You are the only one left.

The rain hits the glass. It sounds like teeth clicking. You stand by the window. The city breathes out. Gray fog. It eats the streetlights. You watch a taxi slide by. Its lights smear. Red. Yellow. Gone.

You turn away. Your hands are cold. You rub them. You look at the desk. Papers. Scattered. Coffee cups. Empty.

Your name is Arthur. You are a detective. Or you were. The badge is on the table. It shines. It is too bright. You do not pick it up. You cannot.

The door opens.

It is Thomas. He walks in. He does not knock. He shakes the water from his coat. He drips on the floor.

"Arthur," he says.

You do not answer. You stare at the wall. There is a crack in the plaster. It looks like a vein.

Thomas walks to the desk. He sits down. He does not look at you. He looks at the papers. He picks one up. He reads it. He puts it down.

"They found the body," he says.

You know this. You have known for three days. The body was in the river. The river is black. It swallows things.

"Whose body?" you ask. Your voice is dry. It sounds like sand.

Thomas looks at you. His eyes are red. He rubs them. He looks tired. He is always tired.

"Margaret," he says.

The name hangs in the air. It does not move. It is heavy.

"Margaret is dead," Thomas says again. He says it like a fact. Like the weather.

You feel a pull in your chest. It is sharp. It is cold. You breathe. In. Out.

"Who killed her?" you ask.

Thomas shakes his head. "We do not know."

"Find out," you say.

"I am trying."

"You are not trying hard enough."

Thomas stands up. He walks to the window. He stands next to you. You can smell him. Rain. Tobacco. Old wool.

"Arthur," he says. "Stop."

"I cannot stop."

"You have to."

"Why?"

"Because it is not you."

You turn to him. You look in his eyes. He is a good man. He is your friend. He has been your friend for ten years.

"Who is it?" you ask.

Thomas does not answer. He looks out at the city. The fog is thicker now. The streetlights are gone. There is only dark.

"I saw her," Thomas says. "Last night."

You freeze. Your heart stops. Then it starts again. It beats fast. It beats hard.

"Where?" you ask.

"At the bridge. She was standing there. She was looking down."

"What was she doing?"

"She was talking to me."

You step back. Your back hits the wall. It is cold.

"She said she was sorry," Thomas says. "She said she could not do it."

"Could not do what?"

Thomas looks at you. His face is pale. He looks afraid.

"Arthur. Listen to me. You are the one."

The words land. They hit you. They sink in. They settle in your bones.

"No," you say.

"Yes."

"I did not kill her."

"Did you?"

You open your mouth. You want to say no. But the sound does not come.

You think about the night. You think about the walk. You think about the river. You think about the silence. You think about the feeling.

The feeling was right.

It felt like peace.

It felt like ending.

You look at Thomas. You see the truth in his face. He believes it. He knows it. He has always known it.

You are the monster. You are the shadow. You are the thing that eats the light.

"I did it," you say.

The words are small. They are quiet. They do not echo.

Thomas nods. He does not look surprised. He looks relieved.

"Go," he says.

"Where?"

"Anywhere. Nowhere. Go."

You look at the badge. It is still on the table. It is waiting.

You walk to the door. You open it. The cold air rushes in. It bites you.

"Thomas," you say.

He looks up.

"Thank you."

He smiles. It is a sad smile. It is a kind smile.

"Goodbye, Arthur."

You step out. The door closes behind you. It clicks shut.

You are in the hall. The lights are dim. They flicker.

You walk to the stairs. You go down. One step. Two steps. Three.

The city is waiting. It is hungry. It is alive.

You reach the street. The rain is heavier now. It soaks you. It runs down your face. It mixes with your tears. You do not wipe it away.

You walk. You do not know where. You just walk.

The streets are empty. The shops are closed. The windows are dark.

You pass a park. The trees are bare. They look like skeletons.

You pass a church. The bells are silent.

You pass a bridge. The river is below. It is black. It is deep.

You stop.

You look down.

You see her face.

It is not a ghost. It is not a vision. It is a memory.

Margaret is there. She is smiling. She is beautiful. She is gone.

You feel the weight of it. It is heavy. It is yours.

You did it for her. You did it for the city. You did it for the silence.

You are the shield. You took the blow. You took the sin.

You stand on the bridge. The wind blows. It pulls at your coat.

You look at the river. It calls to you. It sings.

It is a low song. It is a soft song.

You take off your coat. You fold it. You place it on the railing.

You take off your shoes. You place them next to the coat.

You are barefoot. The concrete is wet. It is cold.

You step to the edge.

The water is close. It is black. It is deep.

You think about the people. Thomas. Margaret. The others.

They are gone. They are safe.

You are the boundary. You are the line. You are the end.

You lean forward.

The city lights blur. The rain blurs. The world blurs.

You close your eyes.

You fall.

The air rushes past you. It is fast. It is loud.

Then there is silence.

There is water.

It is cold. It is black. It is deep.

You sink.

You do not fight. You let go.

You are free.

You are the shadow. You are the end.

You are at peace.

The water closes over you. It is gentle. It is kind.

You are gone.

The city wakes up. The sun rises. The fog lifts.

Thomas is at his desk. He is drinking coffee. He looks out the window.

The bridge is empty.

The rain has stopped.

The sky is blue.

It is a beautiful day.

He does not know. He will never know.

But he feels it.

He feels the weight leave the air.

He feels the silence.

It is a good silence.

It is a clean silence.

He smiles. He does not know why.

He picks up the phone. He calls the station.

"I have a confession," he says.

"Who?" they ask.

"Arthur," he says.

"Where is he?"

Thomas looks at the window. He looks at the river.

"He is gone," Thomas says.

They do not understand.

They do not need to.

Thomas hangs up the phone.

He looks at the badge on the desk.

It is gone.

The table is empty.

The chair is empty.

The room is quiet.

Thomas stands up.

He walks to the door.

He opens it.

He steps out.

He walks into the city.

He walks into the light.

He is alone.

He is free.

He is the shield.

He carries it.

He carries it always.

The city breathes.

The rain stops.

The light shines.

You are gone.

You are the end.

You are the silence.

The story is over.

The world goes on.

The rain washes the streets.

The sun dries the pavement.

The people walk.

The cars drive.

The life flows.

It does not stop.

It does not care.

It moves.

It lives.

You are part of it.

You are the part that holds the line.

You are the part that keeps the peace.

You are the shadow in the corner.

You are the breath before the sleep.

You are the fade.

You are the end.

You are the peace.

The rain falls.

The sun rises.

The day ends.

The night comes.

The cycle continues.

You are in the cycle.

You are in the flow.

You are in the silence.

You are at rest.

You are at peace.

The story is complete.

The words are done.

The meaning is clear.

You are free.

The end.