"You okay?" Methra swooped in, but I couldn't take my eyes off Nona.

    In the far recesses of my memory I heard the wail of sirens and the chatter of excited neighbors. The memory of smoke choked me, I was paralyzed.

    "...I couldn't believe it either," Methra deposited the purse in my noodle limp arms, saw me staring, and cocked her head, "You sure you okay, Adra?"

    I forced myself to snap out of it, "Y-yeah, yeah. I'll be in my office, give a me a few minutes."

    I floated to my desk, shifted into my seat and began to cry. I wept long, angry, regretful sobs. My nose ran and my eyes poured. I began with dim thoughts of preserving my privacy, but the guilt drove my sorrow ever onward. I wept loud and full. I felt empty, helpless. What some may have viewed as a gift, I found to be a curse. What good was seeing it happen? What good was knowing, if you were powerless to act? I heard the door click open. I lifted my head, strands of dark curls clung to mucus obscuring my face.

    "Oh, Adra," Methra had a replacement cup of black coffee and look of tenderness I couldn't resist.

    I took the steaming void of a drink, "Thank you, Methra. I'm better now thanks."

    She wiped at my face with a handkerchief.

    "Sometimes you just have to let it out," she said, "I couldn't believe it either, its so sad. Poor thing."

    Intellectually, I knew her to be right. What can you do? Perhaps this is what God feels like, omniscient but impotent. I see, oh Lord, how I see.  The ability to hear a prayer doesn't necessarily give the power to answer them.

    "Methra, could you grab her... the file for me."

    The look in her eyes told me that she rather wouldn't, but she submitted and quietly went to retrieve the manila folder. I straightened out the mess of curls as best I could and blew my nose. A couple loud honks and in came Methra. I smiled, looking pathetic, feeling frightened. What did I expect to find there? I didn't know, but I had to look. I owed Nona at least that much.

     "Can I get you anything else?"

     "No, I'm all set for now. Thank you, Methra."

     She smiled in answer and left me alone, closing the door behind her. Nona stared at me, a flimsy smile plastered on her round cherubic face. She was cute, not pretty, but adorable. And she was dead, murdered, crucified.  From the looks of her, she'd also been quite sad. A picture could be deceptive, a thousand words could also lie. As I flipped through her thin file, I tried to get a grasp of the woman. Wait-Here. She was a referral! I grabbed the phone and called her previous psychologist, Morgan Harkness, an acquaintance. We used to practice out of the same building, but a few years ago I opted for a shorter commute.

     "You've reached the office of-"

     "Hi, this is Adra Davis. I need to speak with Morgan, its important."

     "Sure, hold on."

     After a few clicks Morgan picked up, "Adra?"

     "Hey Morgan, listen do you have a minute?"

    

     I hung up the phone as disappointed as I'd ever been. It was one visit, a consultation. Morgan told her that I would be better able to handle her needs. In truth, her case load was immense and she was just returning a professional courtesy.

     "Isn't it sad," she had said, "I wish I could be more helpful."

     I picked up the phone again and dialed zero. Methra answered.

     "Hey, listen, I'm taking the rest of the day to check on somethings."

    "Okay, your intercom broken again?"

     "No, no, just... Well, I'll see you tomorrow. Oh, and make sure you call Mrs. Shelke. You know she can be,"

     Just the thought of the old woman pitching a fit in the waiting room again gave me a mini-migraine. I walked to Methra's desk, reasonless. I took a few jelly beans and rolled them in my hand, no intentions really of eating them.

     "Go get happy, boss," she smiled.

     I nodded and then made my way out. The sun beamed, oblivious to the carnage down below. Where was I going? What did I hope to accomplish? Missing work and slighting clients wasn't my usual M.O., but I needed to sort things out. For myself, at least. I tossed the jelly beans to some pigeons as I neared my car. They pecked but didn't eat. I couldn't blame them. Methra had terrible taste in candy. A gust of warm air coated me in breathy webs and I knew something was not right.  It was a bubble in the pit of my stomach, a thought fleeing my conscious grasp. I wheeled around as if fending off some invisible bee. A Crowne Vic pulled in behind me. Two suited men exited.

     "Ms. Davis?" Asked the shorter man.

     "Yes," I managed without stammering.

     "San Francisco P.D. We were hoping... Can we go somewhere and talk. It'll just take a few moments. Promise."

     He tried to smile. An attempt to diffuse the tension, the fear. It didn't work.

     "I just came from my office, is there somewhere else we can go?"

     I wouldn't go back in there, not today. I wouldn't return to the place where my dreams had followed me. It was no longer safe, I felt.

     "You know what?" Interjected the taller detective, " I could use some coffee. Either of you think you might be interested?"

     They ordered coffee, me, nothing. I watched as they poured in cream and sugar, amounts that the FDA wouldn't approve of. They let me settle, I felt. They let me relax as they quipped back and forth.

     "I swear," said Detective Fole, newly introduced, "Coffee gets more and more bitter the farther you go out of the city. It's a conspiracy."

     "Well lucky for Sanka you work homicide..."

     The word dangled in the air between us, I bristled.

     "Sorry," said Detective Heinz, "I didn't mean to upset you."
     "No, no problem," I lied, they knew it.

     "Well, I'm sure you've heard about Nona Flores?"

     He eyed me expectantly, assessing my guilt, scrutinizing my honesty.

      "Yes."

     A Pad was produced. "How long has she been a client of yours?"

     "She really wasn't. Today was supposed to be the first..."

     "And Ms. Moin?"

     "Who?"

     They looked to each other, then back to me.

     "Milla Moin," said Fole, "She was a client of yours correct?"

     "I don't believe so, but I have a lot of new patients to sift through. Who is she."

     "Well, she's number two. Found her, well, I'm not at liberty to say, but--"

     "Thou shall not covet your neighbor's wife," I said, wishing I could take those words back, swallow them like so much bile.

    "Dr. Davis? Where did you hear that?"

    Their suspicion was palpable, I could feel it pressing against me, weighing me down.

    "I dunno. Sometimes-"

    "Yeah?" Heinz asked pointedly.

    "Sometimes I see things? I dunno. I just figured with. I dunno, sorry."

    "No need to be sorry. Listen, just for the record, where were you last night?"

    "What? Really?" Their solemn faces spoke volumes about how serious they really were.

    "Home, alone."

    "Can anyone back you up on that?"

    "No, no they can't."

    "Doctor, I'm going to ask that you come with us, just for an hour or so. There are some things we need to straighten out."

    So this is how it was going to be? Torn with guilt and now guilty. Powerless, defeated, and tired beyond words I followed them out of the cafe and into their car. I stared out the window, but the familiar scenery didn't register. Only one thought occupied my usually noisy brain; I'm guilty, as guilty as if I had nailed them up myself. So guilty and so cursed.