Erin Lindsay trudged tiredly through her door, almost forgetting to lock it behind her, a heavy stack of case files cradled in her arms like a child. She dumped them indecorously onto her small kitchen table, her brain on overload and badly in need of decompression. It was Friday night, but she could have cared less. She turned on the tv, switched to a station that played nothing but random music. Rooted through the fridge for something resembling dinner.
She stood at the kitchen counter shoveling two-day old takeout chow mein into her mouth when a song began playing that grabbed her attention. She had never heard it before.
Gone, dreams of the past
Gone, with a love that moved too fast
Gone, bright shiny days
Gone, in a young and restless haze
Why did we love, then run away
So little time, so much left to say
And now, it's gone
Young and restless friend
You'll never pass this way again
So drink the summer wine
Reach for the stars
While you have time
Your restless heart
It will lead the way
So dream your dreams and live for each day
While you are young, while you are young…
She hastily scribbled some of the lyrics on the front of one of the case files, then went to take a shower, the song forgotten like the disjointed images from a dream that vanished upon waking.
Too exhausted to dry her hair, Erin stretched out on the couch, longing for a few moments to rest her tired eyes. Within what seemed like seconds, she was back on the job, sprinting up an alley, gun in hand, another cop ahead of her screaming 'stop, Chicago P.D.!' Erin knew the voice but her mind refused to name it, and it was too dark to be sure.
"Stop!" the other cop bellowed again, the perp too far ahead to be anything more than a retreating shadow. "Go around the other way, Erin, cut him off!" The other cop turned briefly, enough for Erin to see her face.
"Nadia?"
The alley melted away, and they were both in front of the District. Nadia was in civilian clothes and the streets were wet. They were standing in the ruins of a birthday cake. Erin could see the letter E still frosted on one crumbling piece, the pink box the cake had been in discarded and trampled nearby.
Blood ran from one side of Nadia's nose, and her face blurred through a prism of tears. "Nadia," Erin croaked impotently. "I'm so sorry. If you hadn't gone out to pick up that cake for me it never would have happened, Yates never would have grabbed you."
"I got him, Erin. I left enough evidence to help convict him. I saved other women from the same fate, denied him his future victims. Did what a Chicago cop should do. Yates can't touch that."
"I was beginning to forget. Your face. The sound of your laughter. How it felt knowing you were off the streets and on the way to your future." Lights. There were lights everywhere. Erin could taste Jay, feel him in her pores, though he was nowhere near.
"Always with you," whispered Nadia. "Sometimes we have to leave in order to stay." She shone, radiant, and Erin almost winced. "Look how clean I am now," murmured Nadia.
"Because of me," sobbed Erin. "If I would have left you alone, you'd still be alive. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Nadia lay on her back now in the sand, entangled in the black plastic that had been her burial shroud, still and cold and porcelain, dried blood congealed on her pale face, her eyes staring in eternal surprise. How Yates must have recoiled from that stare at the end, all the weight of what he had just ended descending to choke his elation, to sow the seeds of misgiving that would doom him in the end, the dark surprise that became his prison cell, his trap. How beautiful she was in death, how untouchable, an old soul departed for the next leg of the journey.
Addiction would have killed her anyway. There was no solace in that, only a grim sort of acceptance that had been there all along. They all faced infinite choices every day, choices that determined their character, their legacy. Choices that changed those around them, forever. There was no do-over that would change Nadia's choice, and Erin knew that instinctively.
The air smelled different now, like spilled beer and the salt of sweat and the release of laughter. Molly's. Nadia sat beside Erin, wearing a worn CPD vest. She was older, fine lines around her eyes. She wore an aura of confidence like an invisible crown, sure of herself, of her place. Trudy came with a washcloth to wash the blood of death from Nadia's face.
"I knew you'd be a great cop," rasped Erin.
"Look," Nadia replied, pointing at the TV behind the bar. On the screen, a young woman held a baby, a toddler at her side. Another replaced her, a stethoscope draped around her neck, followed by another at the front of a classroom gesturing passionately as she spoke, though Erin could not hear her words.
"The ones who lived," said Nadia quietly. She lifted her bottle of beer in a toast. "We'll never pass this way again." The bottle was empty.
Erin jerked awake, sitting up too fast, disoriented. Her face was wet. She glanced at the clock. She had been asleep for almost two hours, and she was cold, and hungry, but not alone. It was late, but she had to talk to someone, tell someone. She called Hank in despair.
He answered on the second ring, grunting. "Erin. Hey. You okay, kiddo?"
"Yeah. Sounds like I woke you up. I'm sorry."
"You did. I was having the strangest dream about Nadia." Erin smiled then, listening quietly.
Later, she sat at her table eating a bowl of vegetable soup, plugging the song lyrics she had written down before falling asleep into Google, searching for the song title. The result popped up instantly.
Nadia's theme.