CHAPTER 14

ALLISTER couldn't sit still, and he found himself pacing around his apartment living room, stopping only to take a swig of beer. He couldn't believe he had been fired so quickly, and that had angered him.

"Can you believe them?" Allister finally asked his police officer friend, Tommy, who was sitting on the couch also drinking his own beer. "Firing me on the spot like that? I thought that was what Unions were for—to avoid things like this. And then getting the Intelligence Unit involved? Fucking bullshit."

Tommy was calmer than Allister. "I wouldn't worry about it too much."

"How can I not? The dyke's friends are getting their police buddies to look into it."

Tommy almost laughed. "This woman must be really hot to have you all jumbled up like this."

"She's perfect. Everything I would want in a mate. And she turns out to be"—he couldn't even say it without pausing – "gay? That's messed up right there."

Tommy took a swig of beer as he watched his friend get riled up again.

"I mean it's disgusting. A woman should be with a man. And a man should be with a woman. End of story," Allister said, and Tommy only shrugged.

"No. I am not done with this," Allister began. "I want to make her hurt like I hurt." He paused. "What have you heard about the investigation?"

Tommy leaned back into the couch. "Like I said, you have nothing to worry about. Intelligence is packed with their own, more serious, cases. Voight being in charge doesn't help much either. Everyone is already skeptical of him. By the time they get around to their investigation, they'll have to go through all the officers that come in and out of Evidence. That is time they do not have."

"I hope you're right," Allister said.

"Trust me. When I left work today, everything was still the same. Nothing suspicious. Hell, I was still working evidence no problem."

Allister was quiet for a moment. "Speaking of evidence…what else was there for that other dyke who died?"

"Not much. But for the victim's personal belongings, the only thing we do have is this green, old, station wagon."

Allister raised an eyebrow. "No one claimed it?"

"No. Can't get a hold of her mother, and her father is out on bail for a DUI in San Antonio. It will stay there until it's either claimed or be discarded by the police."

Allister nodded his head. "How hard would it be to get that truck?"

"You would need to sign it out," Tommy answered. "But it's not as easy as taking copies of photos."

"Valid point. How would one sign it out?"

"Usually it is next of kin, and with a piece of identification."

"Would it be hard to sign it out?"

"Not really, especially if an officer is willing to forge a document. And, I mean, I doubt anyone is going to come for the truck. Why?"

A smile appeared across Allister's face. "I have an idea…"

IT was getting harder, and harder for Shay to mask how tired she really was. The last two days had been great, not having to worry about any of Allister's homophobic remarks, but her dreams still haunted her making it nearly impossible for her to get a good nights rest. She couldn't even remember the last time she had slept through the night.

Today, everyone was gathered in the common room. Herrmann had run his mouth as usual, and now all ten members of Squad and Truck were gathered around the table playing a massive poker game, where the last person standing from either side would be considered the team winner.

It had been a pretty intense game, and they were all taking it very seriously. Dawson had commented that it was getting pretty riveting, and it was hard to look away. Dawson, of course had decided to stick by her man, and was rooting for Truck to win. When Severide had asked Shay if she was rooting for Squad, she responded that the only team she was on was Ambulance 61, and if they had allowed her to play, she would have cleaned them dry.

In between the men saying 'fold' or 'raise', Shay could feel herself drifting off to sleep in the chair she was slouched in. If she did fall asleep, she knew Dawson and Severide would bombard her with questions, and that was something she absolutely did not want.

"I'm going to get some air," Shay finally said as she got up from her chair, thinking the air would be exactly what she needed to make herself feel awake.

"Okay," Dawson said without looking away from the game, as Shay sauntered off.

THE apparatus bay was eerily quiet as Shay made her way in between the trucks, and as she got closer to the open garage door, she could feel the nice, cool, Chicago breeze. Once she stepped outside, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It was a particularly cold day, unusual for this time of year, but also nice. She generally preferred the borderline months before it got really hot or really cold. The not too hot, not too cold days never lasted that long, so she always tried to savor them when she could.

The fresh air was exactly what she needed to wake herself up, and as she listened to the sounds of the air blowing, and birds chirping, she felt at peace for the first time in a while. She was optimistic that she was actually going to start feeling better.

When she finally opened her eyes she had a small smile on her face, and took around the surroundings outside the firehouse.

A familiar vehicle quickly grabbed her attention, and she could feel her stomach drop and her smile disappear. Parked just in front of the firehouse was Devon's station wagon.

OCTOBER 2013

"THAT'S your truck?" Shay asked as she followed Devon through her building's underground parking lot. It was an old truck, that had to be from the 70s, or 80s, and it was this light green color with a white roof and rust near the tires and windows. It seemed so out of place in the parking lot full of cars from 2005 and higher, but it was also, for some strange reason, completely Devon.

"Yep," Devon answered, and as she turned to look at Shay, she asked, "Jealous?"

Shay chuckled. "I am not jealous. Did your parents hand that down to you or something?"

Now Devon laughed. "No. I bought this baby through Craigslist. Some guy was selling it because it wasn't running and he didn't think it was worth the maintenance. I had to do some work on it, but it was worth every cent."

Shay approached the truck, not understanding why anyone would put more money in a car than it was worth.

"I know what you're thinking," Devon said as she looked at Shay. "Why would I spend so much money on a car that's more than 43 years old?"

"It did come to mind," Shay answered back.

"It's the history," Devon began to say. "This vehicle has been sold from person to person over the years. And each person has used this vehicle to either complete mundane tasks, or go on adventures. It's worldly, I suppose. It has a story that no one can see or hear, but a story nonetheless."

Shay stood by the truck, memorized by what Devon had just said. She had never really pegged her for being sentimental, but the more time she had spent with Devon, the more intrigued she had become by this woman. Ever since Clarice, she had made it a point not to get too attached to women—one or two date's tops—but slowly she was finding out that Devon was an exception to her rule. She could spend days with Devon, and find something new about her.

"It can be a pain in my ass sometimes when it breaks down," Devon said as her hand gripped the door handle. "But it didn't look like it was done telling stories."

"I guess I never really thought about it that way," Shay said as she made her way toward the passenger side of the vehicle, and as she entered the truck she pictured various lovers taking the truck on Sunday drives throughout the decades, as she and Devon were about to do now.

Devon turned to Shay once they were both settled into the truck. "Now you're part of the story."

Shay traced her hand over the upholstery of the vehicle, and with a small smile asked, "How many lesbian adventures do you think this truck has been on?"

Devon leaned in, kissing Shay, and once they parted, with their foreheads still touching each other, she said, "That's the mystery of the story. Only the truck and the trucks previous owners know the story for sure. But the important thing is to fill the miles with our own adventures."

Once Shay buckled up, she turned back to Devon with a smile on her face. "Then I guess we should continue the story."

Devon returned the smile. "I think this will be my favourite story so far."

SHAY was still frozen in her spot; still staring at Devon's truck and snapping out of the memory she had of the first time she laid eyes on it. She closed her eyes and shook her head, wondering if her exhaustion was making her hallucinate. When she opened her eyes again, she was somewhat relieved to know she wasn't going crazy, but also wondered how and why Devon's truck ended up outside the firehouse.

She could feel her heart began to race; her hands begin to shake, and the colour drain from her, as she started to make her way toward the vehicle. Memories of her time with Devon in that truck were all coming back to her. A memory of spontaneous drives for random picnics; another memory of doing more than making out in the back of her truck under the moonlight; singing along to the radio when the road seemed endless.

She had only made it halfway down the driveway when she heard a loud BOOM, that caused her to lose her balance and fall forward, scraping her head against the concrete. The pungent smell of smoke took over the fresh air, and nearby car alarms that were set off by the explosion had replaced the sounds of the birds chirping.

Shay lifted up her head from the ground, blood dripping from the scrape on her forehead, and she was horrified to see that Devon's car was now completely engulfed in flames and blown apart.

"WHAT the hell was that?" Herrmann asked as he put his cards down and quickly got up from his chair to investigate the sound of the noise. Everyone else had followed suit, even Chief had come out of his office, and they were all running toward the apparatus bay.

"Shay!" Severide exclaimed once he saw his friend lying down on the concrete, and rushed down the driveway to reach her.

Chief Boden was on a dispatch, calling in the fire, while Casey turned to the men who were already gearing up.

"Contain that car fire," Casey said. "Herrmann and Cruz with the extinguisher, Otis and Mouch with the hose."

"On it," Otis said as he and Mouch grabbed the hose and quickly made their way to the fire hydrant.

Dawson quickly opened up the back of the Ambo and grabbed the first aid kit and made her way down the driveway to where Shay and Severide were.

Shay was now sitting up, with Severide's hands on her shoulder, but Dawson noticed that Shay's eyes were focused on the vehicle that was now blown apart.

"Her heads bleeding," Severide said, and Dawson put on her gloves as she turned her attention to Squad and Truck working on putting out the fire. There were pieces of metal everywhere, and Shay was lucky she wasn't severely hurt.

While Squad and Truck contained the fire so it didn't spread more than it already had, Dawson examined Shay's head. It wasn't deep enough to need stitches, but she was more worried about the fact that Shay had hit her head and could have a concussion.

"Are you nauseous? Dizzy?" Dawson asked, but Shay never responded. Her eyes were still focused on the vehicle.

"She won't even answer me," Severide said. "She just keeps looking at the vehicle."

Severide and Dawson both turned their attention back to the vehicle where the fire was almost put out. It had been completely charred and Severide couldn't help but remember the time Hadley had set his car on fire.

"How does a car just explode like that?" Dawson asked.

"It doesn't," Mills said as he approached the three of them.

"Accelerant? Like the time with Hadley?" Severide asked and Mills shook his head.

"Bomb," Mills answered. "But small. Car bombs are usually effective for causing mass damage because they can carry a lot of detonation…but this one, not even half of what would be used to cause serious damage. That's why the effect is so minimal."

"But enough to get the point across," Severide said, to which Mills nodded as Casey made his way up to them.

"I'm going to tell Chief. The police are going to want to investigate this," Mills said.

"Maybe we should get bomb squad here too. There could be others," Casey said.

Dawson sighed. "I just don't understand…in front of a firehouse of all places? Chicago P.D already caught the guy that had called war on the fire department and police department. You don't think it's a copy cat?"

"I don't know," Mills said. "Those bombs, although amateur, had a lot of detonating power. This feels like someone is just trying to send a message, or scare someone."

"I agree with Mills," Casey said. "But just to be safe until we know who exactly that car belongs to."

"It's Devon's," Shay said in a deadpan voice, which caused everyone to turn to look at her, even though her eyes were still glued to the damaged car.

Dawson and Severide exchanged a concerned look, as Casey said, "I think you both have some calls to make."