Episode 0–4: The Start of an Obsession

July 24, 9:40 PM. Building 201. Phoenix's Apartment.

Deskwork. She should have expected they would put her on that. 'Just until you get settled in,' Goodman had assured her. Still, Pam would have appreciated it if she could have just continued her job like normal. Waiting made her antsy.

Pam sighed, turning the television off and drowning the apartment in silence. Her brother had already gone to bed. The quiet was frustrating. She would already be bored at her new job. Why did it have to be boring here too?

She stood, pacing the floor, occasionally glancing at her phone on the coffee table. She'd done it. She'd traveled to the other side of the country and gotten a job. She would have a stable life here, and she was closer to her brother. Pam was usually a very simple girl. She did things she thought were right, and she stopped those doing wrong. Maybe her unease came from the fact that she wasn't doing something simple anymore. What she had gotten involved in was much more complicated, and it didn't sit right with her.

She froze as her phone started to buzz. The caller ID was from her former Chief. Taking a deep breath, she picked it up and answered, careful to keep her voice down so she wouldn't wake Phoenix.

"Pamola Wright speaking."

"Wright," came the gruff voice of Puffington, "I heard you made it down safely. I got a call from Damon."

"I did. Sorry I didn't call you personally. I figured you were busy."

"Forget it. I was just worried when you said you were going to drive there."

Pam scoffed, rubbed her cheek. "I was fine, obviously." Puffington laughed, though it was tinged with sadness.

"Obviously," he agreed. "You know your sudden departure really upset some people here. I believe Stacy said she was going to hunt you down for sport."

Pam thought he was joking. At least, she could only hope. Pam wouldn't be surprised if the nerd was completely serious. She sat back down on the couch, leg bopping up and down.

"How is everyone, actually?" Her question was answered with a long sigh.

"They're doing as good as can be expected. Everyone who isn't in on our plan is doing what they can to get through what happened. It certainly hasn't been easy up here, but the world keeps spinning. We'll get through it."

Pam's free hand tightened into a fist. Puffington continued when she didn't answer.

"You don't have to do this," he said, voice lower. "I'm asking a lot of you rookie. If you feel overwhelmed—"

"I'm fine!" Pam snapped. She froze, listening for any sounds of a waking Phoenix. When she didn't hear anything, she continued. "I mean, I'm ready to do this. I want to do this. No one else can. I'm willing to put my badge on the line, sir."

Her old Chief was quiet. The two didn't talk for minutes, and Pam wondered if she had been too upfront. She ran a hand through her loose hair.

"Listen, Chief, I didn't mean—"

"I ain't your Chief anymore, Wright." Puffington paused. "But you have a point. If you want to do this, it's your decision. You have us behind you if you need it."

"Thanks, Chief."

"I just said—" Puffington stopped himself. "Whatever. I called because I have some questions."

"All right, what is it?"

"What did you do with the evidence box?"

Pam wrapped herself up in a blanket, holding the phone between her shoulder and cheek.

"I put it where you said. That old woman was just where you said she would be. But are you sure it's a good idea to put all our important evidence with a lady in a nursing home?"

"It couldn't be anywhere safer," he assured. "She's a tough old bird. If anyone can keep it safe, it's her. Besides, if anyone caught you with that box, your goose would be cooked. Now, my other question…have you looked into seeing a therapist in L.A.?" Pam jerked up, dropping her phone on the couch. She scrambled to pick it up, hissing into the phone.

"I don't need a therapist, Chief! I am fine!"

"You are not fine! You watched your partner die in front of you, and now you are trying to hunt down the person who killed him!" If Pam closed her eyes, she could see her Chief standing from his chair in anger. "Kent wouldn't want you to burn yourself out over this!"

"No, this isn't up for debate!" Pam snapped back.

"It is, and you will shut your mouth and listen!"

"You're not my Chief anymore," she mocked, "so you don't get a say in it!" Pam winced. Puffington was silent on the other end. The clock on the wall ticked. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that."

"It's…it's okay, Wright. This month has been stressful for all of us. This kind of thing, it's never easy."

"I know." Pam rubbed her eyes. "I know. It…it still doesn't feel real. Sometimes I get so confused when he's not around."

"He was good. Confusing, a little bit of a pain, but good." Puffington chuckled on the other end. "He really made you into a carbon-copy of himself, huh? Reckless, too loyal for your own good—"

"Shut up." But she couldn't stop herself from smiling. She remembered her first case with Kent, where she'd split coffee all over his shirt in her rush to help. How he'd help her stay awake on long nights solving cases. He was her everything. A father when her family was so far away. In her dreams she would relive their work together. The long, sleepless nights. The gunfights with murderers, tracking down kidnapped victims, the press conferences.

But more often than not, it was the nightmare that woke her up in a cold sweat.

Every night, without fail, she would dream of herself, running down the crowded alleys of New York. She remembered the smell of the garbage, the angry howl of a street cat, the chill of the night. She was always running, running toward Kent, gun in hand, scream in the back of her throat as she saw him fall to the ground. Red on his chest, red on her hands, red as the ambulance came minutes too late.

Pam had been lucky that Phoenix had never noticed her tears in the middle of the night.

She wiped her wet eyes on the corner of the blanket, trying to steady her breathing. Memories of that night, that horrible night, came rushing back. It was just supposed to be a stakeout. Her first. Kent had joked about how boring it was to wait in a car all night. How nothing exciting would happen, how nothing exciting ever happened.

But then their suspect had spotted them, had run, and when they couldn't chase him by car, they followed on foot. Kent had followed the man head on, ordering Pam to cut him off. She had rounded the corner just in time to see a hooded figure put a bullet through her partner's chest.

Pam should have run after him. She was faster than the murderer was; she could have easily caught him. But when she had seen the blood, had heard Kent cry out in pain…she had gone to him. What was she supposed to do, let him lie there, alone? Later, when she was questioned, she had said she didn't see any murderer, that she had gotten there too late.

They put her on trial, tried to frame her for killing someone she cared so deeply for. But her gun was custom, a gift from her late mentor that ended up saving her life. Her gun's bullets didn't match the one that was burrowed deep in her partner's chest. She was free, but alone. People looked on her with pity after that. No one thought her a murderer, just a sad little girl.

She had only told the truth to Puffington, a day after Kent's funeral.

The only part of the murderer's body that Pam saw clearly was the hand holding the gun. It was tan, delicate, with a long white scar running into the sleeve. It looked jagged, like a lightning bolt, curved and dangerous and ugly. The suspect that Kent and herself had been watching had white skin, and no scar on his right hand.

How could she have told that to a court? Who would have believed her? The prosecution would have gone after the man Pam and Kent had been chasing, and then the real murderer would have gotten away. In the wake of Kent's shooting, Pam had felt empty. Absolutely nothing. Anger was a far better thing to feel, because at least if she was hurting, she was alive. That hate fueled her.

"Kid," Puffington murmured, bringing her back. She sniffled, snot clogging up her nose. She quickly wiped the blanket over her face, hoping her Chief didn't notice.

"Yes sir?"

"You aren't alone in this. Tina's trying to dig up information in Canada. She'd hoping her old man left something behind when he lived there. And I'm having Stacy do some looking online."

Pam flicked away a tear that had gotten to her chin. She blinked rapidly, trying to get the rest of the tears to dissipate. Forcing a teasing tone, she said, "And your, what, sitting around in your office playing Solitaire?"

He huffed. "I'm trying to keep you all out of trouble. And considering your Pamola Wright, that is truly a Herculean task."

"I don't know what you mean." Pam looked to her brother's bedroom door. The weight of her secret laid heavily on her shoulders. Her coat was tossed on the coffee table in front of her. She traced one of the buttons with her finger.

"I'll find something." She pinched the black button between her fingers. "I swear it."

"I know you think that Wright, but we have to consider that Kent's killer could have just been a random person with a gun. Even Tina's said—"

Pam stood up, throwing the blanket to the couch. "I know you don't believe that. Kent had been acting weird for weeks, up until the hour of the stakeout. And that killer, whoever they were, aimed for Kent's heart. They aimed to kill." She took a deep breath. She walked over to the window, pulling back the curtain. The city spread out before her, yellow lights flickering into the distance. Her hand gripped her phone.

"Someone wanted him dead," she said in a low voice. "Someone, somewhere, went out of their way to kill him. And I'm going to find out who."

Pam heard her chief sigh. "I wish I could argue," he mumbled, "but I think you're right. Kent was hiding something; he must have been. Then again, we don't have a lot to go on. It could be very possible that this case will go cold."

"I won't let it." Her hands shook. She closed the curtains slowly, glancing back at her brother's door. "Chief, I want to do this. All I need is your support."

"Well, you got it, kid. If anyone could figure this out, it's Kent's protégé. You've got his eyes, Wright. Use them well." Pam heard Puffington's chair squeak, as if he was leaning back. "Your orders are as follows: investigate Kent's former connections in Los Angeles. Report back to me with any new information you find. Above all, we must find exactly who killed Kentbé Wronge."

Pam stood up straight. Her tear streaks were drying on her face. She snapped her feet together and saluted, even though no one could see her.

"Yes sir. Consider it done."

"Good. Then get some rest, Wright. No doubt you'll need it. Good luck, Detective." The call ended, and Pam closed her phone. She ran her hand back and forth over the case.

Everyone had secrets they wanted to hide from the world. Unfortunately for them, Pam was a very persistent detective. She would always find the guilty and put them behind bars, no matter what. That was what Kent had done, and now it was up to her to carry on her partner's mission. She caught her reflection in the black TV screen. It was of someone she had never seen before. Someone harsh and determined. She nodded to the girl in the screen, and the girl nodded back with resolve.

Let the games begin.