The Invisible Alibi

The words were cryptic and mysterious. They moved like the fog that surrounded the city on cold winter mornings. If transparency was a veil, it was a veil of mine own choosing. I hid behind it because I saw too much of the truth sometimes. In my mind's eye, the truth was a kid left alone because his brother had died much too soon; the truth was an old man that slept on the street because no one cared; the truth was also a woman that had lived too much and had loved too much and now was in the grave because of it. The truth was raw and bitter and went down as well as a bullet. I gathered up my strength and countered with spite. “Don't give me that lady. How do I know you didn't have something to do with her disappearance? Maybe you're trying to get me to cover your tracks for you. You hire some dumb private detective who is just stupid enough to believe your story. I make a few house calls and point my finger in a dozen places while you stand behind me and stab me in the back.” The phone was quiet; I couldn't hear her breathe, but I knew she was there. She was listening to me spout off like an overheated teapot. The game, if you could call it that, was being played with no accompanying rules and no referee. It was me against her and fact versus fiction. “Get past your doubts, Gabrielle. Believe in the path you follow. It will lead you to the truth.” The phone went quiet again as both of us waited for the other shoe to drop. I was attempting to string her along, continually dissecting her motivations for getting me involved in the search for Faith Evans, but her bible-bashing demeanor left me no quarter. I had stupidly painted myself into a corner without leaving any back door from which to escape. Playing into her hands left me only one option: admitting the truth.