Limbo ...Part 4 …Finding My Way

The world was collapsing, and the only thing
that really mattered to me was that she was alive.
― Rick Riordan

Despite my nightly seances with Faith, my dead wife, I'm somehow able to carry on with my day job—investigating murders.

Robyn and I are on the trail of a serial killer and we've finally narrowed down his hunting field to a restaurant- bar near the university.

I can't believe we got sidetracked into seeking the perp on campus but now we can go full steam ahead.

My initial elation at locating the target site is quickly extinguished when Robyn offers to pose as a bar waitress in order to lure the perv.

“No way I’m going to dangle you as bait,” I hiss.

“Don’t worry, Martin—I’ll wear a wire, and you can track me. If he follows me home, we’ll have an apartment set up with officers hidden inside. This isn’t my first trip to the Prom, you know.”

Remembering her in that school uniform with her red-spiked hair, I doubt very much she was ever the Prom Queen type—just as I doubt she’s my type—just as I doubt these protective feelings I have toward her.

In the end though, I cave—she’s far more persuasive than Breton—after all, what competition could there be between his toothy grin, and her tarnished goddess?

For two weeks, I’m on tenterhooks—dangling Robyn like some flashy lure, and having to endure catcalls and whistles at the station when she shows up in her schoolgirl uniform.

I think she likes it—not so much the attention she gets, but watching me squirm. I feign nonchalance, but that pose soon wears thin, and two weeks of my grumpiness begins getting on everyone’s nerves.

At the beginning of the third week, we catch a break. A stocky man shadows Robyn and follows her all the way to the apartment.

At first I tend to doubt he's the guy—he doesn't fit the profile at all.

He's surprisingly older—a teacher with filial fantasies, I suppose, who waited for hours until she finished her shift

We still hang back surveilling him in the off-chance he might just be infatuated with her— a stalker maybe but not a killer.

But that all changes when he brings out the professional lock-picking tools and enters the apartment and tries to attack her.

Three cops waiting inside easily subdue him and retrieve a knife, duct tape and other items that tie him to the crimes.

It wasn't the profile everyone expected, but my gut told me I was on the right track following the killer’s needs.

I guess that’s the same as Breton, my mentor, telling me to follow my heart, which when I think about it, amounts to my deepest need.

My deepest need? I assume that to be continuing a nightly séance with Faith, but maybe my future lies in pursuing a relationship with Robyn in the here and now.

It takes a while after the excitement of closing the case for things to settle down, but over time they do, and things return to normal—well, my new normal.

You see, I’m trying to apply my newfound wisdom to my daily life, and believe me, it’s not as easy as solving a case.

"I told you not to sweat it," Robyn smirks when I still mutter about taking chances.

"No way I'm ever going to put you in a bind like that again," I hiss and chug back my Canadian Club rye.

We're in a bar after our shift and trying for the umpteenth time to decompress and agree on a working plan for going forward.

"I almost get the vibe you're worried about me," she jokes cynically, but then stares at me with a vulnerable look that makes my breath catch.

Yeah, I have feelings for this girl, despite her tough bravado.

I guess this is how it's going to be—see-sawing back and forth between Robyn's hard beauty and Faith's soft, caring presence.

Some days it’s one step forward, and two back. Some days I’m mired in the past with Faith—some days I see a future in Robyn’s unmade-up eyes—apart from that one alluring but near fatal schoolgirl episode.

A Russian proverb says it best: to live your life is not as easy as to cross a field. It’s a difficult patch I’m crossing now, but I’m on this journey and am going to see it through.

There are times when I don’t know which way to turn, which way to go, but then I hear Breton's raspy voice inside me, with a trace of Brooklyn accent gently reminding me, follow my heart...

That's what I intend to do—allow things to develop naturally. I don't know where I'm going but my heart knows the way.

© 2025, John J Geddes. All rights reserved

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