There was no mistaking the sight or sound of a police car’s flashing green and blue lights as we watched through the windows by the door as it passed down the street. The car’s bright headlights threw up an ominous glow on the foliage and the neighbors’ houses.

Ours was a quiet neighborhood. The police didn’t come here unless something was seriously wrong.

As a family, we made our way to the door.

Pel glanced back, and down. “Rayph, put your shoes on.”

Rayph held back for a moment while his mother moved further ahead. As soon as Pel had stepped outside, he continued on toward the door just as he was.

“Has there been a death?” Jules muttered.

“No,” I said, stepping out into the night’s chill, “if there were, there’d be an ambulance.”

The police car had parked on our side of the street. I could tell from the look in Pel’s eyes that she was a hair’s breadth away from walking up to them to ask what was amiss, but the two officers that stepped out of the car threw a curveball at our worries when they made a beeline not for our house, but for the Elbocks’, across the street. They were hardly half-way up the walkway when Storn Elbock stepped out of the front door and greeted them.

“Angel bless you,” he said, “you’re here!” The worry on Mr. Elbock’s face was frighteningly alien.

For decades, Storn worked in the offices of the Sunnybright Brokerage firm downtown, earning tidy sums by guiding his clients down investment plans as sturdy and sure-footed as his own unflappable demeanor. He was as level-headed as they come, and he looked it, too, with his gray hair kept forever trimmed to a couple inches’ height by a self-administering buzz cut of almost military precision.

While the kids and I stood on our lawn and walkway—while my thoughts all a-whirl—Pel had already crossed half-way to the other side of the street. She spoke up as soon as she was close enough to not need to yell.

“Storn… what happened?”

I motioned to the kids with my arm. “Stay here”.

I joined my wife in the middle of the street in the dark of the night—only to immediately regret it. As soon as I stepped out onto the grass, a wave of nausea struck me, and I felt flushed with a cold sweat.

One of the officers stuck out his palm at my wife as he turned around to face her. The Elbocks grew lilacs by the sidewalk, in front of the brick walls that supported their terraced front yard. The light from the lamps shining through the flowerless shrubs glinted off the officer’s badge and the reflectors atop his dark green uniform’s fringeless epaulets.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but—”

—Storn stepped in front of the two officers. “No, it’s alright. They’re friends.”

I staggered and groaned, but then forced myself ahead, even though my legs suddenly felt like jelly.

I started to speak. “Did—”

Storn’s voice cracked. “—Merritt’s gone missing.”

Fudge!

Half of me sighed with relief; the other half wanted to hurl. Actually, no: both parts wanted to hurl. But that’s when I remembered. That’s right, she said she hadn’t told him.

Pel paled. “What?” Briefly, she brought her hand to her mouth. “When?” She stammered. “How?”

Storn gyrated his clenched fists. His usual laconic sentences elbowed each other as they rushed out of his mouth.

“I just got home,” he said. “It was a long day at the office. My jacket’s barely on the rack before I realized she wasn’t there.” I looked… everywhere. I…”

I’d never seen Storn like this; I’d never thought he could ever be seen like this. His collar buttons were partly undone; friction alone kept his half-tied necktie in place. I swear, I could see sweat on his brow—and I never saw sweat on Storn’s brow, not at night!

“Genneth…” Storn shook his head, “should I call the kids?”

The Elbocks’ children had left for college. Josh had gotten into the Polytechnic, while Amanda had opted for the Seasweep Academy for the Arts. I kept telling her she didn’t need it; she was a truly gifted painter.

“Part of me wants to let them—

“—Wh-why,” stuttering, I gulped, “why didn’t you call me?”

“You know the woman, Genneth.” He squeezed his right index finger around his thumb. “If she goes into the garden to read, she leaves a note!”

The other officer spoke up. “Mr. Elbock, when did you last see your wife?”

“This morning,” he said. “I get up early to go to work.”

My toes were about ready to crawl up out of my shoes. I couldn’t take it anymore. Even doctor-patient confidentiality had to have its limits.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Storn,” I said, “it’s alright.”

Again, Storn clenched his fists. “How is it alright?”

I felt almost feverish. Something was definitely wrong. Maybe it was food poisoning?

“Merritt… she’s…”

Deep breaths, Genneth. Deep breaths.

Breathed in and out, I threaded my fingers through my hands and then fidgeted with my bow-tie. “Merritt is at the hospital,” I said. “She came to me this morning for an emergency appointment. She’s still there, by my orders.”

Storn’s body language used some novel vocabulary, popping his lips open and shut several times, as if he was swallowing his words before they’d even left his mouth. Eventually, he found his tongue. “Why didn’t you tell me, Howle? You could have called! Left a message!”

“I… it was a long day, and I…” I shook my head, “Doctor patient confidentiality,” I said. I glanced down at the pavement, my teeth pressed into my tongue.

Great. I don’t just feel sick, I feel awful, too!

“I have a right to know,” he said. “I’m her husband. I have a right to know!”

My thoughts flashed back to a recent staff training session.

Yes, he did, I thought, but… not if she didn’t want him to know.

In case the Nadkila case hadn’t already made it clear, the correlation between rectitude and the law was tenuous, at best. On the other hand, having the law’s labyrinthine support on your side was no guarantee that the right thing to do would be anything near easy. Meanwhile, where I stood, out in the cold, I had both indecorum and the law on my side.

Ugh…

Raising my hands in a pleading gesture, I held them there for a moment, quivering with uncertainty, before clasping them together, my fingers clutching tightly to my palms. I dabbed my tongue at the edges of my lips where my mouth had gone dry.

I was dizzy and achy all over.

“It’s somewhat complex,” I said, “it might have been a migraine, or maybe a TIA—a transient ischemic attack,” I clarified, “a minor stroke,” I added, clarifying some more.

Mr. Elbock’s dusty, gray-blue eyes bore into me.

Grumbledyhump.

Trying to soften it was only going to make it worse, and I doubted I’d be able to last much longer.

Oh, to heck with it!

“Storn, as far as I and the West Elpeck Medical psychiatric library can tell, your wife appears to be suffering from an extremely rare type of psychosis known as Nalfar’s syndrome. It’s so rare, we’re not even sure what causes it, but the symptoms are as clear as day. When you have Nalfar’s syndrome, you think and feel like you are dead. And that’s what Merritt feels. She thinks she’s dead, that she’s nothing more than a ghost, trapped inside her corpse as it rots as she awaits the end of the world. She thinks she’s doomed; she thinks we’re all doomed.” I ran my fingers beneath my glasses, pinching the bridge of my nose and wiping away tears. “She came to me this morning to tell me this, and she asked me to put her out of her misery. That’s what her emergency appointment was about this morning. That’s how I started my day.”

Storn’s lips fluttered. “Wh—”

I lowered my head in dejection, along with the volume of my voice. I didn’t want the kids to hear.

“She wanted me to kill her. She was… afraid that she wouldn’t be able to go through with it herself.”

Horror blossomed in his eyes, and it cut me like a knife.

“But I didn’t, I didn’t. I didn’t.” I stumbled over my words. “I only pretended to. I used a sedative. She’s…” I sighed again, “she’s been put on suicide watch. I’m sorry, Storn. I’m so sorry. I should have told you.”

Hello there, guilt. Long time no see! It’s been like, what, an hour since we last met?

Pel didn’t say a word; she just kept shaking her head.

I fidgeted my fingers around my lucky yellow bowtie. I couldn’t leave things this way. There had to be hope!

Even if I did feel like I was going to puke.

“I know, I know… this is terribly, horribly frightening, and not just for you, but for Merritt, too. Before everything blew up because of the Dressfeldt shooter, I was doing research into Nalfar’s. Even while doing my rounds today, I kept thinking back to your wife’s case history. As crazy as this might all sound, I’ve been thinking that this might just be a side-effect from one of her migraines, or maybe a tumor putting pressure on an artery. The good news is—and there is good news, remember that… though there’s a lot we don’t know about this condition, all known cases have resolved themselves over time without any lasting consequences. Today was an awful, awful day. I would have scheduled an MRI for Merritt, but the shooting made everything crazy.” I looked Storn in the eye. "I managed to set her up for an MRI first thing tomorrow, so, if there’s anything abnormal, we’ll know about it soon enough, and I promise, I will let you know.” I sighed.

There, I’d gotten through the worst of it.

“She’s going to be okay, Storn, I’m sure of it.”

Storn opened and closed his mouth several times, without a word. Then, after gritting his teeth, he finally spoke.

“We’ve known each other for years, Genneth. Almost decades. This should have been like the rabbit to the hen. You should have told me.”

“I would have, Storn,” I said, “but she begged me not to. She was in tears about it, Storn. She didn’t want it to trouble you. At the time, I felt it was what I needed to do to respect her wishes.”

Oh, and also, I kind of… forgot?

I felt like hitting myself.

First, my wife and daughter hated me; now, our closest family friend—our neighbor!—would hate me, too.

“Lying to her is hardly respecting her wishes,” Storn said. “Telling her you’re willing to kill her…”

I closed my eyes and shook my head. I had to take a step back. In deference, I bowed at him. “I know,” I said, softly.

“I’m going to see her as soon as I can,” he said.

One of the police officers cleared their throat. “So… is everything alright now? Are we done here? There’s an epidemic of missing persons cases right now.” He glanced at his partner. “What is this, the fourth one tonight?”

“Fifth,” his partner said.

Storn nodded slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on me. “As good as it’s going to be,” he said. “I don’t want to keep you from your duties, officers.”

Pel and I walked back across the street, as did the police officers. The consoles mounted on their forearms lit up with text and sound.

“Fuck, not another one!” one of the officers muttered. They slammed the doors shut on their car and sped off.

I watched the lights pass into the distance, dipping out of sight along the curve of the hill. Then, turning around, I found my kids staring at me with wary, half-awed looks on their faces.

Beast’s teeth!

They’d heard the whole thing.

My wife leaned into me as I led my family back to the house.

“That could have gone better,” she whispered.

“Oh, you have no idea…” I said, with a pained smirk.

“Dad…” Jules said.

“Daddy… had a bad day, sweetheart,” I said. “A really, really bad day.”

I spent the next half-hour kneeling over the porcelain throne, waiting for something to come out, but nothing did. The nausea came in waves, cresting higher and higher until it finally subsided, leaving me weakened and achy. Finally, I shuffled off to bed, drained and spent, bracing myself for the kinds of weird, fever-dreams that food poisoning and other illnesses could bring: gods, demons, and rarebit fiends.

Hopefully, a good night’s sleep would make me feel better.