"Dear Derek,

Remember how you once said it wasn't a long journey to drive me insane? I think this email proves it.

I mean, here I am a grown professional woman (not that kind of "professional" dummass!) in my late twenties. I have a home, I have a very good job, and until this moment in my life I clung to the fact that I might still have my sanity.

Sadly it appears not. Because I'm emailing a ghost.

But then who else am I supposed to talk to about this? Who else would understand US?

I thought, after seven years without you, I had finally met someone who could challenge me the way you did – and who understood why I grieve for you the way I do. Mikey made me laugh again. He made me remember the good things about our friendship instead of the sight of you dying in my arms. He knew you, and I was starting to think he knew me.

You see, no one else gets it, despite what they say. Mom is confused because apparently my grief is disproportionate to our relationship. Edwin, too, thinks because he has moved on and learnt to live with the pain then so can I. Even Sam who I suspect still sheds the odd tear over you doesn't really know how this feels.

The closest to understanding is Marti and great though she is, when I look at her I feel a fraud.

We were friends…weren't we?

I find it really hard to work out what a friend is these days. Since Mikey disappeared the definition has become even more blurred for me. I know he and I knew each other a very short time but like love, I thought in a friendship time frames don't count. Clearly I was wrong…

Friends don't just dump organic matter on you…it might have looked like roses but it still smelled like… (I'm not using that word. My language is worse these days I'll admit, but this is supposed to be a considered letter, not a rant.)

It appears whatever it was that I thought was building with Mikey, it didn't matter to him. The trouble is those brief few days that we were "communicating" changed me. I got used to sharing things with him that I don't share with anyone else. I realised how I need to talk about the things that affect me the most. I need to unload…the bizarre way I used to unload on you when you were still here.

It's been a month since Mikey checked out on our "companionship" and things have happened and I've changed…and I need to talk to someone about them.

Mikey isn't here, and neither are you. Your email address is though and I never knew his, so for now your email will have to do.

So here goes:

I'll start with the biggy…I lost a patient today. I know if you were here you'd make some silly remark about that being careless of me – and I know that I should be able to look at things as simply as that. But you know me…I can't. You used to accuse me of over-thinking things and I still do. I don't see the child with massive blunt force trauma to the head because they were involved in a hit and run. Instead I see the little toddler running around with his family – and then I see the family pet waiting on the porch for his best friend to return to play. I see the mother pulling damp clothes from the washer that no child will ever wear again. I see…

You get the picture.

And with every loss, I see you. I remember being the person waiting for news in the Next-of-Kin room. I remember your grip loosening on my bloodied hand in the helicopter. I remember the last time I saw you.

It hurts, Derek.

Usually, when I have to give the bad news to a family I have to go somewhere afterwards and vomit. It doesn't matter what sex or age the person is their death still makes me sick to the stomach. But, today was different. Today, I made the decision to sneak away and write to you instead.

So that is what I am doing. I am holed up in the staff room emailing my dead brother to stop myself from vomiting.

Funny, I once joked that you made me sick…and now I need you to stop me being sick.

You used to think you were invincible – that you'd get away with everything and even cheat death. Towards the end I think even I began to believe it; to believe that you were the exception to every rule including the one that says everyone must die.

You were wrong…we both were."

Casey felt the pager in her pocket vibrate and sighed. They needed her back on the floor and inward contemplation would have to wait. She pressed Send on her phone and stood up from the couch she had been perched on. And then straightening her clothes she made for the door.

Steven was by the nurses' station.

"You okay?" He asked, catching Casey wiping away a tiny tear. Typical! When she's running off to vomit and blow snot everywhere no one notices. When she's held it together, suddenly it's obvious.

"Yes. I'm fine."

"The kid didn't make it then?" Steven asked. Casey shook her head.

She sighed. "Let's hope they get the asshole who doesn't know to slow down in the rain."

"The family have been informed?"

"Yeah." Casey said simply. "What's up next?"

"Pregnant woman in room four with loss of feeling on one side of her body. You want it?"
"It's probably just a migraine but I guess we'd better get neurology down here for a consult. Sure I'll take it."

Casey moved on and her work continued.


The rain was cool, persistent and made his clothes cling to him like a second skin. Even his leather jacket had darkened in colour where the constant moisture had soaked in. Derek combed his fingers through his hair and a fresh stream of water ran down his back. In the tight pocket of his jeans he felt his cell phone vibrate but he didn't pull the device free.

Jazz walked across the waste-ground towards him. He too looked like a drowned rat.

"No sign?" Derek asked.

Jazz shook his head. "Not in that building." He jerked his head towards one of the rundown shacks that littered the rough ground. "What about yours, Mikey?"

Derek also shook his head. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

"Me too. Grubby's normally so punctual."

"OCD about it." Derek said matter-of-fact.

They both looked over to the largest of the ruined buildings, a disused warehouse of three stories, although the roof looked to be long since burnt away, probably because of squatters rather than any accident which befell the building whilst it was still in use.

"I guess we need to bite the bullet." Derek said. "Cover me?" Jazz nodded.

They both reached into their pockets and withdrew their ID shields, clipping them to the waistbands of their jeans.

Derek pulled his firearm from his holster and removed the safety catch.

"I'm going to sweep the building from left to right." He said. "When I've covered the ground floor, I'm going to look for a way up. Follow me where you can, but for fuck's sake check it's not me before you loose that oversized cannon."

"You're just jealous of the size of my piece."

Derek groaned. "Jazz. Will you quit trying to imply you have a bigger penis than me? We're both straight and you're more Dirty Harriet than Harry."

"Did you just call me a pussy?" Jazz looked mock-horrified.

"Yeah. Now do you think we can get out of this goddamn rain?"

They circled the warehouse carefully, both of them holding their guns with confidence. They were here to meet with a co-worker who was currently working undercover. This morning Derek had taken a call from him requesting a meet. He had information.

Freddie "Grubby" Grubb was late. That was never a good sign.

Derek entered the building quickly, slipping in through an open doorway without making a sound. He swung his gun around low, his eyes rapidly sizing up the space he had entered. It was large…cavernous even. The once whitewashed walls had originally contained an assembly line but all the equipment had been stripped out. Occasionally there was a walled enclosure that looked as though it might have contained an office and Derek made a mental note to check those as soon as he was clear on the open space.

It was light inside because the windows along the line of the building were large, and also because when some of the burning roof had fallen from the third floor it had burned through the lower floors too. Here the dim light of a rainy day passed unhindered from roof-level to ground.

The place was eerie, damp and smelled of stale smoke and death.

Behind him, Jazz crept slowly, ghosting Derek's own steps. His jocular manner from earlier had gone. That was one of the things that Derek liked about the guy. He could crack a good joke like the best of them but when the jump-light went on he was deadly serious. He wasn't too serious – but he wasn't a clown either. Derek's days of loving clowns were long gone.

Derek crossed the debris-littered floor and made his way to the first of the "offices". Waiting until Jazz was positioned on the other side of the door he swung himself round into the room and swept his gun on a low arc to every corner of the room.

It was clear.

He exited the room again and jerked his head across to the next one.

They continued like this as they moved along the first level of the building and then made their way to the far end of the building where a door was marked "Fire Exit". Derek guessed and was correct in his assumption that this door led to the flight of stairs down from the higher levels which would have been used in an emergency.

He carefully opened the door and after scoping the stairwell put his foot on the bottom step. The movement dislodged a piece of burnt timber that must have had help to arrive at its current location; perhaps help of the human vagrant variety. The noise as it clattered down the step made both men jump, and when Derek examined the debris, his unease didn't lessen.

Wordlessly, he pointed to the wood and Jazz nodded, his eyes glancing up through the stairwell as his mind came to the same conclusion as Derek.

Someone had been there, and recently. The wood was still smouldering, the rain evidently halting the planned destruction by fire.

Derek didn't get scared, but he was extremely reluctant to move higher up.

Jazz put a finger to his lips and Derek rolled his eyes at him, a wry smile on his own lips. Slowly, and as quietly as he could, Derek kicked the obstructions from the stairs and made his way up.

He stopped after the first flight, his gun trained up the stairs and Jazz ducked behind him and sprinted soundlessly up the next flight. Once he reached that top step, he too froze and Derek darted behind him in the same way.

It took four flights to reach the next level and when they got there, Derek paused and looked questioningly at Jazz. Did they continue upwards or did they enter the second floor?

Jazz pointed to his own chest and jerked a thumb up the stairs. He pointed to Derek and then the door to the rest of the current floor. Derek nodded and Jazz took off up the stairs cautiously but lightly, his eyes flicking quickly around as he went.

Derek opened the door and eased into the room.

This floor was more complicated. It was a series of corridors with smaller offices leading from them. It was going to be harder to search particularly as Derek was now doing the search on his own.

It took him another five minutes to reach the far end, and it would have taken longer had it not been for the missing corner of the floor where the roof had collapsed.

It was in the last room, however, that Derek found Grubby.

When Jazz found Derek, he was vomiting noisily as far away from the body as he could.

"Jesus!" Jazz said. "How bad?"

"Go take a look and tell me you can keep your dinner down. It was all I could do to get out of the room so I didn't disturb the evidence."

Jazz left Derek and went to the other room, when he came back he was pale but didn't appear to have been sick.

"The fucking animals." He said through gritted teeth.

"Tell me about it." Derek said. "I'll call it in."

He pulled his cell from his pocket and flipped it open. He clicked the Make Emergency Call option without needing to unlock the password. When the operator responded, he stated "Priority Call Channel M".

"Connecting you." The Operator replied.

"MX Control." Another voice stated.

"Control this is Charlie Five. We have a code black and it's a bad one."


Casey was home again. It was 1am and she had just walked in from her shift. Currently, she was living alone once more because Marti had returned to Toronto, but after Christmas her sister would be moving in for the duration of her internship. Her interview had been successful.

Casey was secretly pleased. They had got on really well for that one week that they had already shared the apartment. It was nice to have the sleepy face peer around her door when she got home late. "Just checking you're in one piece." Marti would say and at that time of the night all she needed from Casey was a nod. It was easy. Peaceful.

She could do with Marti and her easy karma now. It had been a bad day, although she was rather proud of the fact that she had managed to avoid throwing up. The fact that her email to Derek meant she had crossed a line and was now bobbing up against insanity was beside the point.

Tonight she had a rare glass of wine and a warmed up plate of Casey casserole. It was comfort food because she needed it. Comfort that is.

She contemplated continuing her soliloquy to Derek's email account, but decided that she would only allow herself one update per week. Otherwise she might fill his inbox up too quickly and as there was no one there to clear it out, at some point even Derek Venturi would stop listening.

Instead, she googled a "famous" actor one of her younger patients had mentioned today. Apparently, Casey was "old" because she admitted to never having heard of the guy.

A sudden beep of an email message surprised her, but not as much as the sender's name: Mikey Essen.

Casey quickly opened the email which consisted of one line.

"I lost a friend today."