Hello readers of FanFic, WeirdMal here,

This story has been in my mind for the longest and I was finally able to come up with a plot that was actually "normal" I guess you could say. I hope you guys enjoy this story because I enjoyed writitng it. If you guys have watched the Netflix original series Jessica Jones, some of the elements in this story may remind you of that. But I can assure you that I did not find my inspiration from the show. When I was having a Netflix marathon with JJ and Dare Devil, I realized the similarities. But again, what is present in this story is my own invention.

IMPORTANT: For those of you who know me as an author through my other FanFic - Fate Doesn't Exist... I have deleted that story. It was extremely painful for me to read because my writing was just awful so I decided to take another swing at it.

Disclaimer - All rights go to Veronica Roth for the Divergent Series.


Chapter 1

The first thing I see when I open my eyes is the light streaming in from my window. Then I remember that I must have a hangover because my head is pounding so hard it feels like it's going to explode. I groan and cover my eyes with my hand as I sit up from the bed. Slowly and carefully I let my feet drop on the cold floor before I stumble my way over to the window and pull the curtains in. I breathe a sigh of relief before making my way into the kitchen. It's then I notice that I left the window open, letting the cold Chicago air in and I'm only wearing a tank top and underwear. Quickly I run to the window and shut it so that my crappy apartment can re-heat itself. When I walk into the kitchen the first thing I pull out is a bottle of whiskey. Can't start the day without it. I put it to my lips just as my phone goes off, indicating I received a text message. Grabbing it I pick it up and read it.

Uri: I'm waiting for you! Hurry up!

I groan forgetting that Uriah was supposed to help me at work today. I take another sip of my drink before putting it back down and going into my bedroom. After washing up, I get dressed in a pair of jeans, a plain white shirt, a plain beige scarf and my black leather jacket. I tie my long blonde hair up into a ponytail and put on my trusty black combat boots. I grab my camera bag and am about to walk out when I forget another essential piece – my flask. After grabbing it and stuffing it into my coat pocket I make my way out the door.

"God dammit." I mutter as I try to close the door but am proving unsuccessful. It's always giving me problems and I have complained to the office so many times but they don't give a damn about anything as long as they're getting the rent on time. Finally, when I've managed to close and lock it a voice speaks up behind me.

"Maybe if you didn't talk so badly to it, it would cooperate better."

I shriek and drop my keys. Swiftly I turn around to see none other than Uriah. I place a hand over my heart trying to calm its rapid beating while Uriah is holding his stomach from his laughter.

"Damn you Uri." I say before picking up my keys.

"I'm sorry. I was waiting for you downstairs for like… five minutes." He replies and I raise an eyebrow. "It's very cold outside. What happened to you?" He asks but he answers it himself before I can respond. "Wait let me guess, you're hungover aren't you."

I nod my head and take out my sunglasses from my jeans before putting them over my eyes. "It's not as bad as the one two days ago."

"You really need to cut back babe. You're not doing yourself any good."

I smile at him before walking past him, not responding. I love Uri, he's been my best friend since childhood, we're inseparable. I love how we're just best friends and we both know it. Although he does call me "babe", we both know it's out of friendship love, not romantic love. He's like a brother to me. Although, he does like to make sly sexual jokes and innuendos, it makes me laugh so I put up with it.

Without even realizing it we've already made our way out of the apartment building and onto the busy streets of Chicago. We walk together in silence for a few minutes before Uriah speaks up.

"So, whose life are we going to destroy next?"

I chuckle at his question. "You know that the whole point of being a private investigator is that I keep everything, oh I don't know… private?"

He shrugs. "Yet here I am. Now spill."

"Mr. and Mrs. Wetherford. Older couple, she in her late forties and him in his early sixties. She's accused him of sleeping around with other woman, younger woman. She wants me to follow him and prove him guilty than give her the evidence." I answer.

"Sounds fun." He says with a sly grin.

We round the corner of an ally way and walk towards one of the back roads.

"Where are we going?" Uriah asks.

"I've been tracking Bill's - that's his name, movements and hopefully he should be here soon."

"Where?"

I stop in front of a red brick building. It's clearly been around for a long time but when I searched it up online they have lofts in there for twice the price I'm paying at my crappy apartment. "Right here."

"Okay," Uriah pronounces slowly. "How are you supposed to find something. Are you just going to bust through the door saying "Smile for the camera, you filthy piece of s - "Before he can finish a little girl and her mother walk out of the door and look at us. I nod my head in recognition while Uriah waves. They look at us skeptically before continuing on.

"Nice one Uri."

"Thank you."

I look up at the building again. He's right. I can get no vantage point from in front or inside. "We go around the back." I finally speak. I grab Uriah by his wrist and drag him towards the back of the building. "The girl Wetherford is seeing is in apartment B2, which is… right up there." I say pointing to a window that has the curtains open.

"Okay so unless you have some sort of flight power… how are we supposed to get up there?"

"Um…" I look around trying to find a way to see inside. When I turn to the building behind us I see it has a fire escape leading all the way to the top.

Another great thing about it is that this building has been abandoned for over fifteen years. I jog to the building and see that the ladder to get to the fire escape is higher than I had expected. I try to jump up and pull it down but I'm not able to.

"Uri, give me a lift here." I say breathlessly due to my cardio I was not intending on.

He gives me a cheeky smile in return. "You are so short."

"Shut up and just help me here."

"Okay, okay." He agrees and walks toward me. He bends down on his legs allowing me to wrap mines around his neck. Slowly he stands up, me sitting on his shoulders. I reach up to the point I think we're about to tip over but he reminds me that he's steady.

Finally, my fingers grasp the bottom rail and I pull it down. Uriah gently places me back on the ground. I secure my camera bag around my waist before climbing up the ladder, Uriah following. I climb until I'm sitting on the cold metal material, underneath the rest of the stairs, one floor up from room B2, giving me all the access I need while still giving me cover. Uriah plops down next to me, making a lot of noise so I pinch his arm.

"Ow! What was that for?!"

"Be quiet." I whisper.

He mutters something underneath his breath but I don't hear it.

Thirty minutes later we are still sitting and waiting for something to happen. Uriah keeps getting more and more antsy with each passing minute.

"I never knew your job was so boring." He mutters.

I'm about to reply when I hear the sound of keys coming from the apartment. I turn my attention to it, to see Bill and some other young chick stumble inside with goofy grins on their faces. Quickly I pull out my camera and start to snap photos of them undressing each other and giving one another sloppy kisses, all the meanwhile Uriah his giggling like a little girl next to me as he watches. After taking all the photos I need, I scoot pass Uriah and climb down the stairs.

"Come on Uri."

"Coming, coming." He says and starts to climb down as well. Once we're both on the ground we walk back towards the bustling streets. We walk until Uriah stops at a newspaper cart.

"Man, look at this," He says and picks up a newspaper. The headline reads 'Teenage Girls Abducted.'

"Abducted?" I ask. "That's a bit overdramatic, don't you think?"

"Whatever gets people to pay to read it." Uriah mutters. "But why is it overdramatic. These girls went missing."

"They probably just ran away from home. You ever heard of hormonal teenage girls?" I ask sarcastically.

He sighs and puts the newspaper back on the stand. "If it has nothing to do with your booze you don't care about anyone or anything."

"That's partially true," I respond. "I care about you."

He shakes his head but has a small smile. "Let's get something to eat. I'm starving."


"Relax before you choke on your food." I laugh as I watch Uriah devour his pizza slice.

"I'm hungry." He says through mouthfuls.

The Chicago wind blows harder so I tighten my jacket around me. The fact that I'm sitting in a steel metal chair in the park doesn't help either. I can feel the coldness coursing through my bones making me feel more frigid than I already do. I decide to warm myself up so I take out my flask. I open it and put it to my mouth. Immediately I feel heated.

Uriah who has finished eating scowls at me.

"Don't look at me like that." I grumble and put the flask back in my coat pocket.

"You seriously need to stop." He says and he sounds serious. Uriah is never serious. "What is it going to take you to stop?"

"A miracle." I respond.

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Is it… because of him?" He asks hesitantly.

I clench my jaw and ball my hands into fists. No, I don't want to think about him.

"I need to go." I mumble and scoot back in my chair. It scrapes across the cement making it harder to move.

"Babe, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned it. I know it's a sore topic for you." He says sincerely. The look on his face shows that he is truly sorry and I appreciate it but now I need to get it out of my mind.

"It's okay Uri. But I really do need to get back to my office."

He chuckles lightly. "You mean your apartment?"

I smile lightly at him, nod and walk away. He's always teasing me about how my office is in my apartment. A very crappy apartment at that. But that's what happens when I don't have enough money for my own building, not that I want one anyways.


Mrs. Wetherford lets out a muffled cry as she looks at the pictures that lies out in front of her. Pictures of her husband and his whore that I took earlier today. I sit at my desk with a bored expression on my face as I watch the tears from her eyes fall. Her shaky, pale hands hold up one of the pictures.

"I can't believe he'd do this." She whispers.

"Uh… didn't you hire me because you assumed he was cheating?" I ask with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes I did," She snaps. "But it was just an assumption. I wasn't prepared to learn that it's true."

"Fair enough." I shrug.

"So, I mean… w-what do I now?"

I look at her, this time with both eyebrows raised. "Barbra, I'm just a private investigator. I did my job. Now whatever else you want to do has to be taken up with the divorce court."

At the sound of "divorce" she starts crying again. I sigh in frustration. I don't want to give off the vibe of being coldhearted but pity isn't what she needs right now. She needs to get her act together so that she can find some help with this… and then she can boo-hoo all she wants later.

"Look Barbra, I know someone that does couple counseling and therapy." I say and she looks up at me through her tears. "Maybe they can help you and your husband fix things. I don't know." I shrug.

"Yes, yes please. I'd like that very much, thank you."

I nod and grab a sticky note and pen from my table. I write down the information of the building and hand it to her.

"C-can I take one of these pictures as proof?" She asks.

"Take em' all."

The puts a thick yellow envelope on the table- my money for doing my job. After collecting the pictures, she puts on her gloves and tightens her jacket. "Thank you again." She says before walking out the door.

I rub my temples with my index fingers. I have such a migraine right now. I huff in frustration and make my way into my kitchen. I open the cabinets and scan through what I can have. Scotch sounds pretty good right now. I grab the bottle, not even bothering with a glass, and sit back down at my desk. I take a gulp of the drink and relish the taste. The clock on my wall reads it's half past eleven o'clock. Nothing to do but get drunk. And that's exactly what I do.


Constructive criticism is appreciated. :)