A good ten minutes of staring at her reflection in the mirror until Sofia straightens her uniform and takes a deep breath. When she is finally content with her appearance she grabs her keys and exits the building.
The memorial service for Officer Bell is not really any different than those of other policemen Sofia has attended is the past, still, something about this one is standing out. She can't place it, it's not like she has ever been close to Bell, she barely knew him in fact. He isn't the first she watched dying, either, she has been witness to the death of few.
What is more, she knows that she is not responsible for the fact that he is now lying in a wooden case, the American flag draped across it, motionless, lifeless and cold instead of standing with his daughter and wife -where he belongs.
Sofia has finally accepted that there was nothing she could have done differently in order to prevent his tragic death. And still, she has this strange feeling inside of her, like her stomach is in knots.
Seeing the little girl, a white rose in her hand, knowing but not yet understanding that this is a farewell for ever, is breaking the detective's heart. Just considering that it might have been her fault makes her want to throw up.
But she doesn't. Just silently follows the ceremony, watches the weeping family and mourning friends.
Watches as the casket is lowered into the ground.
Watches as the wife shies away from the comfort offering touches, trying her hardest not to fall apart.
And she watches a gray haired man, standing stiffly, several feet away, head lowered.
The captain, friend, she has so much respect for, suffering under the pressure of his own guilt. She feels the urge to move over to where he stands but doesn't want to interfere with the ceremony by crossing the crowd of funeral guests.
So it's not before they are back in the officer's house, and she sees him again, entering the room decorated with family pictures, surrounded by uniformed officers who avoid him, that she feels the need to approach him.
When she steps up to him she is tentative, weighs her words carefully before finally speaking.
"Jim, I was just on my way out, but if you want me to stay..." It's all she can do, offer support just like she has received from him mere days ago.
"No, I...I think I can handle it." He tells her, not ready for comfort, even if that is what he is craving for on the inside. " I think." he adds then, " Thanks." He gives her a sad smile, grateful that she, contrary to the rest of his colleagues, is willing to console him.
Sofia understands, he is going through the same emotions she has experienced, with the difference being that he knows for sure about the weight of his guilt. Eying him once more she finally says "Okay.", then turns to leave, hoping that he will be alright -eventually.
A bitter sense of relief washes over her when she steps out of the house and into the sun. She breathes in the clear warm air and makes her way back to the car park.
Tonight she will be back on duty. It's a thought that still slightly scares her. Retrieving her phone she makes a decision: She can't spent the afternoon to herself, she needs a diversion so she can start her shift with a clear head. Feeling apprehensive she calls a number she hasn't often dialled before.