I had been talked into cutting out paper hearts. I had no idea the real reason as to why I was doing this, but had the feeling that I was really only doing it because I'd been asked to, and because I really had nothing better to do. It was late, another case had been closed, and what I'd really wanted to do was come home and crash, but like always, it was the one thing that I found I couldn't do. So I sat up, cutting paper hearts, because apparently, my youngest child had completely forgotten that she'd had them…and that the next day was Valentine's Day. She'd also had to go to bed, which was why she'd asked me to do it.
The paper was pink and red. I'd been half-tempted to laugh when I saw it, because those two colors were the last one's I'd expected to have shoved at me. But at that moment, I'd had other things on my mind, and I still had other things on my mind now, even as I sat, absently cutting hearts, and looking every now and then towards the fireplace, in which a fire had been started at some point, without my noticing. That was what I got for continuing to mull over a case, even at home, I thought, and hoped that I could go through at least one night without talking shop with Angie, who'd wandered off when Jamey had come around, in order to avoid the task I now found myself with.
The whole Valentine's Day thing wasn't something I wanted to think about, but then again, having a kid at the age where handing out valentines was about as important as doing homework left me with little choice. I was almost amused by it, and yet, at the same time, I wasn't. I doubted the point of the day was really to find out who liked you and who didn't, but that seemed to be all anyone really cared about. The downside to this was that far from seeing the lighter side of this particular holiday, I'd be made to take a look at the darker side, because I still had to go to work. Still had to see things that I'd have rather not seen, and still had to face the fact that something as simple as jealousy could cause a murder.
What a thing to be thinking about while cutting out paper hearts. I was tempted to stop right then and there, seeing as I was ruining whatever effect this task was supposed to be having on me. I was also tempted to throw the scissors at something, but knew that this wasn't going to get me anywhere, nor was it going to change anything. People were going to do what they would, no matter what day it was. The problem with this, I thought, was that one would think they'd at least take break for a so-called holiday that was supposed to represent what this one did. But no, apparently, either no one saw the point, or no one gave a damn one way or the other.
I really didn't want to think about it. The sound of something cracking made me jump, and I turned back towards the fireplace, half expecting to see that some random ember had found its way out and had lit something up. But no, everything was fine, which was a good thing, because as much as I didn't want to be thinking, or cutting out these hearts, I didn't want to move, either. I'd probably end up falling asleep where I was, and I knew it, but I didn't care. Some of the hearts had managed to find their way onto the floor, but I decided I'd pick them up when I finished…if I even finished at all. I was only about a quarter of the way through. The way I was going, it was gonna take all night.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Angie had reappeared somewhere along the lines, without my noticing, and the sound of her voice startled me, causing me to cut one of the hearts in half.
"Thanks a lot," I said dryly, "I'm having a hard enough time with this as it is." She rolled her eyes at me.
"Well, maybe if you'd turn the lights on, you'd actually get somewhere. I'm surprised you haven't cut more of those in half already." she said.
"Is there any point whatsoever to this conversation, or did you just come around here to bother me?" I asked.
"Figured you could use the company," said Angie, choosing to ignore this comment. She held up another pair of scissors. "I also think you're going too slow."
"This coming from the very one who left the kitchen when Jamey came to ask if one of us would do this for her."
"That was then. This is now. Give me some of those."
It wasn't worth the mock argument that would come from it, even though I had the feeling that it would take my mind off of what I'd been mulling over for the past hour or so. Then again, it wasn't worth the energy it would've taken to reply to half of what Angie might've had to say, not that I really had any energy left as it was. I handed her some of the outlines that hadn't yet been cut out of the construction paper, and sighed.
"You still want to know what I was thinking?" I asked, and knew it was a stupid question, and that whatever conversation we got into now was my fault, and that if I said anything about it, she wouldn't fail to point this out. So much for not talking shop.
"Wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know," came the reply. I gave Angie a sideways glance, half-doubting that she was really paying attention to me, but decided it was worth it to pursue the conversation.
"I was thinking about the last case the squad closed," I said, "And then I started going off track, and thinking about Valentine's Day, which is completely random, because I wouldn't have even started thinking about it if I didn't have to cut out these hearts."
"Yeah, me either," said Angie, and I knew she meant it. She'd never been the sort to dwell on things of this sort. I wasn't, really, either, but apparently, for the moment, I was. She finished cutting out a heart and glanced over at me. "Is that all?"
I snorted. "Hardly," I said. "There's plenty more. I'm just not sure if I want to talk about all of it."
"You might as well; it's not like either one of us have anything better to talk about," said Angie, once more concentrating on cutting out another heart. "What is it about the case that has you stuck on it this time?"
"I don't know," I said, "And that's the problem." It was, too…a problem, that is. Jealousy had yet again been a motive, jealousy stemming from a relationship that had ended a long time ago, and while one side of things had moved on, the other had not. I was still wondering why this case had been shoved off on us in the first place; straight Homicide units had solved murders like this before, but apparently, socialites and their boyfriends warranted press cases, and press cases warranted the MCS.
"And this has what to do with Valentine's Day, and/or these paper hearts?" Angie asked, glancing over at me with raised eyebrows.
"Jealousy as a motive for murder," I said. "A misguided sense of love that says, 'if I can't have you, no one can'. Either that, or people dying just because they love someone."
She shook her head. "You're thinking too hard again," she told me. "Honestly, Jimmy, why would you want to think about that?"
I didn't know the answer to that one, either. It made no sense. And it made me want to face the next day even less than I already did, if only because I didn't think I understood exactly what had gone on during this last case. There was a growing pile of paper hearts in my lap, through no doing of my own; I'd stopped, and Angie had taken over, choosing to use me as a table.
"I don't want to think about it," I said finally, "And I wasn't until I started cutting these damned hearts out…how many of these are we supposed to have, anyway?"
"I don't know," Angie replied. "She didn't say anything to me, earlier, so I suppose as many as we feel like cutting out."
"And if we only felt like cutting out one or two? Then what would she do?"
"You know what I meant. We at least have to have enough for the kids in her class."
Silence fell after that, when I didn't answer. The pile of paper hearts continued to grow. I glanced over at Angie for a brief moment, to see if she was still paying any sort of attention to what I was doing. She wasn't. So I took the hearts out of my lap, got up, and walked over to the fireplace, before dropping them in, one by one, and watching them burn. She stared at me.
"What are you doing?" she asked. I didn't answer. At least, not until the last of the hearts was in the fire, and fading quickly, and even then, I was wondering the same thing she was. And then it hit me, as soon as the last heart had disappeared, exactly why jealousy was a motive, exactly why people would let themselves get driven to that point, and exactly why people seemed to take this so-called holiday so seriously, when they had someone, and even when they didn't…when their hearts were intact, still, and when their hearts had been broken.
Angie was still staring at me. I had the feeling she was about to yell at me for what I'd just done, but we had more construction paper somewhere; I'd seen it, just the other day. She moved to say something, but before she could, I spoke.
"Have you ever noticed how no matter what anyone says, the most fragile part of them always seems to be their heart?"
She continued to stare at me for a long moment after that before shaking her head, and counting the hearts she had left. "Yeah," she said. "Yeah, I've noticed. It's hard not to in a line of work like the one we're in."
Apparently, she'd forgotten for a moment that she was no longer a cop, but it didn't matter. She got the point. I turned back to stare down into the fire, even though there were no more of the paper hearts to see. I heard her sigh behind me, and knew that she was rising to her feet; sure enough, a few seconds later, she was putting a hand on my shoulder.
"You should sleep," she said, quietly, and then, "I'll go find more construction paper."