To his mind, a victory such as this one could only be appreciated properly when given ample time to sink in, which could not be done while sharing the experience with others. The glad-handing that came in social settings were good for giving lip-service to the notion of success, but did nothing to instill the lessons that came along with it. Self-reflection was the only recipe for taking success to heart. That others could not see what Detective Knox did was not his fault, or at least he told himself.

This time, Detective Knox did not want to bury himself in a bottle, tasting the sweet drops of victory as they fell upon his tongue, while sitting alone in a dark bar, running his fingers over the blood-stained carving on a table, eying the crowd for his next case. What he wanted was to be at home, with Kat, sharing a connection with another person that might remind him all hope was not lost. Hope was not something that came naturally to him, a resource that needed to be infused into him by others. That was Kat's role, the reason he loved her. She tethered him to the rest of the world; she was the lone dissenter stopping the crowd of angry villagers before they could lay into him with their pitchforks.

Kat greeted him as he stepped through the door, into another world. The smile on her face would often make him wonder about her sanity, how she could manage to smile in a city filled with as much evil as he knew was out there. On this occasion, he did not resort to such thinking, and instead was reassured by her presence that his heart was still beating. He approached her, and had given her a kiss before she knew what was happening. Kat was confused, not recognizing the man embracing her. Her husband had become cold over the years, eschewing such affection as a product of a spent youth.

“What's gotten into you?”

“I closed the case.”

“Congratulations. I'm so proud of you, but that doesn't explain all of this.”

“It's the weirdest thing. I usually feel great when I solve a case, but this time I don’t. I feel nothing, at least I didn’t until I walked in the door.”

“That's almost sweet, if you mean it.”

“I do, I think.”

“Why is it different this time? Not that I'm complaining.”

“I don't really know. I guess this answer was even more disheartening than usual. Sometimes, knowing why something happened doesn't make it any easier to understand.”

“I could have told you that, if you ever listened to me.”

“Listening to you is the only reason I solved this one.”

Kat's eyes lit up. It was the first time she had received credit for assisting his thinking on a case.

“Do tell.”

“Now you're trying to rub it in.”

“Maybe a bit. I'll tell you what, you go in the den and relax, and I'm going to go out and get us a bottle of something good to celebrate with. How does that sound?”

“That works for me.”

Kat gathered up her coat, wrapping herself tightly in its warmth. Detective Knox let his weight fall into his favorite chair, melting into the soft support. He looked up to see Kat leaving, a grin on her face the likes of which he had not seen for years. Little gestures could bring her such happiness, he noticed, ashamed that he failed to make the effort to provide them more often. He had not lived up to his promise, something she would not remind him of, something he was well aware of. Making a promise to change would have been the right thing to do, but he knew the likelihood of that occurring was low, and so did Kat. She would not want him to be anyone other than who he was. He would say he wanted to be different, but his consistency would show the confusion in his mind on that point.

Alone once again, Detective Knox's thoughts shifted back to the case. The clock ticked in lockstep with the gears turning in his mind. The dust was knocked off, and as the wheels spun, his troubles began to come into focus. Anna's question came back to him, hanging over him like the sword of Damocles.

In all the years he had been consumed by murder, he had never thought about what it would take to be on the other side of the table, to be the one taking life. Anna's query spurred him to sort through his subconscious, in search of any evidence of such desires. Deep in the recesses, he found what he was looking for, a nascent idea of pure evil that had been sentenced to the dungeon of his mind. It was there, as he had suspected, although he had refused to admit it before. He could not deny that the idea had an intellectual appeal, that the only puzzle more satisfying than solving murders was that of committing the perfect one himself.

He did not wish to continue down this line of thinking, to allow himself to be stained by the ugliness it entailed, but he was often powerless to stop himself once set in motion. Despite himself, schematics began drawing themselves before his eyes, intricate plans for the perfect murder. Detective Knox tried to shut them down before their images could be burned into his eyes, but he could feel himself spiraling further downwards. He had emerged victorious by catching Anna, but she may have struck back by dosing him with a dangerous mental poison. He was not sure if he would be able to repress the thoughts, to live the rest of his life without knowing whether he could do what Anna could not.

As he felt himself slipping away, the door opened, and Kat entered, shimmering with the glistening dew of melting snow. He saw in her something more than beauty, he saw salvation.

“It was a little more than I wanted to spend, but tonight's about celebrating. Are you still feeling up to it?”

“Absolutely. I'm feeling great.”

Detective Knox couldn't tell whether he was lying to Kat, or to himself.

THE END

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