CHAPTER 7: Morale in Many Forms

Fern unlocked the door and walked into her apartment. She flipped on the lights, and threw her coat on the kitchen counter. Stacks of books were everywhere throughout the living space. Fern had always been a book worm, although as she moved up in ranks at the police force, her reading because less and less frequent. She found that phenomenon to be rather disappointing, because she preferred reading over just about anything. Even emotionally-stirring events like romantic dates and sex didn't offer the same benefits as a good book did. Fern pulled out a fresh bottle of whiskey and a glass. She set those two valuable items on the kitchen table, then pulled out a fresh pack of cigarettes from a nearby carton. If whiskey and cigarettes don't work, then reading a book would be the final defense before insanity struck.

Fern lite a cigarette and poured several shots-worth of liquor. As the whiskey burned going down her throat, she pondered everything that had happened so far on the case. By this point, she had stopped crying, though on the inside, she felt dead. Three of her classmates since elementary school had been gruesomely affected by the Chalice Killers. Jenna Morgan was raped by her own husband and his gang, and in a state of revenge and madness, murdered him. She would spend the rest of her life in prison. Maria Pappas was brutally murdered and most likely gang raped. Sue Ellen was also brutally murdered. Whether she was gang raped was yet to be determined. Fern took a drag and another swig of the numbing potion. Who was next? She could feel the immense pressure of stopping these atrocities, and the pressure only continued to rise with each new victim. She thought about quitting, and becoming a writer, which was always her dream as a child. No, that would not take away the pain. Nothing would take away the pain of losing three friends. Fern felt a lob in her throat forming once again.

"Don't cry, Fern," she told herself as she downed another glass. Who was she kidding, the tears were returning. For over an hour, she sat at that kitchen table and cried silently. In many ways, she had lost the war. The Chalice Killers had won, they already claimed three innocent lives. Fern stared off into space and felt the despair weighing like a block of lead on her heart. She was never really sure if God even existed, but if he did, he had abandoned her on this trip through hell. "It's just me on this one," she thought. More cigarettes, more whiskey. Another hour passed, and by this point she knew she was way too drunk to drive. Fern didn't care though. Baxter would pick her up and she could manage. It wasn't the first time she used alcohol to dull the pain.

"Maybe I made a mistake joining the detective force…maybe I should have…" she looked at her coat pocket. Inside of it, she knew, was her revolver. It would be so easy to just point, pull, and that was that. As far as Fern was concerned, she would either end up in hell or nowhere. Heaven wasn't an option for a workaholic who abandoned her family and husband to solve more cases. Besides, it's hard to scare someone with death when they barely lived. Fern was aware she was mostly dead. She was antisocial, besides interactions at work. When she wasn't smoking, she was drinking. She didn't even bother to see family during the holidays. Fern struggled to pour the next glass. When she did, she looked back over at the coat pocket. In a state of dulled judgement, she walked over to the coat and pulled out the revolver. She sat down at the table and felt its cold, hard metal body. "Lifeless…just like me," she muttered as tears rolled down her face. Fern pulled down the hammer and lifted the gun up to the side of her head. "I have failed…and now I will get what Maria and Sue Ellen didn't deserve…"

KNOCK KNOCK.

Fern quickly put the gun down. "It's open," she said. Baxter walked into the room. He looked at the table. Over twenty cigarette buds lay in the ashtray. The bottle of whiskey was almost gone. He then looked at his partner, who had a loaded gun in her hand and whose eyes had no light in them. Buster sat down next to Fern. Usually, he'd make a wisecrack and throw out a grin. Not now. It wouldn't help.

"Did you get any sleep?" he asked softly. Fern barely shook her head. "Couldn't sleep…" she replied, not making eye contact. Buster put his hand on Fern's. "Fern, it's okay to feel terrible…I can't even imagine how hard this must be for you." Fern looked up at her partner. Buster never called her "Fern", and he never said anything so compassionate. She threw her arms around him and buried her head into his chest.

"Buster, I can't do it. I can't do it," she said as she started crying hard again. Buster put his arms around her and put his head onto hers. "Yes, you can. You're one of the strongest people I know. We've gone through so many cases, and each time, you've persevered and conquered the obstacles," he said. Fern continued to cry. She squeezed him closer to her. "It's just…three of my friends, our friends, have been destroyed by…them," Fern said, "Maria and Sue Ellen died for nothing. Nothing!" Buster gently stroked Fern's hair and held her hand. "You're right. The Chalice Killers have slaughtered people we care about. But that doesn't mean they win, Fern. We will stop them. And they will feel the wrath of justice. I know it." Fern's sobs became quieter. She knew Buster's optimism was the only drug she really needed right now.

"Buster…the gun, it's not what it looks -"

"You don't have to explain…it's okay, Fern. It's okay. You don't have to tell me anything personal, but I know you deal with a lot. I'm your partner, and I can see it in you. You've dealt with more bullshit than most people."

"I've failed. At this case and at life. I don't deserve to live…"

"We are all dealt a hand, Fern. And we gotta play that hand the best we can. We can't always win, but that doesn't mean we have to go down with our tails between our legs. You got something to live for, Fern."

"What do I have to live for? More victims being killed?"

"No. I need you in my life. Every citizen in Elwood City needs you. We all need you, Fern, because you are a defender of the innocent and a punisher of the wicked. Besides, who else could I bum a smoke off of?"

Fern chuckled at her partner's endless humor. She kissed his cheek. "You're the best partner, Buster," she said. Buster kissed her forehead. "We're in this together. I'm not gonna leave you hanging because you are human and feel pain like everybody else." Fern sat back in her own chair. She wiped her eyes with her hand and looked at the almost-empty bottle of whiskey. "There's no way in hell I can drive right now," she said with a quiet laugh. Buster eyed the bottle. "Well, there is another shot or two in there," he said, and slugged down the rest. Fern smiled. She was so thankful Buster was her partner. Sure, he could be too laid back and crack jokes at inconvenient times, but he had character. There was probably no one more loyal and empathetic than him on the whole police force. He lacked the leadership qualities of Petrofus, but he was the kind of person anybody would want in the trenches with them when bullets started flying. Buster stood up and looked at his partner. "C'mon, partner, let's go solve this case and put those motherfuckers to justice." Fern stood up too, and took a deep breath. "Let's do it," she replied.

The two detectives walked out of the apartment. As they headed towards the car, Fern tried to energize herself. She knew Buster and herself were exhausted, but sleep would have to wait. "Did the crime scene have any clues?" she asked as she got into the vehicle. Buster started the car. "Yes, the Chalice Killers made a few mistakes in their atrocity. I'll explain it to you as we head to the gun shop."

The car drove off. It was 3:14pm, and there was still overcast. More rain clouds appeared on the horizon. The case was far from over, but every clue they found was one step closer to ending the Chalice Killer's reign of terror over Elwood City.