events is not only his problem; it is also ours if he keeps turning up at crime scenes."

I can feel the walls closing in around me and the room becoming stuffy. Shaw's eyes are burning holes in me, and the woman's gaze feels like a spotlight. I know what he's doing, he's setting the stage, turning everyone's doubts against me. The worst part, too? It is working."

I push back my chair and rise up. "I need some breathing room."

I can't even hear Sarah calling after me. With my thoughts racing, I rushed through the doors and into the corridor. My mind flickers to the faces of the victims, then to Lila's. I lean against the wall, my breath coming in sharp spurts, and my hands shake. Is it possible for me to be responsible? Is something other than memory loss causing the blackouts?

"Jack." I'm drawn back by Sarah's voice. She's standing in front of me, her face a mixture of dread and worry. "Please speak to me. What is happening?"

I stifle my voice as I mumble, "I don't know. I have lost all sense of what is real. How could I possibly do this?"

She clutches my arm, her eyes searching mine. "Jack, give me a look." This isn't you. We'll prove it."

"How?" My voice cracking, I ask. "What if there's more to these blackouts than merely lapses in memory? What happens if I'm changing into someone else?"

There is a long pause between us, and I can see the uncertainty flitting in her eyes. Even though she wants to believe me, she finds it difficult. And I don't blame her.