¡Hola! Most of y'all know me from a separate acc (or from twitter) but this is a completely different angle for me so please don't hesitate to lmk what you think! I'd really appreciate it :) and I'm gonna keep anon (unless y'all guess lmao) for this acc but I'm only a DM away if anything!


I can't think of anything worse after a night of drinking than waking up next to someone, and not being able to remember their name.
Or how you met.
Or why they're dead.


I knew one thing was for sure: I wasn't going to scream. My line of work meant I was pretty familiar with death, dead bodies, a stupid amount of blood and such. (Not that there was a lot of blood this time.) So, I wasn't going to scream.
Being familiar with that though, I knew he had to be dead. I knew that just by looking at him, but just to be sure- I had to be sure- I held my shaky fingers under his nostrils for a minute.
Definitely no air coming outta there. The dude was dead.
I held my own breath; who am I even trying to be quiet for? And turned over, swinging my legs from the bed.
If you could call it a bed. The surface I'd been lying on was merely a mangled piece of furniture and it suddenly repulsed me. I flung free from my now seated position and stood on the hard flooring. I twisted my waist from side to side, keeping my feet where they were. Remember I said it was a mangled piece of furniture? Right now I could feel it in my back and I winced at the cracking sound that came from my muscles.
God knows how long I'd been lying there, but it must have been a while. My body could feel it, I was stiff.
Still glued to my spot, I took in the unfamiliar surroundings of the room I was in. It was dark: the New York sunrise not yet gracing the sky but it was warm already. There was nothing much in the room either: the bed, a dark closet and a small table by the bed headrest. A worn-out rug on the floor. Blinds doing their best to keep light out of the room, but kinda slanted so they weren't actually doing a good job. Still, it was probably to my advantage that it was still dark: it meant I couldn't see the actual state of the room.
And I was pretty sure I didn't want to.
My feet suddenly remembered how to walk and I tiptoed forwards from the 'bed' just now realizing how much I was shaking. A cold shudder took over my body as I walked across the floorboards.

First things first, I had to think logically. This was not my apartment. I knew that at least. Sure, I'd only been in New York for a couple of months but this wasn't the spacious bright apartment I'd rented. This was anything but that. And I didn't know the man who was occupying the bed. Well, the body. Who was he? And how had he got there, um, how had I got here? What the hell happened last night?

Did I … kill him?

I found myself holding my breath as I walked towards the window. There was something strange about this apartment- and it wasn't just that there was a dead man in the room. It felt … like I shouldn't be here. Jeez, I almost wanted to laugh at my thoughts. Of course I shouldn't be here. Duh.

The wooden floor was hard and cold beneath my feet. I could hear the creaking floorboards too, but that wasn't a big concern to me. It didn't need to be, who was going to hear? If there was only one resident in this apartment, he wasn't gonna be hearing anything. I hated the feel of my bare toes on the wood though, if I was at home at least I'd be in the slippers Burgess has given me last Christmas.

Burgess.

Even living in a different city didn't take the memories of my old unit away from me. The unit. My family. The ones that were there for me through everything. I was staring out of the window, couldn't see anything without the sun being there yet.

Had moving away from Chicago been the right decision for me? What would have happened if-

No. Not today, I'm not thinking about that today. I had to focus on the task in hand.

The blinds didn't work. I tried to tackle them, to get them to open but they wouldn't budge. Well, it wasn't the end of the world I suppose. Maybe it was better that they stayed closed.

I stared out of the slanted blinds until the sun came up. I couldn't tell you how long I stood there, it could have been five minutes but it could have been fifty. That's my downfall in situations like this: I don't know what to do right away. Especially when I'm alone.
What am I talking about? I can't say in situations like this when I've never been in a situation like this! Well apart from that time when I…- oh, but that doesn't bare thinking about.

I found my feet again and walked towards the door. The strange thing about it was it didn't stand out from the rest of the room. If I hadn't found the door handle quickly, I could have been searching for the door for a hell of a lot longer. It was almost as though… someone has purposely painted over it to camouflage it not to be found.

The handle was cold beneath my fingertips which was weird, the room itself was pretty warm. My fingers curled underneath the handle and I pulled the door towards me.

Outside the room was even darker, there wasn't even a window in the hallway. I fumbled along the wall for a light switch but I couldn't find one. There wasn't even a rail to hang on to so I knew I was in an apartment. Or a bungalow. Either way, there was no stairs. I tried my luck with the door adjacent to the one I'd just come out of, but it was locked. Damn. If only I could remember how I'd gotten here in the first place, then maybe I had more chance of finding my way out.

The trouble was though, I couldn't. Which automatically told me, something odd must have happened. I was a girl who could hold my own, when I'd had a drink of course I knew the limits. I knew when to stop.

I knew, I knew, I knew.

I also knew that last night had been a night out with people from the FBI, the people I'd been working with for the past month. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I didn't want to go it's just…

They're not my family, they're not. And somehow I knew it would be like that. After all, I'd been with the CPD for a long time. Longer than I'd like to admit, sometimes.

So it wasn't in my best interests to miss a night in the bar with my new squad. Because I had to get to know them, if I was gonna make this job a real thing. Which it had to be, if I was going to keep my promise…

I'd planned to go out for a 'few' drinks and then going back to the apartment, grabbing a pizza and throwing myself on the couch. It was better than giving the new team the knock-back on the first night they'd tried to socialize with me. That way, I couldn't say I didn't try.

But that's not the way things worked out, is it?

No. I'm not in my own apartment, I'm not alone and I'm not even able to remember the events of last might. Maybe if I could figure out where I am, I could trigger my memory.

Both doors to my left and right were locked, there was no way I was getting access to them without a fight. I'd have to kick down the doors or something, something I'd usually be down for. Even that was strange: it felt like I didn't have the energy to kick down a single door. Not like me. At all.

And now I thought about it, I didn't feel good. My body felt extremely heavy and it was as though I could throw up at any second. I can't blame the drink, alcohol, whatever I drank (or ate) last night. Because that was one of the reasons I was so popular at my last unit: one to keep up with the guys. I could probably drink you under the table.

Feeling this weird told me something happened last night against my will. And it pissed me off that I couldn't remember what the hell it was.

At last, a bathroom. It seemed to be the only door that wasn't locked on this level. The furthest door away from me, and the only one that I had access to. I turned the doorknob and my feet found the cold tiles.

The stench inside had me throwing myself against the toilet bowl as soon as I got inside. I'd say I'm pretty familiar with things that don't smell great but this was something else. And I couldn't even describe what it was… there's no words. It's as though rotting flesh, a million garbage disposals and a tonne of dog shit came together to fill my nostrils. Even the thought of it… let's just say it was little wonder that the contents of whatever was in my stomach threw itself into the toilet bowl.

It's pretty gross to think about, but the thought crossed my mind that I could find a clue to what occurred last night if I looked down at what I'd just thrown up. That turned out to be a big mistake: if I had eaten anything twelve hours ago, there was no evidence of it. Fuck. I didn't even know where to start.

Just the thought of not being able to trace last night's steps was enough to make me throw up again. I wiped the back of my hand against my mouth, then ran my fingers across my brow.

I knelt against the cold ceramic tiles, suddenly thankful for their cool temperature against my fiery skin.

I could feel a headache coming on, the familiar feeling of a giant cloud forming across my forehead. As if I needed anything else to add to my situation. I found a drawer underneath the sink, searching for the Advil or something. But there was nothing, I'd have to power through.

I pulled myself off the floor, grasping at the basin edge for balance. It was only then that I noticed the small mirror above the faucets, almost hidden because it was so dirty and covered with grime. Fingerprints, I suddenly thought. Using the corner of my tank, I wiped at a corner enough so I could see the reflection staring at me.

It took everything in me not to scream aloud. I'd been injured in my field of work before but it was nothing compared to the face that stared back at me. Even if I could only see a quarter of it, having to move my face to show in the small section of the mirror I'd cleared.

My face was a mess. The minimal amount of make-up I'd applied for last night was left in streaks along my cheeks. There were several scratches on my face, a few leading down to my neck. They were still raw, not yet scabbed over, the redness adding to the ugliness I saw in the reflection. And there was a line of crusted-over blood across my lower lip, apparently from my nostrils: a nosebleed.

There was black underneath my eyes too and I automatically wondered if it was from my make-up leftovers or the beginning of a black eye. I padded across my skin with my left index finger; tender to my touch. Definitely the start of a bruise.

I'm not a violent person. Sure, I worked with the police force and I've seen some violent criminals but I would only use that force if it was a necessity. It was exactly the same when it came to life outside of work though, the socializing: I know several people can become violent when they're near alcohol and drugs but not me. Unless I was dealing with some jack-ass.

I found myself walking out of the bathroom. The only other place to go was the bedroom though, I couldn't get in through the other doors. I peered around the door again, not knowing what I expected. The guy in the bed was dead, there was no way he was jumping up to scare me.

The room was lighter now so I could sort of see what I was doing. I needed to find my shoes, I needed to find the door and I needed to get out of here. Probably not the best decision for me to make but I didn't know what else to do.

I know I'd have help to deal with a dead body if I was still with the old unit. This new one… I don't think so. And I think I'm still in a probation period, I don't think I could tell them about this.

I was so bust thinking, not realizing I was walking around in circles. My eyes found my shoes under the bed and I pushed my feet into them, eager to escape from wherever the hell I was. If I had to, I would kick down one of those doors. Hopefully one of them would lead to outside, or give me a clue where to go.

My eyes scanned the floor again in the hope there was something there that belonged to me (like my phone, where's my phone?!) or a clue as to what happened the night before.

There was nothing, except… my jeans. That's why the bathroom tiles were so cold against my skin, it was bare apart from the tank. Oh god, where were my underwear? If I didn't have them on then where…? I didn't even want to think right now. I grabbed my jeans from the floor and stumbled into them, not taking my shoes off beforehand which made the whole thing slower.

As soon as I fastened the zipper, I wanted to breathe a sigh of relief. My cell phone was in the usual place: in the back pocket. I held my thumb over the home button but there was no sign of it coming to life. A dead battery. Exactly what I needed in my situation.

I shoved it back into my jeans and retraced my steps to the door again. This time I headed right, the door that I thought looked different from the others. It might have been my imagination, or my deliriousness, but to me it looked the easiest to break. Almost as though it wasn't made of the same material.

I tried the door handle first, not expecting anything to come of it. I was already expecting them all to be locked, perhaps out of use. If the state of the bathroom was anything to go by, I was expecting the rest of the apartment to be deserted.

Whether I was being a weak ass bitch before or I didn't press hard enough but I almost took a step back when the door opened slightly. The door gave off a massive creak, and I should have probably taken this as a sign to not go any further.

This wasn't my property, I didn't know what was gonna be in this room. I didn't have a search warrant so I couldn't even give that excuse. Whatever happened now was on my own back.

I pushed the door open and stepped through the threshold. To my surprise (not) it was dark again and I fumbled around for a light switch. There wasn't one, but my fingers wouldn't pull away from the wall. There was something dotted around the wall, my fingers felt around the edges.

It felt like sheets of paper, or something, all in a line about my head height. I moved my grip to the top edge, they were secured in place with what felt like pins. Like pins you would use on a noticeboard- I was all too familiar with those. The paper should be easy enough to …. Aha, I got it. It came down as soon as I put some force in. I folded the corners until it was small enough to fit in my jeans and pushed it into the back pocket, the one adjacent to where my cell phone was.

If anything, it would be a clue to where I was. What I was doing here. I could look at it in the daylight.

When I reached the hallway again, I realized one of the door was letting through more light than the others. The way out? It was as though I could see the New York sunlight through the cracks of the top and bottom of the door. It was the strangest thing for this hallway to have no windows- mine at home were small, but it was amazing how much light they let in. The fact there were no windows here; there had to be a reason behind it. It was definitely on purpose.

I forced my body against it, using the strength I had left in me. Like the last one, the door seemed to talk to me with the amount it creaked but it didn't seem to budge. Shit. Maybe the light was deceiving me and it wasn't a way out at all. I traced the outline of the door (as far as I could reach) with my fingertips. There was a chain near the top. I slid it across to the other side and tried the door again. It moved more than the first time but still showed no signs of opening enough for me to slide through. That's all I needed- a small opening enough for me to escape.

I took a small step back and threw myself at the door again, not even concerned about the noise coming from both me and the inanimate object I was fighting against. My upper arm collided with the door and I wanted to scream: usually during a raid, I'd be protected. In both senses of the word: protected by my unit and protected by my uniform. Now all I had was a stupid tank top which was doing no protecting at all.

As soon as I thumped against it, I regretted it. Of course. The door might open inwards. If that was the case, I'd pushed and shoved against it for a stupid amount of time. Wasting that amount of time.

I grabbed against the handle again and pulled, the sunlight hit me strong and I took a step backwards to prevent the feeling of blindness consuming me. The door was open. I threw a hand to my forehead to shield my eyes from the brightness.

Apart from the sun, all I could see were the tops of the trees. Hundreds of them, it looked like. Towering over me and making a shadow over the path in front. Well, a sort of a path. It looked a hell of a lot like rubble, like it wasn't supposed to be a path at all.

I ran. With everything I had left in me and not even bothering to look back again, I ran. Probably not the most conventional decision for a police officer but all I wanted to do was get away from the place.

Of course it felt like I was running for an eternity. My legs were beginning to feel like jello but there was no way I could stop. Surely I couldn't be in the middle of nowhere like I originally thought? There must be some sense of life around somewhere.

Then I found it: the familiar clearing. If I could just make a left at the next corner and then…. yes, the neighborhood I now called home. It was torture but my feet finally found the paving slabs leading up to my apartment block. And the newly familiar sound of the neighbor downstairs.

"Erica…" (I'd been living here for at least a month. I get that she's getting on in age but surely she could get my name right? I'd lost count of the amount of times I'd tried to tell her. It's Erin. Not that difficult.) "Where have you been? What's happened to you? You're…"

Shit. I forgot what monstrosity had looked back in me when I'd cleared a space in the mirror. I scrambled past her and made a bee-line for the staircase. Up to the third floor.

"I…uh, excuse me," I mumbled, only then realizing the unfamiliar huskiness of my voice. Alright, I had a throaty tone when I spoke most of the time, this was different. Of course I only realized now because I'd only been thinking in my head all morning, not speaking aloud. Weird. It was like my voice was strained and it hurt my throat, like I'd been screaming.

Had I been screaming?

I grabbed onto the stair rail and made it to the third floor. Crap. Obviously my apartment was locked and my house keys were … well, no idea. Probably back in the place I'd just escaped from.

There's one thing I love about myself and that is my initiative. I grinned internally and reached to the wall lamp to the side of my apartment door. It took a minute to fumble around before I eventually found the spare key and took it between my fingers.

I've never been so glad to see the inside of an apartment. It was cold, probably because I wasn't here last night to activate the heaters. And it was a mess, but hey that's to be expected. Me and getting ready in a pretty tidy manner do not go together.

I kicked off my shoes and nearly ran to the bathroom. The police officer side of my brain was talking at a speed inside my head. Don't shower, you might wash away evidence. Take photos of your face. Bag your clothes.

My own consciousness won. I needed to show, fuck any evidence. I felt dirty.

The bathroom became steamy quickly. I switched on the ceiling fan and stripped down to bare skin. I ran my fingers over my naked torso, over my navel and up to my chest. There was no physical abrasions but was it just my imagination that I felt sore? I needed to stop being a hypochondriac, jeez.

I pressed my fingertips against the cold tiles of my shower cubicle. I winced a little as the hot steamy water trickled down my skin, watching the remnants of blood from the cuts on my face swirl down into the plughole. I reached for the wash cloth and scrubbed until I felt like I'd torn a layer of skin away. It was only then that I could feel clean.

I relished in the feeling of the soft cotton towel against my body. I mopped away the drips threatening to fall onto the apartment floor and walked the ten steps to my bedroom. That was one of the good things about my apartment: you could get to a different room in a matter of milliseconds. It was small. It was confined and I felt secure.

The way I liked it to feel.

The alarm clock next to my bed told me it was just after 12:30 in the afternoon. Although I felt like I'd been awake for hours. I twisted my hair into a wet bun and pulled out yoga pants and a clean tank from the top drawer.

Then I remembered the worn clothes I'd left on the bathroom floor. I gathered them into a pile and was about to throw them into the wash basket when I remembered my cell phone. It would be no use to me at all if I put it through the washing machine.

I reached into the pocket to retrieve it, suddenly remembering something else as well.

What had I torn down from the wall in that room?

The piece of paper that I'd folded in half several times to fit in my back pocket. I found the opposite side of my jeans and reached for it, feeling the edges right away.

It was an off-white color, from what I could see but I'd folded it so that whatever was on the inside I couldn't see. I dropped my phone onto the bathroom worktop and used both hands to unravel it.

My stomach turned when the image came into view.

It was me. Not a public photograph though, that somebody could have taken from the internet or any of the police forums I was on. I stared closely.

Whoever was on the opposite side of the camera lens knew where I lived.

There I was, standing in the comfort of my bedroom and it looked like I was getting ready for a day at work. Below the image, only two words. And a time slot.

Erin Lindsay. 7:30am.

A shiver ran the course of my body. Come on, this couldn't mean anything! I was being a freaking paranoid ass again.

But then… I hadn't thought anybody knew where I lived yet. After all, I was still new- kinda. I lay low when I wasn't at work.

And they knew my name. The good thing about New York was that I could start afresh: nobody knew who I was, apart from those at the unit.

I swallowed. Hard. But it was impossible to get rid of the lump that had formed in my throat.

There had been a reason I'd ended up at that place I'd woken up in this morning. There was a reason why I had woken up next to a dead man. The two had to be linked.

But what?

And what was I supposed to do about it? I couldn't tell the unit, I can only imagine what that conversation would be like. Yeah, sorry boss I think I've got a stalker. By the way, I might have killed a man this weekend.

Crap. I'd walked away from a crime scene as well. Way to go, Detective. The only thing that seemed to be a good thing was that the apartment I'd left had looked pretty deserted. If things were gonna be in my favor, the scene there wasn't going to change.

Only thing is, that meant I have to go back there. Fuck.

I couldn't go alone. I could not go alone.

If I couldn't tell the new unit, there was only one person I could call.

And he probably wasn't going to like it.

How long had it been since I'd spoken to him? A month? It was probably longer.

I ran through into my bedroom and dived for the charger.

Would he even still have my number saved? I shook that thought right away: of course he would, he wasn't like that.

I rubbed a hand against my temples as I counted down the minutes until my phone was gonna switch back on. Three..two..one..the screen flickered into life.

It suddenly occurred to me that there could be evidence on it of what happened last night. But part of me didn't want to look at it.

My finger hovered over the home button as I thought about what I was going to have to say. Hello? How are you? Do you hate my guts for not calling sooner than now?

I gulped as I scrolled through the contact list to his name. I hadn't even bared to look at it in so long and there it was, still there with the stupid emoji he'd put there himself. I quickly pressed the dial button before I let myself think twice about calling.

There was a time he would have done anything for me, I would do anything for him. Of course I still would, but I didn't know if anything had changed with him. Maybe it was kind of rude for me to spring something like this upon him.

The dull dialling tone rang into my ear. Riiiiiiing. Riiiiiiing.

He's not going to answer. I'm gonna have to go back to that apartment and face it alone aren't I?

The dialling tone stopped and it was a minute before I could hear breathing. The sharp and deep intake of breath.

Damn, I should have rehearsed what I was going to say. At least that way this silence between us wouldn't be awkward. But it was.

"It's me," the words collapsed out of my mouth. What a stupid stupid thing to lead with, he would know it was me. Unless he'd deleted my number of course. "I know I have no business calling you but….I've….I can't tell anybody else. And you're the only person I can trust. I don't….I can't…..I need your help."

Please Review!