The Dawn Breaks

He sits on the edge of the cliff, boot-clad feet swinging over heights far above the city that rests in the valley below. The evening has come and passed in an eclipse of blues and reds and violets, and night is here in all its darkness and stars that glint overhead like broken pieces of glass.

He is a smudge against the black sky, lit only by a slivered moon and the faint light of his phone that lies discarded in the grass next to him. Dew has already fallen, sprinkling the grass and many flowers with little beads of water. He shifts. Already, his pants are damp with moisture.

A woman stands at the rail between the road and the cliff’s edge. The hem of her shawl catches upon a breeze. She pulls it tight around her, hand brushing the over-stuffed bag at her side. Her lips are pressed thin and her brow is creased.

“How did you know where to find me?”

The man pats the ground next to him. The woman moves closer, but she does not sit.

He picks a flower—small and white, tightly closed—and holds it up to her. “A flower for the fair lady?”

The woman stares flatly at him.

The man shrugs and leans back, twirling the flower between his forefinger and thumb, and stares down into the valley. From up high, he imagines that he can see the blue and red lights scouring the city below.

“Riley,” the woman says, impatience colouring her tone.

“Why did you leave?” he asks suddenly. “The police are searching the city for you.”

“I value my life. Just like you should. Stay out of this.”

“Did you see who did it?”

The woman is already shaking her head. “No, don’t you dare start this. This isn’t one of your cases. You’re not a cop, Riley.”

“I’m a damn good detective.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Frey, did you see who it was or not?”

Frey presses her lips together. She pulls her shawl tighter around her as if it will stave off the conversation before it gets out of hand.

“Will you at least come give a statement?” Riley asks.

“You know I can’t go back.”

“I can keep you safe.”

Frey looks away. “You can barely keep yourself safe.”

The scar on Riley’s chest itches and pulls at the memory, the remnants of a shootout that almost cost him his life. He grimaces. “It’ll be different this time.”

Frey’s eyes flash. “How can you be sure? My hands are stained enough as it is. I don’t need your blood on them as well.”

“Because I have you. Can you really walk away from this? From your family? Your son?”

Frey’s eyes close briefly. “Don’t bring him into this. He’s better off thinking I’m dead.”

“Do you really believe that?”

She opens her mouth to argue but closes it again because no, she does not believe that the light of her life will be better off without her. She isn’t even sure that he will be safe once she is gone. “If I help you, risk my life, what do I get in return?”

“I can make you disappear for real. Legal papers, passport, the works,” Riley says.

“And you just have that on hand?”

“I’ll call in a favour.”

She huffs out a laugh, nodding to herself. “A favour. How many of those do you have?”

“Enough.”

“I can give you a name. But that’s it.”

Riley nods.

Frey hesitates for a moment. “Graham Shaw. He was one of the men under the masks. Start there.”

She begins to walk back to the road and hops the rail. She turns back to him. “Be careful.”

Riley smiles. “I’ll see you soon.”

He watches her disappear down the long road before turning back to the city. He rolls the stem of the flower in his hands, thinking. At his side, his phone lit up. He glances over.

He sets the flower down gently on the grass and stands, brushing off his pants.

Hours later, a squad car pulls to a stop to watch the sun rise over the sleepless city. He rubs his bloodshot eyes.

The cliff is empty, save for dozens of flowers, their faces turned toward the dawn.