8:17 p.m. Darling Street Page #2

AII she said at the diner

was she'd been on a trip.

She'd Ient her flat to a friend,

and was worried.

I caIIed the fire dept.

and poIice for her.

We ended up in my car,

headed for the morgue.

Hi.

l told you to keep out.

Try the Coroner.

l don't talk to reporters.

Especially scavengers like you.

Look. Calm down.

l lived in that block

on Darling.

This is my neighbour.

We're here for an lD.

ls that true?

Come this way.

- Shall l come?

- No, thanks.

Wait here.

A reporter?

lf anyone was in her place,

it was her mother not her friend.

Yeah, l heard her too.

Why'd she lie?

- She identified someone?

- Can't say.

- Where is she?

- Gone.

Alone?

Right.

Old Mme Dumais, ground floor.

l don't know her first name.

My downstairs neighbour.

Don't know her last name.

Her husband and son

were on the bus.

Her daughter,

Jose.

This one's unrecognizable!

The other two?

What other two?

Weren't there six?

l only have four.

One fireman said six.

That's news.

Geoffrion said six died.

Six.

- Maybe he was wrong.

- He's never wrong.

Better not get involved.

Thanks...

Grard?

Anything l can do for you?

No. l'm fine.

Forget the little girl.

And...one day at a time.

I took it personaIIy.

A chiId's body

down at the morgue.

My damn Iife.

I'd done everything

to shorten it,

except shoot myseIf

or jump off a buiIding.

But a IittIe 4-year-oId girI

was dead and I was stiII aIive.

Scotch, please.

Double straight.

Ended up in Verdun,

with angIos.

EngIish, French, PoIish,

AIgonquin, no matter.

AA stories are aII the same.

First, the downfaII.

Then, heII.

It's endIess.

AIcohoIics waIk a wire.

A decade of sobriety

doesn't guarantee the end.

We try to do the 12 steps,

knowing each is hard.

One day at a time, 24 hours/day,

Stories are sacred.

I'm unsure about much in Iife,

but I know stories are sacred.

''GerminaI'', the BibIe,

an AA story, it's aII the same:

they impose order on chaos.

Story-teIIing is Iike

whistIing in the dark.

We do it to survive.

Later that night, I decided

to find out what had happened.

We can't revive the dead,

but we can teII their story.

Don't worry.

l won't mention you.

Okay, Stef. l owe you one.

Fine. Bye.

Six it is. Six dead:

old Mme Dumais,

Jose and her mom,

the mystery woman with the

smashed face. We saw these.

Plus the 2 they concealed:

Mme Diane Demers,

likely that student's mother,

and an unknown man beside her.

Plus, 2 are missing:

my 2nd-floor neighbour,

and Jose's father, whom

no one's seen since the bus.

Why mess around in this?

lt's none of your business.

And what'll you get out of it?

You'll just hurt everyone.

Here's Mme Dumais's obituary.

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