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I head straight back to the precinct after finding the box. I can't think of anything else to do, since I can't exactly see though the wood and be able to tell if it's safe to pry open. Hopefully Kai can tell me, quickly and quietly, and Mal won't even know that I was there. I take the taxi back, another silent hour-long trip. By the time I make it back it's almost noon, and after paying the driver once again I head up the stone steps and enter the familiar building.
I'm almost surprised at how average things are. The same officers drink coffee in a corner. The same detectives calmly do paperwork at their desks, chatting with each other as they write. It's almost hard to grasp that life can go on normally, no matter how much my own is falling apart.
No one gives me a second glance as I head down to the crime lab, carrying the little box as if it's made of glass. Luckily it's just Kai in the lab when I get there, and before he can say anything I plop the box down next to him and say "I need you to tell me if this is safe to pry open".
"Why would you do that?". Without anther word he grabs it, and before I can even mutter a single word of warning he starts to open it. First he starts to slide the little wooden pieces on the side and bottom, every once in a while shifting the top as if he's about to open it. He sticks his tongue out slightly as he works, and I'm reminded strongly of a child trying to figure out a rubix-cube. Several times I think he's got it, because the top panel slides off a little bit, but in a flash it's back in place again. Then, with a flourish, Kai takes the top right off and hands the box to me.
"How did you…?".
"What? You didn't have one of these as a kid? It's just a simple seven-sun seventy-eight-move puzzle box. They sell them all over Chinatown".
Before I can even respond, someone answers for me. "Kai…most kids can't even solve a rubix-cube". I know who it is right away, and not from their voice. I whip around, and there Mal is, standing right behind me. His face is almost unreadable, a combination of pity and anger etched across it. "Can I talk to you—" his eyes flit from Kai to me "—somewhere else?".
I reluctantly grab the box from where Kai set it, not even bothering to look at what's inside. I'm not even slightly curious; I feel like I'll never feel curiosity again. I follow Mal outside, and I know his question even before he opens his mouth.
"Where have you been? I've been trying to call you all morning; I was starting to think someone slit your throat".
"That's my business" I answer coldly. I wish I could tell him why I'm doing this, I wish I could explain everything. But I can't, and all I can do is hope he'll forgive me when all this is over.
"It doesn't have to be. You don't have to do this alone".
"This is my battle, not yours".
"This became my battle when I got involved in the very beginning! So let me rephrase that; I'm not going to let you do this alone".
"You don't understand".
"Oh, you think I don't understand what it's like to lose someone because I couldn't protect them?" he says. I stare at the ground, unable to meet his gaze. I know what he means, he's talking about Tasha King. But he doesn't understand this is to protect him, that I'm not doing this alone because I want to.
"So…what's with the box?" he says after a long pause, breaking the awkward silence. As an answer I hand it to him, and he takes it and peers inside; pulling out a key. There's some sort of keychain attached, but I can't read the words under Mal's fingers.
"I found it at that marine wildlife sanctuary about an hour from here. I figured that's what the shark's tooth must have meant".
I hear a plop as Mal puts the key back in, and he offers the box back to me. I take it and peer down into it, reading the small tourist-y keychain that reads 'Ocean View Hotel'.
"There's no way you'll be able to go there without knowing the room number that key belongs to. That place is huge, you'd never find it any other way". I nod, my eyes drifting back to the ground. After another pause Mal adds "I need to get back, I'll be sure to tell them you're taking a person day; I'm sure everyone will understand". Suddenly he grabs my upper arm, and in shock I look up at him, our eyes meeting. "When you figure it out, call me first. Don't just go running off…you don't know what you'll find there".
"But what if I can't—".
"You're smart, you'll figure it out. Just promise me you'll call when you do".
I'm faintly aware of how long it's been since I've let another person touch me. All the other times I've brushed away any form of comfort, making sure my unbridled fury was what drove me. This is the first time I've actually accepted it. One part of me wants to brush his hand away, the other wants to put my hand over his so he doesn't let go. But before I can do either he squeezes my arm slighty and heads back inside, leaving me alone again.
As soon as he disappears behind the front doors I start to head back to my hotel, since it's starting to get cloudy and I want to be sure to get back before it rains. But because of my luck, I can already feel it start to drizzle by the time I'm half-way there. Within minutes it's turned into a downpour, and I'm forced to take shelter in a tiny alcove that's clearly meant as a bus stop.
I'm so sick of nothing ever going my way. I'm sick of watching as my life falls to pieces. All I wanted was something permanent, something that no one could take away, and what do I get? My fiancé is dead, I'm being forced to completely ignore my best friend, and I'm left behind trying to figure out both my own life and the stupid puzzles left behind for me. Dammit, I'm sick of it! I'm sick of everything going downhill, just when I think it's going to be alright!
I slam the box down on the wooden bench, beyond caring of whether it breaks or not. It's lucky that no one else is waiting for the bus, because no matter how hard I try and stifle it I still find myself already being blinded by tears. At least it's raining, that was the rain will disguise my tear-streaked face.
After about ten minutes the rain lets up, and after wiping my face I go to grab the now possibly-broken box off the bench. That's when I notice the scratches, the purposefully-made lines etched in the lid.