"You piece of scum," I screeched, clearing the table before me with a sweep of my arm, "you keep this up, I swear I won't rest until you get life."
"Look, I said I don't know where she," the man across the table muttered sullenly.
Lie!
That was it. I flew out of my chair and covered this distance between us in two, long strides. Before he knew it, I had the pervert thrown against the wall, collar in gripped so tightly between my fists that my knuckles were white.
"You listen to me, asshole!" I shouted, shaking him for emphasis. "She is seven years old! She is an innocent little girl! And so help me God, you're going to tell me what you did with her, or you're going to find yourself dead so quick you're ghost's gonna have whiplash!" Then I slammed his head back against the wall for good measure, completely ignoring the fact that my co-workers were trying to pry us apart, shouting to one another over my threats.
Finally, my partner Avery wedged his way between us. With his hand on my chest, he forced us apart.
"Viv, go cool off!" he shouted above the din as someone grabbed my arms and pulled me away from behind. I jerked myself free and stormed through the clutter of people gathering to see what the disturbance was about. Without a backward glance, not even when my supervisor demanded one, I marched straight out of the precinct and into the alley behind.
The march weather was harsh and biting, especially through my white cotton blouse. I shuddered and shivered, wishing I hadn't left my blazer on my desk chair as usual, but I wasn't ready to go back in and get it either. Deep down I felt that I deserved the discomfort I was in. Not just for that stunt back there, but for everything. For every innocent that I couldn't save…and for every guilty piece of trash that walked away cause of charges I couldn't make stick. I know what you're thinking: I shouldn't have become a detective if I couldn't handle the guilt that sometimes goes with it. But you don't understand…
My uncle Rich was a motorcycle cop in Pittsburgh for most of his life. He and my Aunt Margaret never had children, though they both desperately wanted them. She was unable to conceive, my parents later told me. Maybe it was because I was the next best thing to having his own daughter that my uncle spoiled me so much. He'd come roaring up on his bike, in full uniform, couple of times a week, despite the twenty minute drive between his place and ours. He'd parade me around on the back of that thing, taking me on wild rides through the hub and hustle of the city, showing me that there was so much more to life than my one suburban neighborhood contained.
Rich became like a second father to me. He was at every soccer game, every school concert, every mile stone in my young life. When I was 10 he came and picked me up one summer evening, telling me there was a new ice cream parlor that opened near his house and he needed an expert to help him discover if it was any good or not. I just giggled and climbed on behind him, same as always. But that night was not to be as routine as the rest, because that was the night when I finally realized what I wanted to do. That night, over a hot fudge sundae, I confessed to my uncle that I wanted to be a cop. A police officer, just like he was. And Rich, he swore to me that when I finished school, if that's what I decided to do with my life, he would walk me off the stage when I graduated from the academy. He promised…and I believed him. After all, why shouldn't I have? He was always there, a part of my life…until suddenly he wasn't…
It was a routine traffic stop on a busy Friday night. Two teens in a car, driving too fast and paying too little attention on the freeway just outside the city. Officer Rich, parked on his bike under a viaduct, pulled them over. He was standing by their window, checking a registration number, when the truck hit. It wasn't the driver's fault. Semis can't maneuver that well, and in the darkness he couldn't have seen my uncle, just on the edge of the shoulder, until it was too late. There was nothing anybody could do. It was just an accident.
Uncle Rich's body was still alive when the paramedics arrived, but his mind was gone. For three weeks he laid in the hospital in a vegetative state before my aunt finally pulled the plug. A little boy in Vermont needed a liver, and my Uncle was a perfect match. I guess she felt that if something good could come from the tragedy than it should. Everyone went and said their goodbyes that night; the night before they turned the ventilator off.
Everyone except me.
I was at home, hiding in a corner of our attic, crying my eyes out. He'd lied to me. He'd promised he'd be there to walk me off that stage, but he wouldn't be! He'd promised…and he'd broken it! He'd lied… My heart withered inside my chest as I laid there and sobbed, while my uncle lay dying, cut off from his machines. And it was then that it happened. Utterly destroyed and alone, something inside me broke and fact or fiction suddenly took on a whole new meaning.
I saw lies, literally. They clouded the aura like pollution over San Francisco, a sickly red in color. They smelled like fresh spilt blood and hung thick around the body, hovering for a long time. I saw truth too. The truth appeared as a flesh-colored mist, emanating from every pore and dissipating quickly. Thought my uncle's death, I had become something new, and as much as it scarred me, I took it as a sign. This…this was my Uncle's way of telling me that my job was supposed to be finding truth and justice. That I was to stick to the path I'd chosen despite his absence. And I did, but it wasn't easy.
Growing up, knowing the falsities behind every white lie is a terrible thing. You never see the shades of gray, just the painful black and white. That's a tough way to see things as a kid.
"No, don't worry sweetie. I love the gift."
Lie.
"Oh, don't sweat it, kiddo. It wasn't your fault.'
Lie!
"You played great, honey."
LIE!
It's a tough way to live life
But do you know what's worse than knowing the difference between who's innocent and who's guilty, who's lying and who's not? Knowing and not being able to do anything about it. I've watched mourning husbands go to prison for crimes of passion they didn't commit. I've watched guilty black-widows get off scott free because of expensive lawyers and counter suits, tampered evidence and bribes.
But how are you supposed to tell a judge 'Oh, he's not guilty, I can tell by his aura. It's his brother's who's lying about where he was'? That doesn't go over very well…trust me, I've tried. That's why I've been transferred between three departments in the last five years. People eventually start to think I'm crazy…or they start to realize the truth. Either way, it means another move for me.
It's hard to put down roots, me being who I am.
What I am…
I was surprised out of my depressive stupor by something coming down across my shoulders.
"Thought you might be cold," Avery said, draping my retrieved coat down my back and handing me a steaming Styrofoam cup. "Straight black, just the way you like it." Avery's been my partner since I came to work for the Boston chapter about a year ago, just after my promotion to detective, and I've never had a harder time working with someone. Not because he's difficult or nasty or anything. No, actually it's the exact opposite: he's one of the nicest guy's I ever met.
See, partners are supposed to be able to read each other. To be able to judge one another's moods and temperaments. We're supposed to be close. But I can't get close…and I hate lying to Avery. But I can't keep doing it. I can't keep moving.
"Tough case," he said, stirring his own coffee and looking out at the street. "You've been going at it too hard. Maybe you should-"
"I don't need any time off," I interrupted. "Not yet. We're so close." Avery sipped at his coffee, looking thoughtful.
"We might not be as close as we think. Just because no one can confirm Jones's alibi doesn't mean he's lying." More silence, sipping…
"Yes…he is." Avery shot me a wry glance over the top of his cup. I looked away.
"'Nother hunch, Viv?" I nodded. Avery drained the last of his coffee and crushed the cup under his foot, tossing it into the dumpster behind us. "Tell ya what, let me go in, dig out some files. See if I can't hold him here on an outstanding parking ticket or something. Then, when you're up to it, you can have another go at him, see if you can't crack him." And with that being said, he walked away, back into the precinct to do what he said he would. I knew. I always know when Avery's lying.
Avery never lies.
I considering chasing after him, thanking him for finding my coat and believing in me and all that. But there'd be time for that later. Right now, I just needed a moment to myself. I scanned the bleak march sky, watching a few stray snowflakes started to drift down. One dropped onto my nose, melting into a glistening water droplet, indistinguishable from the tears fresh on my cheeks. I wiped them all away.
I'm meant to do this job, I know it. It's been my calling all my life. It's just so hard sometimes. But then again, life is hard so who am I to complain? It's just…sometimes I wish I could see all the gray in the world.
It would make the black a little easier to bear.
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A/N: Yeah, this one was depressing and deep, I know. Expect more humor next entry. Now, go and review. Please…Please? Pretty please with a sugar coated bunny on top?
