Though it is morning the graveyard is dark, storm clouds smother out the last remaining sunlight. But a cool haze sets the calm atmosphere as a light snowfall sprinkles onto a mourning crowd who surround a decorated grave.

The wife of the departed stands silently, peering down as wet dirt pounds onto the coffin. She wears her dress and matching black hat and slippers, her hair fixed neatly to wide, loose braids resting down one side. She is properly dressed. She is Allision Gucci.

There are friends, family members, two of her daughters, and police officers who all attended to show their respect. Allison studies the scene and notices a few strangers she doesn't recognize, perhaps grateful families of victims showing their respect.

One stranger with red hair and green eyes quickly throws in a small piece of paper, it flutters briefly before peacefully landing. Before long, the letters and flowers are buried forever.

Allison's eyes are dry, her voice calm, her face almost emotionless. When the note is entirely covered, she turns to the young woman."Excuse me, but what was that you just threw in?" The young woman's eyes widen, as a kind of speechless appreciation seeped through to express itself externally, her face suddenly cringes with a refrained cry. Shuddering, she finds herself, and then lifts her head high to recite what has been repeated so many times in her heart.

"Thomas Gucci, I wished that we had known each other under more better circumstances. I've wanted to let you know that for so many years I've wanted to thank you. Thank you. With forever gratitude, Stori."

Allison nods her head and allows the former Stori to weep for a long awaited letter that was never sent.

A young woman lifts her hat but lets it hang limply by her side, her hair jet black and eyes a shining blue, the young officer makes her way around to the widow and places a hand gently on Allison's shoulder.

"It's okay to cry, Miss Gucci." Amanda gently says, they both look down to the tombstone:

RIP

Son of Richard and Ilsa Gucci:

Thomas Gucci

A Loving Father and Husband

May he rest in peace.

The snow continues to fall as evening arrives, the cries now nothing more than a memory. Soon, the lonely figures of Allison and Amanda are left standing silently, his grave connected to smaller tombstones with as much age as the officer. As Amanda's red eyes subside, Allison still remains stiff and emotionless.

She then she breaks the silence. "You said it's okay to cry...?"

Amanda looks up to see her black hat covering her face, the blue snow and black background bringing a sort of dark and tragic beauty about her. "Yes, ma'am."

Allison looks up at her with questioning eyes, her mouth slightly open, her face revealed through the brim of her laced hat, exposing every hint of expression she unintentionally gave. "That's what my husband always said to me." She quickly looks away, taking a moment before finding the strength to continue. "I loved him, God knows I did. But I never shed a tear, same with him. We both just hid and forget all our problems away like a scratched disk or old jukebox. We never even tried to talk things over."

Amanda pulls a hand over her hair and combs it. "Ma'am-"

Then in a luring gaze locking both their eyes, Amanda is speechless as Allison stares unsteadily at her from under her hat, a faint glitter streaming down her cheeks.

"You would look exactly like his daughter," She says, shaking her head slowly. "So much like her."

Then her focus wanders back down to their feet to her husband's grave, her blue eyes now glassy but her face frozen expressionless as she leaves, hesitantly making her way back.

Left behind, the officer looks uncertain as she watches Mrs. Gucci stumble further away and disappear from view, never to be seen again by the young woman.

Amanda had just come from Thomas Gucci's funeral. She was silently sobbing in an unlit office, The young officer's coat was wide open revealing her tell-tale rookie uniform, her hair soaked and matted to her forehead.

The office was emptied of Gucci's belongings and work supplies, his desk and walls bare, the only thing in this room are a few boxes of photographs that has yet to be touched. One is a beautiful picture of the Guccis, Thomas hugging Allison as she held her stomach. They were at some small resort at their first honeymoon, both young and happy with a sun setting behind them.

Amanda still remembered crying openly and being comforted by that man, feeling as if he was the father she never had. She tried her damn hardest to impress him, to show Gucci she could do whatever he did, already studying to be a detective just like him.

The blinds are wide open, the windows propped open slightly and bringing in a cold draft.

"Gucci?" She says, talking to nobody. "I got your case right here." Beside the desk is a file. "I solved it. The Brahams murder spree case. It wouldn't make much sense, though, considering she was only nine." She chuckles, tears running down her cheeks.

Amanda sniffs and shudders again. Then somewhere in the dimness her phone rings.

"Yes?" She slouches and wipes her nose.

"Is this Amanda?" A young woman's voice inquires, slow and clear, giving an air of superiority.

"This is her." She sits up straight, an expression of curiosity.

"Good," Her tone flat and serious with an English accent. "I'm afraid you're going to have to know my name: Claudia Wolf. We suddenly have a job opening."

She remains silent. Did this "job opening" have something to do with Gucci's death...?

Then rather suddenly, the woman on the other end of the line asks, "Would you like to work for me?"