INVISIBLE || E. Dockery

6

“NO,” books says, shaking his head furiously.
“No way, Em.”
“I want you to hear me out on this one, Books.”
“No, thanks.”
“You've never heard anything like this.”
“As I said, or think I said out loud, no thank—”
“This one gets my vote as the most evil prick in the entire history of the world. I'm not exaggerating for effect, book's.”
“im not interested. I'm not. I'm not,” he repeats, as if trying to convince himself.
We're in the wearhouse next to his store, surrounded by books stacked on tables or sorted on shelves. I found a small space on one of the tables, where I stacked up fifty-three case files for his review. “its all right there,” I say. “just read it.” Books runs a hand through his sandy hair. It's longer these days, bangs over his forehead and curls in the back, now that he's a private citizen. He pace's in a circle while he collects his thoughts.
“i don't work for the Bureau anymore,”he says. “you could come back for this,” I answer. “They never wanted you to leave.”
“Tbis is more an ATF assignment anyway—”
“Then we'll do a joint task force—”
“This is not my problem, Em!” he swipes at a table and knocks a stack of paperbacks to the floor. “You know how hard this is for me, to have you suddenly show up like this? And to ask me for help? This isn't fair.” He jabs a finger at me. “This is not fair.”
He's right. It's not fair. But this isn't about fair. Books stands there for about two minutes, hands on his hips, shaking his head. Then he looks over at me. “Dickinson shut you down?”
“Yes, but not on merit. He never even read the files. You know the Dick.”
Books allows for that. “And did you tell him why you care about this?” he asks.
“its obvious why I care. A man I killing—” “Thats not what I mean, Em, and you know it.” He walks toward me now. “Does Dickinson know that your sister died in a fire of suspicious origin eight months ago in Peoria, Arizona?”
“That has nothing to do with this.”
“ Ha!” A mock laugh, hands flying up. “ This has nothing to do with it!”
“it doesn't. Whether my sister was one of the victims or not doesn't change the fact that a serial—”
Books doesn't want to hear it. He waves me off, la-la-la-im-not-listening. “Emmy, I'm sorry about Marta. You know I am. But—
“If you're sorry, then you'll help me .” As soon as I say the words, even I realize I've crossed the line. Books has moved on with his life. He's done being a special agent. He sells books for a living now.

I put up my hands. “Strike that last comment,” I say. “ I shouldn't have come here, Books. Im... Im sorry.”

I walk out the same way I came in, without a word from my former fiancé.