My Unsolved Mysteries — Joe Roberts

I place a second neat bourbon order. This beverage will act as the switch. I have no idea how I arrived here, to this location, or at this particular moment. Recently, I've been experiencing something. I consume too much alcohol. I wake up from recurring nightmares of rotting corpses to find my bedding drenched in water. I place a second drink order and down it, attempting to block out the most recent case I can't seem to shake. For me, investigating a crime is more difficult than going on a search or putting together a puzzle from a scientific perspective. For better or worse, the idea of good people suffering drives me to the point of obsession. People frequently enquire as to how I manage to distance myself from the horrors of my job. The ability to compartmentalize is a component of it; the other parts come through exposure and experience, both of which I've had a lot of. But I've always taken pride in my ability to suppress my emotions when necessary to complete a task. It has just recently begun to feel as though the contained gloom is starting to leak out.