Pain sizzled up Barack’s calf. Stifling a curse, he hobbled to a chair. In the near dawn darkness, their bedroom was a minefield. One of Willow’s matchbox cars, a bright red Corvette, was tangled in his sock. Head in his hand, Barack rubbed his foot. Every part of him ached this morning.

He’d promised Faith that he had stopped working the case. Barack had kept his word about checking out master’s degree programs. He was spending more time with the kids, hence the traffic jam of mini race cars on their bedroom rug. Barack wanted to do better. He knew it was time to leave the police force.

But Ashanti held him fast. His big sister who loved to boss him around, who always made him grits and eggs, Ashanti who would always be fourteen years old, she was the smartest person Barack ever met. Ashanti walking him to elementary school on that last day. Barack pictured Ashanti waving goodbye before running back home for her math book. In the near darkness, Barack fumbled for his shoes. Each morning instead of going to the gym the detective worked his big sister’s murder case.

There was genealogy DNA, links to a serial killer working out of Ohio during the 1990s, and age regressed suspect drawings. He was waiting for an email from a special cold case unit. His career in law enforcement began on that day, the last day with his sister. Ashanti waved to him from the dresser mirror.

Barack tiptoed towards their bedroom door. His wife’s even breathing pulled at his every step. A pale finger of light crept in as he opened their door. A sudden fmemory flashed. Was that a red four door sedan following his sister that day? He grabbed at the memory.

“Barry,” Faith said sleepily from the bed.

Dreamlike, the memory slipped away. He didn’t turn as Faith sat up. She looked at his gym bag still sitting on the hamper. Turning her back, Faith pretended to sleep. To himself, Barack promised he would do better.