Free Untold Damage by Robert K. Lewis

didn’t miss his wife. “I’ll be home soon as this detail is over, I swear. Stevens promised­—”
    â€œI know what he promised,” she replied. “When he makes good on those promises, then maybe I’ll like the asshole.”
    â€œGive my best to Phoebe. Tell her I’m sorry I couldn’t stay longer. Thanks for the text, and let me know if it goes bad,” he added as he gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, then turned and walked out through the sliding glass doors and back out into the night.

Nine
    Mallen was seven feet from his door when he realized that something was wrong. It wasn’t the sobriety, which felt like an uncomfortable new suit and probably would for some time. No, his door looked different. He approached slowly, checking up and down the hall as he got closer. The lock had been jimmied. Gashes in the wood. Scratches all along the jamb right at lock height.
    The street must’ve heard he’d been locked up and came to pay their respects by robbing him. Joke was on them. He studied the knob for a moment, half just for shits and giggles. Maybe there might be a visible print. Habit, he guessed. Strange how old habits that’d lain dormant for years could suddenly appear out of nowhere thanks to not having a high on. He wondered what other shit was lying dormant that he’d forgotten about. Quietly turned the knob, went inside.
    The first thing he noticed was the small white envelope on the floor. To the left of the door. He picked it up and opened it. Eric’s funeral announcement. Funeral had been two days ago. He’d been getting clean just as Eric had been getting put in the ground.
    How fitting, in its way, maybe? He made a note of the cemetery. Down in Colma. He’d have to bring flowers. Put the envelope away as he then saw the state of his apartment …
    Everything was all over everything. All the kites, Anna’s kites, had been trashed. Nothing but sticks and torn paper. The first thing that struck him was his anger. Deep and cutting. Whoever did this would be really fucking sorry. They were just kites, man. Why fuck ’em up? The second thing that struck him was that it was just like how it’d been at Jenna’s. The same level of violent destruction. They’d even found his little safe-hole in the floor trim, the money tossed all over. Whoever had been here, it certainly wasn’t some strung-out motherfucker looking for shooting money.
    And the vials were still there, too. In the corner near their hiding place, appearing as if they were cowering, only waiting for their papa to come home and rescue them. His eyes riveted on them. There was nothing else in the world at that moment. Nothing else in the entire misbegotten universe. The Need laughed as it sat on his shoulder, directing traffic to clear the way for him to get to them quickly. He went. Stiff legged. Weak willed. Suddenly drenched in sweat. The vials …
    And he put his hand on them. They folded into his palm like kittens into a warm blanket. He stared at them. No sound. No world. Grasped them tightly. Went to under the sink. His rig was still there. He grabbed it up …
    And he threw the vials down the sink drain. Needle, too. Ran scalding hot water as he flipped the disposal on. There was an incredible screeching noise as the disposal chewed up the metal and glass. He threw the rubber tubing and spoon in the trash, but only after breaking the spoon in two.
    Then it was done. A corner turned. Fuck that shit , he thought, still sweating, still breathing hard.
    But he’d done it.

    He got out of the shower, wiped the steam away from the fogged-up mirror. Careworn eyes stared back at him. Could it really have been four and a half years since he got the boot off the force? He thought back to that first day in Narco, and how he’d walked in through Captain Stevens’s door like he was walking to his reward. Thought he was so super cool,