Disclaimer: I own no part of Rookie Blue, but apparently it owns part of me. I couldn't get this out of my head until I put it on paper. Yes, I actually wrote it out longhand. I've taken to carrying a notepad around with me just in case my muse hops out from behind a tree and attacks.
A/N: Let me just start by saying that this story is going to be long. And disturbing. It disturbs me while I am writing it. I don't even know where it came from. Luke just walked into my head one day and with him came flashes of conversations. Love it or hate it; post more or stop right here…please, please let me know what you think. Brutal honesty is encouraged.
A word of warning: The rating should be taken seriously.
Early. It was so early. Or maybe it was late. Luke didn't think it really mattered. The photos were the same no matter what the time of day. Constantly staring at him from the whiteboard across the room. Tiny faces with glassy eyes and blue lips; their broken bodies lay twisted on the ground. Five innocent little girls who should be home playing with puppies and dressing up like princesses in their mother's high heels. Instead, they were lying in the morgue.
Luke's eyes burned and blurred from staring at the photos and reading the case files over and over. He rubbed a hand over his face and then shoved it through his hair to the tense muscles at the back of his neck.
"You been here all night, man?" Detective Jerry Barber strode through the door, bringing the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and warm doughnuts with him.
"Uh, yeah. I guess. It's morning?"
Jerry shoved a cup of coffee into Luke's hand and propped a hip against the desk.
"You need to get out of here, Luke. Go home, take a shower, eat, walk in the sun for a while, whatever. Just don't be here."
"Hmm…," Luke absentmindedly sipped his coffee while flipping through one of several files laid out in precise alignment on his desk. "There has to be something we're not seeing. These girls…every, single one of them has been on the missing persons list for at least two years. They're all thin. They're all under the age of ten. They've all been ra…," Luke's voice broke on the word and his stomach churned acidly. He took in a deep breath and rubbed the back of his neck again. 'Work the problem,' he told himself silently. 'Emotions are useless here. They only get in the way of viewing the facts clearly.'
"They've all been branded with the same tattoo," he slapped a picture of a black fleur-de-lis design that was tacked to the murder board. "It's the only thing that links them."
Luke stared at the photos again. "There's something we aren't seeing," he repeated.
"Luke, you've been going over those files for weeks now. You didn't even leave the station last night." Jerry shook his head. "Even if there is something we've missed, you're not going to see it. You're tired and getting dangerously close to obsession. Go home." His voice remained quiet and his tone even, but it brooked no argument. Luke knew he was right, anyway. Suddenly he felt every minute of the past few weeks as if they were rocks loaded onto his shoulders.
"Yeah," he blew out a breath and tossed the pen he'd been gripping onto his desk. "Okay."
Grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair, Luke walked into the squad room. Laughter greeted him and he turned to see Andy McNally and Traci Nash walking toward him. It had been months since they had broken up, but he still got a twinge of regret every time he saw Andy. The way her face lit with laughter and love when she was with Sam Swarek made Luke wish for an instant that things had worked out between them. But, as angry as her lies had made him, he couldn't fault her for finally giving in and following her heart. He knew all about wanting someone you shouldn't. He just wished things had worked out as well for him as they had for Andy and Sam.
"Hey," Andy came to a stop in front of him. "You okay? You look…um."
"Yeah, I'm fine. It's just been a long night, you know? I'm gonna go home and catch some sleep. " Luke knew she didn't believe him. Andy was way too good at reading people to let such an obvious lie pass and her brows drew together. Before she could say anything, Luke started to back away. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay? Have a good day." He turned toward the exit hallway. "Stay safe," he tossed over his shoulder.
As he opened the door leading outside, Luke felt the warm sun hit him full in the face. He stood there for an instant, hoping the light of day would wash away all the black despair he felt hanging over him. He drew in a deep breath, let it out and slid his sun glasses on. Maybe it would work tomorrow.
All the way through the drive home Luke's mind raced. It was the tattoo that had first caught his attention. The delicate black outline of the fleur-de-lis. Once the symbol of royalty, in centuries past it had also been branded into the skin of convicted criminals. Luke had wondered in retrospect whether that had been an ironic statement on her part. A private joke on the world. There for everyone to see, if only they knew what they were looking at. Now, seeing it etched into the delicate flesh of five young girls, he had begun to question all he thought he knew. His stomach twisted and his hands tightened on the steering wheel.
"Just a coincidence," he muttered to himself. "It doesn't have anything to do with her. I just need to get some sleep and it will all be clearer. "
But those brutal images were seared into his brain. Their faces. Their parents' faces. Her face.
Not since he'd caught his first homicide as a rookie, had he let a case get under his skin like this.
'Emotions get in the way of the facts,' his training officer had told him. 'Work the problem. Solve the case, don't get lost in it. You might not find your way back out.'
Sleep, Luke thought with a sigh, was going to be hard to come by. And when it did, it might be more of a curse than a blessing.