Colin Conway Presents The Fate of Our Years - The 509 Crime Stories Book 11 - One of Saddest Books Ever Read...

The need to be in the fight against evil no longer felt important. Unfortunately, I didn’t know what else was out there. What waited for me in retirement? All the plans I had with Bobbie no longer existed. Fulfilling them alone seemed hollow.

Overhead, a sugary song played. I could make it out, but I tried not to focus on it. I didn’t want to know what it was. “Look at me, Dallas,” she said softly. “Is that why you seem off?” Off. That was one word for it. Shortly after my wife’s death, I began waking to snippets of music. At first, I wondered if Bobbie was trying to communicate from beyond the grave. Once I decided she wasn’t, the music changed. The songs attacked my consciousness during the day. I felt on the verge of a breakdown. My work suffered, and the department ordered I see a therapist. He identified the music as auditory hallucinations. They went away not long after that. I knew I wasn’t crazy, but the diagnosis didn’t make me feel better. She squeezed my hand. “You can tell me.” “No, the music isn’t back.” “Then what’s wrong?” I stared at her hand in mine. She had nice fingers. What a stupid observation, I thought. She squeezed my hand again. Her voice was gentle. 

Truthfully? I can't imagine a love so deep that, upon death of the beloved, all life must stop. And, yet, Colin Conway has presented such a relationship. One that was so invasive to the individual left living, that, reality seemed to slip away...when she was gone...

Perhaps it was because he was a detective in major crimes? That doesn't seem the answer since he'd been dealing with this type of case during his entire career. Yet, when his wife died, he removed all sources of sound from their home, especially music...

Comprehension of such a fate is not possible for me. Yet, even as the story moves on to get into individual case work, if some distant notes of music came to his ears, he would be distracted...

My wife was somewhere in the quiet of my home. When I stopped looking for Bobbie in the music of my subconscious, I realized she was always with me in the stillness of our home. A weight draped itself over my shoulders, and I lowered my head.

The phone in my pocket buzzed once. I pulled it out to find a text message from Marlene—I’m sorry for being weird last night. 

I looked at Bobbie’s grave and immediately felt a surge of guilt. “It’s from a friend.” Shame was an emotion I’d never felt with Bobbie. I’d never done anything inappropriate while we were married, so it was stupid to feel something like that now. I slipped the phone back into my pocket. “I don’t know why I started thinking about it.” My head bobbled. “Retirement, I mean. The job’s the only thing I’ve looked forward to since you’ve gone away.” Two foreign cars raced by the cemetery. I watched them go. When I faced Bobbie’s headstone again, I studied it for a moment. “The music made you being gone easier.” I waved my hand in frustration. “That didn’t come out right. I meant it distracted me. Gave me something to focus on besides your absence. You being gone isn’t easy.” The old man at the other marker walked away. He shuffled with his head down. Is that how I moved after talking with Bobbie? Probably. 

What do you want? It was a strange question and sounded like Bobbie’s voice in my head. I knew it couldn’t be. She was dead, and I wasn’t crazy. No matter how much I wanted her back, that wouldn’t happen. The more I thought about it, the more I became convinced the question was in my own voice. Regardless, I was bothered because of the question’s open-ended nature. Perhaps it was related to retirement. Or maybe it was linked to Marlene, but how would Bobbie know? I hadn’t told her anything. Either way, I didn’t feel like answering it even if I had asked it of myself. And what if she had asked the question? Then answering it would definitely mean I was crazy. I looked at my watch. “I have to go.” I squatted and touched the marker. “I love you.”

 *** 

“How was your night?” Glenn asked. He hung his suit jacket over the back of his chair and then flopped into it. “Fine,” I said. I hadn’t told him about any of my meetings with Marlene. It wasn’t any of his business. 

Interestingly, much of the investigation took place in a local bar, with music playing all of the time. Readers know what is happening, at least enough to understand the specific manner in which a murder had occurred. But even here, again, we find another man with a past that he could not forget. Yet was murdered through an entirely different set of circumstances. Is the writer trying to show a side of humanity that is, really, totally subject to the whims of fate? I found myself becoming disenchanted with that possibility, even as the case moves forward and, indeed, what occurs resulted in a death which made no sense in the real world. It was a fluke that it occurred. Or was it? Was his death meant to actually be retribution? 

You see, when you consider Fate as your way of life, it removes what, I believe, God has given to all of us--Free Will. During the entire book, music became either an instrument of potential torture or a pre-determined choice that he must make in order to survive...

I expected my subconscious to attack me then with Van Halen’s “Hot for Teacher.” Perhaps it would have been some of Eddie Van Halen’s guitar noodling or Alex Van Halen’s skipping drum intro. Hell, it might even have been David Lee Roth’s infamous “I’m not tardy” line, but my brain remained quiet. I felt oddly alone with the silence inside my head. Glenn continued. “You wouldn’t believe how hot this one is. She could have been a centerfold.” He ruefully shook his head. “So, what do you say?” “To centerfolds?” “To the teacher.” “No.”

Finally, folks, I was more involved in watching the cop pass up classic rock or jazz, etc., so that he wouldn't be drawn back into a life that could never exist again, that I didn't want to watch his self-fulling prophecy:

self-fulfilling prophecy is a belief about a future outcome that helps to bring about its own fulfillment. This happens because the unconscious expectations that we hold can influence our actions and ultimately cause the initial prediction to become true.

Besides that, living without music is impossible to even think about for me, so even if the cases were interesting, I found myself hoping that he keeps getting therapy...

Yes, the book is well written, has a sound basis for police procedure activities... Fate as a key factor in policing? I don't think so... Check it out and decide for yourself... This is a personal opinion review

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