Since his accident last year, Myron’s short-term memory abandoned him at random. This caused him no small measure of anxiety and his life was spent trying to piece together hours-long blank spaces of which he had no knowledge.
This time, he couldn’t remember driving Ward home.
Prior to a few moments ago, the last thing Myron remembered was sitting across a table from Ward in a dead bar, picking at soggy beer bottle labels and trying to think of things to say. It was clear the night was a bust.
Just now, Myron awoke to find himself unlocking the front door to his house, his phone buzzing in his pocket. It buzzed again and again.
The first text read, “OMG what happened?” and the next, “So sorry” and there were more.
He began stabbing out a reply to one before opting instead to check Facebook where, after scrolling a bit, he found a post from Ward which read: “I am deeply saddened to say that Ward passed away tonight in an apparent homicide. Please keep us in your prayers and respect our privacy at this time.” It was signed, “Ward’s family”.
Then Myron heard tires screeching into his driveway and there was an aggressive slamming of car doors. A man’s voice barked orders in serious, short bursts.
Myron dropped his phone and fled through the back door.