So I forgot to mention this in the last chapter but I hadn't finished the last scene so I made it a two-parter. And thus, here we have the second part of the chapter for your reading pleasure. I know I've gotten a little behind in Moving Day, well a lot behind but I promise to get started today. In the mean time, please review and if you want to follow me on twitter you can find me at vatrask
Enjoy 3
Kate opened the door to a familiar sight, one that made her groan in frustration. "Oh, Dad," she muttered, dropping her keys, just missing the side table, and rushed to pick her father up off the floor. She grunted as he gripped the bottle tighter when she tried to grab it out of his hands. Slinging his arm over her shoulder, gathering most of his weight onto her side, she limped with him over to the couch, where she dropped him on his back and left to grab a cold towel from the kitchen.
This had become the norm for nearly four months; she would return from school – she had just transferred to NYU – to find him passed out, or close to, from his latest drinking binge, leaving her to take care of everything. He was still going to work, managing to hide most of his problems from his boss, but she knew it was getting harder for him to mask the smell of alcohol on his breath. She constantly worried about her father, and it didn't help that the police were sitting on their thumbs instead of working to fix the gaping hole in the Beckett family.
Four months ago, Johanna Beckett had gone to run an errand and had never returned. The police had found her body in an alley; and claimed it as 'random gang violence', as though she were just another statistic. Kate knew better; her father was proof of that.
She pressed the damp cloth to her father's forehead with a gentle frustration – the tone one takes when a child has finally calmed down from a temper tantrum. She often felt as though their roles were suddenly reversed. She constantly feared that her father would fall down the rabbit hole of despair and stay there, leaving her alone to pick up the pieces of yet another loss. Once she felt his face was cool enough for her satisfaction, she placed the cloth softly on the coffee table and shifted to pull him back onto his side. Grunting, she huffed before beginning the journey up the stairs.
"Oh, Katie you're *hic* here," Jim Beckett suddenly slurred as his head lolled over to see her for the first time. "Welcome home." He smiled and she coughed at the direct wave of booze-drenched breath that came directly at her.
Kate pulled him higher against her shoulder. "Thanks, Dad. Could you try greeting me when you're sober next time?" She tossed her father unceremoniously onto the master bed, where he flopped on his back and lay very still for a moment before Kate heard soft snoring. Sighing and shaking her head, she watched her father sleep for a moment before bending over to peel his socks off. She had just crumpled the first soiled garment into her fist when he suddenly kicked her in the chest, shoving her back in surprise. She watched as he continued to kick and twist until his feet could touch the floor over the side of the bed.
And now came the nightmares that accompanied Jim Beckett's drunken escapades. Of course he would never admit it, but he hadn't had a sober night in weeks and it was wreaking havoc on his career. Having to go to the same law firm of which his departed wife was once partner just seemed less painful with a permanent buzz. He hated his job for the simple reason that everything reminded him of her: the chair she always sat in beside his desk during their lunch break; the busted coffee-maker over which many a stolen moment had been taken; the nameplate on her door announcing to the world that she was strong and powerful and all his. God, he missed her so much.
And of course his daughter seemed to be doing just fine. She had made all the funeral arrangements, dealt with Johanna's financial matters, and even got possession of her mother's recent case files so she could find someone to close them; all without shedding a tear. Yes, Jim Beckett thought, my daughter is strong like her mother – and he prayed she wouldn't end up like her, gunned down in an alley behind some bar. He never corrected himself – not even in his head – but he knew that she wasn't killed by some random street gang. Everything in Johanna Beckett's life had had a purpose, including her death. But there was no point in chasing around phantom demons – it wasn't worth the loss of another innocent life.
Kate knew almost everything that was going on in her father's head – the nightmares partnered with the openness of being constantly drunk loosened his subconscious tongue so that all of his nightmares passed her ears – or so she thought. She heard nothing of his fear for her or his belief about her mother's murder. The rest broke her heart every night when she came home, and bothered her to no end. How her father could sit there night after night, drowning in misery, when his wife's killer was at large was beyond her. As she watched his restless sleep, it occurred to her that the brave face she was putting on everyday was the mask they had to share in order to recover. Unfortunately, her father didn't seem willing to change his face. With Jim still thrashing half on the bed – with only one sock on – Kate pulled a brochure out of her coat pocket and placed it on the nightstand beside the stale glass of water from the night before. Knowing he would need something when he woke up – as usual – she picked up the glass and calmly entered the generous en-suite bathroom to fill up the glass with fresh water and find a pair of Tylenol. She needed him alert when he woke up.
They had a lot to talk about.
It was nearly 8:30, the moon high in the sky, when Kate looked up from her desk in her bedroom to see her rather put-off father standing in the doorway. "What's this?" he grumbled thickly holding up the brochure.
Kate marked her textbook and closed it slowly knowing that no more work would be done tonight. Taking a deep breath, she tried to remain as casual as possible. "It's a brochure for the Police Academy, Dad."
"I know that." He suddenly threw the pamphlet on the desk but remained in the doorway, his breathing becoming shallow as his worst nightmare came to pass. "What is it doing on my nightstand?" Neither of them mentioned the circumstances leading to him finding the brochure and neither were in the mood.
Kate kept focusing on taking deep breaths and keeping eye contact with her father. "I'm thinking of joining." She straightened her shoulders, daring him to oppose her; which, of course, he did.
Jim still hadn't entered the room but his presence echoed off every wall. "No you're not! I absolutely forbid it."
Kate gaped at him in offence. "You can't forbid me to do anything; this is what I want to do-"
"What you want to do is find the man who killed your mother and I'm telling you to leave it to the professionals."
"But I'll be the professional, Dad," she insisted, stepping closer. "You and I both know Mom's death wasn't random and the police aren't doing a damn thing to try and find the real killer."
"So what?" He stepped over the threshold and into her face. "You're just going to throw yourself in the line of fire and hope that you'll jump before the bullet hits you? Katie, you can't do this."
"I can and I will." Her gaze never faltered. "I'm going to do what no one else will: solve Mom's murder."
"I'm the adult-"
"No you're not," she interrupted hotly. "You're the drunken slob who's so concerned with his own misery that he doesn't seem care this wife is-"
The resounding slap pierced the room and drove them both to silence. Jim's hand shook with fearful disbelief as Kate held her reddening cheek, blinking at him, stunned. In all her life Kate had never been struck by her parents, no matter how bad she was.
"Katie, I-" he started, but she was already brushing past him, headed for the front door.
"I'm joining the NYPD; and you can't stop me."
Jim sank to the floor against her daughter's door frame as she slammed her way out.
Kate pulled the door closed and began to walk. She didn't have the energy to run so she walked out the door and down the street. She felt tears burn her eyes but refused to let them spill. The blurrier her vision became, the faster she walked, until she found herself in a familiar neighbourhood. At the end of the block was her new favourite spot, the library – when she needed a break from her father. Just up the street from there was the bookstore that was always open late. Feeling the need to assert some control, Kate wiped her eyes with the pads of her fingers and walked past the library into the bookstore. Wandering around hastily, she waited for a book cover to catch her eye, so she could make a decision unopposed. As she entered the crime section, she was immediately drawn to a deep red cover, a stark contrast to the duller colours of the surrounding novels. Picking it off the shelf, Kate flipped it over in her hands several times before finally reading the cover.
"At Dusk We Die," she mumbled curiously, before opening the cover to read the jacket. It sounded interesting enough, and it would surely take her mind off her father and everything that came with it. Fishing through her pockets for her wallet, she realized with disdain that she had foolishly left it at home. Sneaking a glance at the empty checkout counter, Kate slipped the hardcover under shirt and made a brisk exit from the store.
Well, she wasn't a cop just yet, and something told her that this book would be worth it.
