When Fate Came Knocking

PART I

Greg's wife had been missing for seven years. That's seven birthdays, seven Christmases, and seven anniversaries full of pain and uncertainty. They say there's a process with things like this: anger and denial, then fear, then a sort of numbness as the gravity of the situation sets in. Then comes the point where assumptions are begged to be made... Assumptions that your loved one may not be coming home at all.

Greg never let it get there. He distanced himself from that state of acceptance much like he avoided friends, family, and work. But after a while friends called, family showed up at the door without notice, and the necessity of keeping the lights on dragged him up out of bed in the morning. But Greg always managed to stay angry. If he was on track with what the doctors told him, he should've come to his senses ages ago.

But they didn't understand, no one did. Every day, from the moment he awoke in an empty bed, felt like the day it happened. Every newscast felt like the one that announced her abduction. Every headline felt like the one that presumed her dead.

Greg drank more often now, always alone, never in bars. The lights low, he'd sink into his chair in the living room after a long day. His wife's was still there, too, just a few feet away. He'd stare at it for hours, going through bottle after bottle of whatever kind of cheap liquor happened to be in the cabinet. And the more he'd drink, sometimes he thought he could just see her there, sitting across from him like always, her legs folded up beneath her. She did that sometimes, when it was particularly late and the fire in the hearth had just begun to die. Greg never lit a fire anymore.

"I'm not a detective," he explained to her. Tonight was one of those nights, and this is how the conversation went more often than not. "I can't find you, myself... I-I'm stuck in a cubicle from nine to five every day. But if I knew who did this to you, who took you from me-"

He slammed the bottle down on the coffee table. It was the second one since he got off work that afternoon.

"I'd make them pay," he snarled, his voice low and deliberate. He closed his eyes, growling in exasperation and holding his head in his hands.

"Always the hero..." Greg didn't have to look up, he could hear the smirk in her voice from across the room. And he knew that if he did, she wouldn't really be there. That this wasn't anything more than a hallucination... But the sudden touch of her slender fingers on his chin broke him away from his thoughts. His eyes rose to hers. They were sea-blue, dancing in what little moonlight streamed in through the curtains.

Is it worth it? he demanded himself, tearing his gaze away. Because sooner or later, you have to face the facts. No matter how much you drink, or how much you want her to be here, it'll never truly be-

She knelt in front of Greg then, pressing her forehead to his.

-her.

"Sarah..." On its own, her name tumbled from his lips. Rising from his chair, Greg took her by the hand. He drained the rest of the liquor and kissed her, the bottle slipping from his fingertips, exploding in slow motion with the rest of his world as it hit the floor.