This all started a week after his death.

I went to his funeral, barely composed. The day was stereotypical of a funeral; the weather was gloomy, matching the reception that was fraught with depression. Everyone wore black, in remembrance of the dead, but it showed that no one knew him. He always said that when he died, he wanted it to be a celebration of his life, not a mourning of his death, but this was just verbatim of my statement. He said that it was better than the standard funeral. Everyone thought I was too unstable to plan his reception, so the planners went against his wishes and planned a standard funeral. I was the only one who complied with his wishes, choosing to wear his favorite dress of mine.

I hardly said a word the entire day; Jessica had to become my voice. The entire day was filled with pity, complete with the standard “I’m sorry” and “It’ll get better.”

None of them knows what it’s like to lose a partner and a soul mate.

Damian Evans was the austere kind of guy who didn’t show emotion until he was secluded in his bedroom at his house. He hardly showed any compassion to strangers unless it was part of an investigation, and even then he didn’t have much tact. It took him almost a year for him to open up to me, but when he let me in, he let me see. I was the first person he ever let see him cry, and I was immensely grateful to be that person he shared with.
Damian was also the guy that everyone looked up to and wanted to be. He was the star player, the main man, the top of the class. He was the person that set the standards for everyone else, but no one could ever reach his level. Everybody coveted him, even my research team wanted to be him or have his attention.

Everyone except me.

From the moment I met Damian, I saw right through his façade. He had a solid exterior, with a soft core. He did these things that no one would notice, unless someone was looking. Once, while walking the streets looking for a suspect in a serial murder, he slipped an old, homeless, veteran a ten dollar bill. He didn’t realize I was looking when he did it. When I called him out on it, analyzing this actions that contradicted his demeanor, Damian stated that his sister would kill him if he didn’t show compassion every once in a while.

My refusal to accept his façade was why he fought for me.

I wouldn’t call our love a whirlwind romance, but it was the kind that only happened one in a millennia; Damian always said he knew from that start, from the moment he met me on our first case together, that any moment with me would the apex of his life.

I knew from the moment he saved my life- the first time- that there was no one else who would ever keep up with me.

After two days of mourning, which were practically forced upon me, I knew that I couldn’t sit around while Damian’s murderer was free. People were surprised to see me back in the lab so soon, except my team. They knew I couldn’t sit still for too long, and they were surprised I hadn’t come in earlier. Jessica, my best friend and the team’s forensic chemist, knew I was still mourning, but she also knew that I wouldn’t let that impede the investigation.

I stayed at the lab late that night. I was alone in my office that overlooked the central examination room. The only livings things in the building were my fish and me.

Damian and I would spend hours upon hours on my couch, pouring over case files in search of evidence. Usually the coffee table was filled with takeout containers and classified files. Sometimes we would just sit here and not say a word; I would be writing and Damian would usually be reading something.

That’s just how we were; we didn’t need words to communicate. Our actions spoke for us.

I finally dozed off, even if it only seemed like a minute; the day was long and tiring. When I awoke, there was a blanket draped over my shoulders, which had previously been bare. This action was something Damian always did when he found me asleep in his office.

He didn't believe in ghosts, or things from beyond the dead, but I remembered stories about the souls of dead that my father used to tell me. He always said that the spirits of our loved ones watched over us and protected us from danger. I believed that to be true.

Damian would just say that those were just tales that my father would tell me to feed my imagination, but I always thought that my parents were watching over me, raising me through my dreams and thoughts. I wished that Damian would do the same, but I doubt his spirit would become a hypocrite; Damian thought that hypocrites and liars were uncouth.

I shook off the feeling that plagued the pit of my stomach, and I convinced myself that I covered myself with the blanket just before I fell asleep. The blanket was one of Damian's that he brought from home; the grey fleece still smelled of his distinctive cologne.

I looked at the watch that adorned my wrist; it was almost midnight. I gazed at the watch still. It was a gift from my entire team but I knew tell it was Damian's idea. He was sentimental like that. The watch was an antique trench watch from World War II; it actually belonged to my grandfather, who fought in the British army. I had told Jessica about the auction it was being sold at a few week prior, and I assume she told Damian. He found it and convinced the entire team to buy it, knowing I wouldn't accept it if the watch was just from him.

It was one of the few things that tied me to Damian.

The other was my engagement ring. It was a beautiful ornate gold band that looked like twisted rope. Two ropes were them twisted together and around the crystal. The stone was a diamond of the highest quality and clarity.
When he first proposed, I refused to accept the ring, stating that I didn't deserve a ring of this quality and expense. The was something much more useful to do with the money. Damian's face, when I told him that, was priceless, and after he recovered, he refused my refusal of the ring.

"You deserve the world, Conor, and don't let anyone tell you different. This ring, not only represents my love for you, but also the temerity of our love's eternity."

I broke myself from my daze, realizing I had sat there staring at my watch for ten minutes. I packed up the few things that I carried from my house to work and vice versa, which included Damian's case file.

The night air was cold and bitter, but the sky was filled with lights. A search light emitted from the White House lawn, signifying a gala or benefit. I walked to the parking garage, which was completely void of life and cars. The only thing that stood in the lot was an old, faded green Jeep. He used to laughed at my choice in vehicles.
By the time I completed the journey home, I dreaded entering the apartment. After Damian moved in- which only happened because I adamantly refused to move into his mansion in McLean- the loft was almost always filled with life. If Damian happened to get home before I did, which was often, I would find a crackling fire place and dinner waiting to be eaten. Now that he was gone, the loft was cold and empty.

Like me.

*                                 *                             *

After that night, I grew into the habit of falling asleep on the couch in my office; I would go to the loft to change clothes and to take a shower. Living there alone just didn’t feel right anymore.

The one week mark after his death, was the worst night. The wind was whirling through the air, creating whistles as the air was pushed into tight spaces; a storm was obviously traveling along the coast. I couldn’t sleep, as my mind was whirling with the wind; I was trying to read a book about rare fish, a passion of mine,

A light turned on in the autopsy room across the lab, but I should have been the only one here. Most employees left before nine, and it was midnight.

Thinking someone may have come back, I called out.

”Hello?”
When no one answered, I stood up, and meandered into the room, which was void of life. Again I called out.
“Is anyone here?”
Again no answer.
I turned around to leave the cold room, dismissing the lights as an electrical problem, when something caught my eye. There was a reflection on the stainless steel door of a fridge cell that wasn’t mine.

I couldn’t make out much of the details, but I could tell it was a man by the stature. He was wear a red and blue plaid shirt, and what looked like jeans. His hair appeared to be a darker color, maybe a black or a dark brown. Even without the details, I knew who it was.

I knew from my heart.

“Damian?”

A form flickered in front of the reflection, and a ghostly Damian appeared.

I couldn’t believe my eyes, but every part of my being told me he was really here. Damian was really standing in front of me.

Hypocrite.

His eyes were still the same warm brown orbs that had drawn me in and fell in love with, and his soft smile, that caused butterflies to take flight in my stomach, still graced his lips when he looked at me. He was concurrent as he was alive. My eyes traveled over his entire face taking everything in, from the small scar above his right eye given to him when he first saved my life to his adorable shallow dimples.

My eyes traveled lower, taking in his still puissant body into account. I froze when I saw the bloody hole created by the bullet that pierced his lungs and caused his death. His shirt was soaked with his blood, as it was when he died.

He really was gone.

“My eyes are deceiving me. I saw you die. I must be going insane or I really, really need more sleep,” I told this to myself, while rubbing my eyes. I would not, I could not, believe what my brain was processing.

“I know you don’t believe that,” Damian’s deep vibrato resonated within my soul, and my gaze snapped back up to his face.
“It’s not really you.”

His smile deepened, as if he was laughing silently at an inside joke, but his eyes were sad, “No, I’m not. My physical being is dead, but my spiritual essence is very much alive. And stop calling me a hypocrite; please just say ‘I told you so’ so we can move on.”

“If I touch you, will my hand pass through?”

His normally comforting eyes held a certain foreboding that caused chills though my body,” Unfortunately, yes.
I took a step closer to him, which brought us face to face, hardly two inches across. If he had a breath, I would feel it fan across my face. From this position, I could see the slight freckles splattered across his nose, and the subtle stubble on his chin.

“Why are you here, Damian?”

He smiled again, “Always straight to the point, Conor, plus I could be asking you the same thing.”

I just gave him the look I would always give him when I wanted an answer.

“I need you to set me, or my soul, free.”

A jolt of cold electricity pulsed through my body; I had forgotten his condition, even though we were talking about it. It all seemed so real, like he was actually here.

I stepped back slightly, as the realization set in, and as I did so, Damian’s eyes grew sadder. I set my shoulders back, and settled my brain to a more rational mindset.

“What do you need me to do, Damian?”

His smile grew sad, or sadder than it already was, He meandered around the examination tables, “There are two things actually. First, I need you personally to arrest my killer, which I will tell you who it is in a minute.”
I nodded, understanding that aspect, “What’s the second part?”

Damian looked down at my ring before bringing his hand up to my cheek, like he used to do before his death. His hand, however, fell through my face. Damian forgot his condition, too, and I could tell that he wished his condition was something he didn’t have.

“Before I tell you, I want you to remember that even when I am fully gone, my presence will never wane. I will always love you. You are my eternity.”

I felt a tear drop down my face, and I saw his face was mirroring me. Damian was close to tears, as if he didn’t want this to happen.

“What do I need to do?”

“Let go.”

   *                                 *                             *

We caught his murderer the next day, and the day after, we officially buried his body. At the burial, I struggled not to cry, so I wouldn’t impede my loosening grip. Jessica stood by me the whole day, the same as she did at the ceremony. The day was dismal, cloudy, and frigid, also similar to the day of the ceremony. People dressed in black surrounded the coffin, although the crowd was significantly less than the ceremony, and I constantly earned words of poorly clocked pity.

After the ceremony, I told Jessica I needed a moment alone. I stood next to the freshly covered grave and stared at the gravestone.

‘Damian Evans, 1984-2014
Loving brother and friend’
That’s all the stone said. That piece of granite told nothing of his life, or who he was. His kid would never know him, except through me.

I placed a hand on my stomach, holding the secret that would become obvious in a few months. I finally let a single tear fall down my face.

I knew I couldn’t stay here much longer before bursting into tears, so I completed what I needed to do. I placed my engagement ring, which I placed back into its original velvet, into the fresh dirt, and stepped on it, pressing it deep onto the soil. It was the last material item tying me to Damian.

I was trying to move on; I had to, even if it was arduous. I would always love him. He was my eternity, but Damian was right.

I needed to let go.