If Harrison had just shut his fucking mouth, I know I would’ve had Thomas right where I wanted him. I recognize the way he looked at me. I know what he was thinking. If I’d just kept it up, I would’ve had him talking to me and confiding in the poor, sweet girl who just wants to make things right. In some ways I’m a bitch for thinking that way. After all, I can be sweet. I just needed him to give me anything at all on Petrov. Everyone keeps saying he’s probably dead. I need to know for sure.
If he's already dead and gone, it would kill the sick, twisted part of me that wants to beat him to death with my own two hands. I’ve spent years trying to find a way to get to him. I’ve come too close to give up hope. If he’s dead, I need to know. I need to be able to let go. I can’t really say goodbye to her until I know for sure.
The thought makes my eyes water, but I just blink a few times to shut that shit down. She would tell me not to cry, and if there’s one person I took advice from, it was my sister. My fingers reach for my locket, the one with Melissa’s picture in it. But it’s not there, so instead I rub the dip in my throat. I never wear it when I’m on duty, but it does wonders to calm me down and keep me focused.
I shake my head to get rid of all the emotions threatening to consume me, and hit the unlock button on my key fob. The key itself is sticking out through my clenched fist. Just in case, I look to the right as the lights go off on my car and the gentle beep fills the air. I pass the corner of the building. No one’s there. No one’s out here. You can never be too careful, though. I always check. I’m always on guard. I’d say it comes with the training, but that’s not why I do this. I wish I could lie to myself, but I can’t. I know why I do it. And I hate the reminder.
I feel like I’ve felt eyes on me the last few days. So I guess being on guard like this may eventually pay off. I just can’t get rid of the feeling that I’m being watched. My stomach coils into knots, and I try to shake it off. I’m just paranoid and tired. That's what I tell myself, over and over. This isn’t the first time I’ve felt like this. And I was fine then. It’s just my past that’s haunting me.
I climb into my car and toss the messenger bag onto the passenger seat. I have so much paperwork to go through. I’m not looking forward to it, but if I have to work overtime to get it done and still be able to keep up with the Valetti case, then that’s what I’m going to do.
I put the key in the ignition and start the car. My mind drifts as I drive back to my apartment. My sister was the only person I really had in this world. She was no one special to anyone but me. Just a nurse. No one who anyone would ever want to hurt. She never really went anywhere high-risk. She hardly went out for a drink. But one night she went out to get groceries and never came back. One night is all it took, and she was gone. Her body was found a few months later, among others, in Russia. At first I was filled with disbelief. This sort of thing doesn’t happen in real life. Definitely not in America.
But it does. And it did to her. When I got over the sadness, the anger set in. I had nothing to hold me back. I was already in college for forensics, so it was a small step to get into the academy. Anger turned into determination. I read everything I could. I became obsessed.
It was almost like a graduation present that there was a position available in a town where Petrov was last seen in the US. I’ve never been so lucky. But since I’ve gotten here, the leads have gone cold. And so has everyone else I’ve been surrounded by.
I watch the red light as I pull up to it, waiting for it to turn green, and my eyes catch movement to my right. It’s a small Italian water ice shop. A few kids are standing out front with their parents leaning into the window to order. I hear their little screams of joy as they each dig into their treats.
Their life is normal; I wonder if they do that every Friday night. We used to go to the ice cream parlor a few blocks away when we were younger. Melissa talked about how she would keep up the tradition with her kids when she bought her house close to where we grew up.
The light turns green and I slowly move along. I’ll never have that again. I don't see how I can ever have a normal life. How can life go on when you’ve suffered that type of tragedy? My mother’s doped up on antidepressants. I’m surprised she didn’t go back to coke. She’s barely a shell of a human being. My father took off when I was young, so I don’t even know him. So now I’m just … alone. Chasing what may be a ghost. But I won’t stop looking until I know for sure.
I pull into my spot and put the car in park. The street light is shining down perfectly, and the entrance to my building is only a few feet away. I make a quick exit and enter the building and only breathe once I’ve made it upstairs. I can’t help that I feel this way. It’s late, it’s dark. Nothing good happens at this time of night.