Chapter 14
Annie liked the sound of rain. When it was heavy, it roared like an audience's applause, making everything she did grand and awe inspiring. When it was light, the droplets tapped against the brim of her checkered hat like an artist testing out new melodies on a piano. Creative, inquisitive, and gentle. The sound was calming, even inspiring at times, and today, it was the reason she lingered in the shower longer than usual.
The water coming from the showerhead had the rhythm of an April drizzle. When she closed her eyes, she saw the rainbows and wild flowers of spring. The image in her mind was far better than the one laid out before her: white tile sporting a hint of yellow, a rust rimmed drain, and lines of grout that were grey when they were supposed to be white. A cheap plastic curtain tugged across a dull aluminum rail was all that divided Annie from the rest of the women's locker room.
The accommodations were dated at best, but even the orange spotted curtain was enough to catch the steam and create a private sauna. Hot was Annie's preferred temperature. She cranked the dial as far as it would go without burning her skin. She needed something other than pain killers to relax the tension in her body. With more attempts made on her life in the past two weeks than the president's entire first term in office, she couldn't afford to relax her senses more than a hot shower and a moment's peace.
She also couldn't afford to move more than she had to. Annie held one hand flat against the wall in front of her. She couldn't stand on her own anymore. Not when the hot water loosened the tight framework of knots that kept her back skarmory straight the past few days. As much as Annie hated to admit it in her youth, her strength was waning. She bowed her head and watched the water swirl around the drain underneath her. Hoops of hair sleepily draped across her temple. Larger locks slid off of her shoulders with the running water.
Annie put both hands against the wall to raise her shoulders and channel the hot water down her back. It washed away the foamy soap and sweat, revealing the dark discolorations growing deep within her skin. Varying shades of yellow, brown, green, and lavender covered her body in a puzzle work of unformed shapes.
Contusions, the largest the size of a basketball, hugged her tightly from hip to hip. Bright colored hickies peppered the back of her neck. Pantera had one helluva kiss. Not to be outdone, the blood blisters on her forearm fashioned multiple constellations. Other bruises tickled the length of her ribs, exhausting her good humor and white blood cell count all at once. Annie shifted her weight off of one leg. Falling the wrong way one too many times had taken its toll on her knee.
Her whole body throbbed; from her ankles, to her hips, elbows, wrists, muscles, and skin. The slightest touch was more than enough to remind her how painful living could be. Annie closed her eyes. She wanted to hide in the steam a little while longer, but if she didn't move now, she might not be able to later. She'd gotten little rest the past few nights. Back to back catastrophes left little room for recreation, so did nightmares filled with silver fangs and black fur.
Annie turned off the water. The squeaky dial reminded her of Mightyena's squeals before they spilled out across the floor. Pantera's snarl flashed before her eyes again. Annie rubbed away the vision. She kept her head down and listened to the drain gurgle. There was no need to rush. The locker room was quiet. The few other females in the office had already come and gone. She was alone, and thus, had no fear of drawing back the curtain without a towel.
Her body, however, was quick to remind her of its weakened state. She slumped against the wall and remained there until she gathered her strength again. Annie limped over to a nearby bench. Her body groaned as it cooled like wood that popped and splintered when it dried out too fast. Glass filled her veins. It scratched through her muscles with every move she made.
Annie picked up a towel and dabbed the water from her skin. The area around her jawline was still soft with repair and required extra delicacy. She held the towel up to her face. Bruises sleeved her arms. They collared her throat and ran along her chin like a gang banger's tattoo. All she needed now was a teardrop under her eye.
Like that would ever happen.
Annie slowly wurmpled her way into a white cotton shirt and underwear. She tossed the towel back on the bench and noticed a feint orange tint in its folds. Some of the cuts on her palms hadn't completely healed yet. The crevices were still raw and slick with daily use, but at least they weren't running red rivers through her fingers anymore. Annie found a roll of bandages in the first aid kit and wrapped her hands. It took a few tries before she got it right, but she was getting used to the motion; rolling forward and backward like a tyrogue on its way to a fight.
Afterwards, Annie opened her locker. Her uniform was stacked on the top shelf as neat, pressed, and starched as she could make it after a quick round in the washer, a roll in an overheated dryer, and a hard press of an iron that couldn't hold its steam. Annie carefully removed her uniform and laid each piece individually on the bench. She slipped her pants on, teetering lightly when she had to balance on one foot.
Instead of risking a fall, she sat down on the bench and put on her boots. Each lace ended in a triple knot and hoop of equal length. Annie clicked her heels together when she was finished, admiring how each trip and toe tap had scuffed the leather at the top. They were perfectly broken in. She stood up to finish dressing and felt a twinge of pain in her back. The spot above her tailbone still resented her for holstering a hard metal weapon so close to home.
Annie patted it reassuringly.
A standard buckled belt replaced her usual utility belt. Her black uniform and duty weapons were still being processed by forensics. It was likely they were running performance diagnostics. Part of her felt like she had crashed tested the body armor equivalent of a high end race car to test out its safety measures. It wouldn't have been inappropriate to call her a dummy, but somebody had to do it.
Annie moved on to her navy blue shirt. The fabric wasn't as stiff as it used to be so it bent under her will obediently, but it still couldn't stretch like the cotton of her undershirt. Annie winced as she slipped into the sleeves and pulled the shirt over her shoulders. Pantera's kick had left more than a mark. It took a couple minutes of icing for the welt to reduce down to a manageable size.
Annie fastened the buttons on her uniform. She moved from the bottom up because if she was going to start anywhere, it would be there. The bandages on her hands slowed the process but her fingers weaved a tapestry of rehearsed intricacy. She grazed the edges of each brass button with the tenderness of a jewel. Under their shine, Annie forget about the tear in the bottom of her shirt where a fence had tried to drag her down.
Each popped thread magically blended back into the fabric. In the right light, you'd never be able to tell the coffee stain from the pocket on her chest and the rip below her ribs didn't stand out quite as much. She fell on her ass enough times to create a permanent bend in the fabric above her waist, but it only proved her resiliency and determination to get back up again. Used, abused, and appreciated as much as her time at the academy, Annie couldn't have asked for a better uniform. It matched the color of her skin perfectly.
Annie tugged the bottom of her shirt into place, brushed off the front pockets, and smoothed out her collar. She paused to look at her reflection in the tiny mirror hanging inside of her locker. For the first time since she played dress up with her grandfather's uniform as a kid, she felt the weight of the uniform on her shoulders. It comforted her. The tightness of it helped shape her weary body and keep her stuffing from coming out.
Some officers might not have been able to bear the constriction, but the pain was a testament to the hard work she put into every shift. Every day, Annie went home confident that she did everything she could to protect the innocent, track down a killer, and maintain the peace. Pain was a part of life, especially for those who swore an oath to run headlong into the worst parts of somebody's day. That's what it all boiled down to:
Sacrifice.
That's what her father taught her, his father taught him, and what she wanted to leave for others. Annie touched the badge hovering over her heart. Her fingers brushed the small dent in the side where Pantera had collided with her. It was a reminder of the danger, the luck, and the strength it took to be a MPD Officer.
In this uniform, she could do anything.
Annie quickly tied her hair in a braid and put on her matching checkered cap. The brim leaned with her easy smile. She had to look her best. After all, she had an important meeting to prepare for. Annie walked through the locker room towards the exit. She pushed through her limp so that there wasn't a trace of it left by the time she stepped into the hallway. Her body wasn't at full strength, but her spirit was. It had to be.
Annie stopped outside of the women's locker room and looked to her left. Sergeant Lipton leaned against the wall with his arms across his chest. At her appearance, he stood away from the whitewashed concrete and dropped his arms. Maybe she didn't have as much time to prepare as she thought.
"They're here. Are you ready?" he asked, voice tight with restraint. It was the tone he liked to use when screaming wasn't allowed. Annie firmly nodded, hoping to match his control. Lipton promptly turned and started down the hall. Annie quickly fell into step behind him.
"Don't speak more than you have to," he warned, eyes forward on the path blazing ahead. "Tell the truth."
After a few minutes of power walking, Sergeant Lipton abruptly stopped outside of the door to the conference room. Annie hopped backwards to avoid running into him.
"And for God's sake," he added, grabbing the door knob and looking down at her. As hot as his eyes were, they tried not to burn. "Don't be so nervous."
Annie smirked. Lipton nodded.
"I'll be waiting outside." He opened the door to the conference room and Annie stepped inside.
The door rattled in the frame behind her. Annie approached a large oval table. Two special agents from Internal Affairs sat at the very end, as far as they possibly could from the seat closest to her. She wondered if they did that on purpose. They looked like a pair of unembellished book holders with no books between them, and after introductions were made, Annie quickly realized that their personalities were just as empty as the space between them.
They reacted dully to her awkward pleasantries, ignoring her attempts at building rapport as if the words never passed between her lips. They weren't interested in curtesy or casual conversation. They wanted facts. Details. Not just about the incident that left an officer in the hospital, but the ones leading up to it. They wanted to know about Mr. Black, her relationship with him, and why she went to such lengths to help him.
Annie explained both of their positions, but nothing she said seemed to make it onto the wide ruled notepads between them. Some may have started to sweat under such blunt intensity, fidget in their seats during the uncomfortable silence between speaking and scribbling, or stutter at the deeply probing questions into their personal lives, but Annie was sure of what she did and had no regrets doing it.
The truth was what it was. She'd done nothing wrong and the evidence would prove as much. Her statement hadn't changed since she gave it to her colleagues that day on the scene, the investigating officer after the fact, and Sergeant Lipton when he spirited her away from the news media. She had nothing to hide, therefore, there were no discrepancies in her statements, but the same couldn't be said when compared to Guerra's sequence of events.
"He claims you commanded the persian to attack him," one of the agents explained.
"I did no such thing," Anne replied, clasping her hands firmly in her lap to keep her voice level.
"He claims it was familiar with you."
Annie remembered the way the Pantherian rubbed against her legs. It made her shudder even now.
"Familiar. Not friendly," Annie clarified. As if the bruises on her face weren't obvious enough. The questions then shifted to the pokemon in question.
"How do you know so much about persians?"
"Are you a professional pokemon trainer?"
"How many gym badges do you have?"
"Have you worked with the species before?"
"Are you a pokemon researcher?"
"What gave you the authority to lead an investigation into the murders?"
Hours of research, deductive reasoning, and personal experience meant nothing without the recognized accreditation behind it. But Annie was used to the criticism. She tackled each challenge with the same values she was trying to defend. When the interview was finally over, Annie stood up, excused herself, and left the room on her own two feet. The moment she passed the threshold, however, she wavered and leaned against the frame.
Fatigue. That's all it was. Yet Annie couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Not that much had gone right since the first body appeared in Midtown. She tucked the feeling away in her pocket for later and stepped into the hallway. She caught a glimpse of Lieutenant Blanchard rounding the corner. It wasn't normal to see him out and about the station but then again, entertaining Internal Affairs would put anyone on the move. One person in particular took a locomotive's approach to the subject. Sergeant Lipton advanced in her direction.
Annie flattened herself against the wall to avoid being steamrolled. He rushed by without a word but given their last conversation, she knew it was her place to follow him. He was silent, but the screams inside of his head were loud and clear in every other sense. His fists swung mechanically beside him. His eyes glittered with rage. Sergeant Lipton had a temper and Annie had gotten herself into triple digit heat on more than one occasion. She could tell he was upset about something. There was an intensity about him that silenced her own voice. The feeling tucked away in Annie's pocket began rising again and she quickly stuffed it back down.
It wasn't her place to ask about it. Generally, it was far above her paygrade. Then again, officers weren't usually making trips to the ICU either. This was the hottest Annie had ever seen the sergeant, like a flame hardened into a torch. There was no way she could be the sole reason for is ire. It burned toward every member of the Midtown murder task force and their inability to accomplish the single most important task he'd given them.
The night of the attack, Annie hadn't heard such curses from anyone other than Mr. Black, but Lipton was blue in the face when he finished chewing out every officer that responded to the scene. Annie tried to take a more sympathetic approach to the situation. This was Midtown's first serial killer, so it was only natural that other firsts would be made while responding to it. People weren't where they were supposed to be. Attitudes were ill prepared for a worst case scenario.
Mistakes were bound to be made and Lipton couldn't stand it. Slipups reflected poorly on him, the department, and the badge. Annie suspected that he was more disappointed than enraged. So why did his silence feel as deadly as a landmine? Despite whatever he was feeling, Lipton took in account her basic comforts. He brought her to the canteen and purchased a plastic wrapped sandwich and a can of juice for her to drink from the vending machine. They sat together at a small round table. Now that an entire team of elite investigators proved themselves incompetent, he trusted no one but himself to watch over her. He stared at the door while she ate. The last time he was this paranoid was the day her father died . . .
Annie slowly lowered her sandwich. A crumb stuck to her lip. Her frown. She quickly brushed it away with the back of her hand. There was a bright side to this. There had to be, and she would find it just like she found everything else, through investigative technique. Examine the evidence. Find a solution. Talk over the case. There was plenty to talk about, especially to the only other person aside from Mr. Black who understood what language she was speaking.
Annie started from the beginning, although trying to convince Lipton that everything hadn't fallen apart when he was cleaning up the mess was like telling a sudowoodo it wasn't a tree. Still, Sergeant Lipton listened without comment, enduring her derailing statements, speculative assumptions, and ear bleeding tirades, which had grown considerably since their last encounter. Annie's strongest point was that they now had a person directly tied to the Pantherian, and a person, even when dead, left a trail, especially when that person was a famous celebrity ace.
There was a clue buried beneath the bodies and Annie was determined to uncover it. She wouldn't take this discovery nonchalantly. Guerra was in critical condition because of it. Luckily, he was expected to survive. That was more than the three corpses in the condo could say. Annie paused again, still with half an uneaten sandwich in her hand. According to Internal Affairs, Guerra blamed her for the attack, his injury, everything. He was also scared, in pain, and heavily medicated. He wasn't thinking straight.
She couldn't imagine what it looked like when the black persian rubbed against her legs. She couldn't explain why the cat chose to toy with them the way she did, but Guerra couldn't possibly believe that she was capable of commanding such a pokemon. Annie didn't own a single gym badge. Duke was the first pokemon she ever registered under her name. Growing up, she wanted to be a cop, not a pokemon trainer. Sure, Guerra didn't agree with everything she did, but it wasn't uncommon for rookies and training officers to develop different styles. The badge was their common thread and that normally smoothed out all of the rough edges.
Annie quickly stuffed the rest of her sandwich in her mouth. "I hope Guerra is feeling better" she said while chewing. Lipton looked at her with dark obsidian eyes. "Maybe I should-,"
"Cofield," he interrupted.
Annie paused, cheeks still full, a brush of mayonnaise on the front of her shirt. Lipton couldn't help but notice it and the rage within him cooled. It formed a stone in his chest that was so heavy he had to lean over the table to stay upright.
"Cofield," he repeated, this time without the backlash. "I want you to listen to me very carefully." He flicked his eyes over to the window in the wall and an urgency filled his voice. "Tell the truth," he repeated. "And don't say anything more than you have to."
Was Internal Affairs coming back?
"Do you understand?" Lipton asked, although he didn't leave room for an answer. "And forget about that sonofabitch Guerra. Just think about yourself for once."
Mr. Black told her to do the same thing once. Annie chewed around a word, but the sound of loafers scuffing the floor cut her off. A flutter of boots accompanied it. Annie and Lipton looked at the door as three men appeared outside of the breakroom. Annie glanced over her shoulders, just now realizing that no one else was in the room. No one had come or gone during the entire sit down. Detective Morris stepped out from between two uniformed officers.
"Officer Cofield," he said. "I need you to come with me."
Annie looked at Lipton. The sergeant had fallen into volcanic silence. At any moment, he could erupt. With no contest from her superior, Annie had no choice but to obey. She stiffly got up from the plastic chair and followed the detective out of the canteen. She nodded at her fellow officers as she passed. They returned the favor with glances that crippled. Annie touched her stomach, grateful she'd only eaten half a sandwich.
"One foot in front of the other," she told herself. "You can do this. It's probably another briefing." Only this didn't feel like another briefing. Annie jammed the uncomfortable sensation as far as it would go into both pockets. Morris was the lead detective on the Midtown murders. Getting the story straight from the horsea's mouth was his prerogative. He wanted to take her statement himself. She would've done the same thing.
Annie expected to do the interview in the conference room or the detective's desk, so when they detoured into the interrogation room, she was more than a little surprised. Maybe everywhere else was full? There seemed to be a lot of meetings going on today. Morris instructed her to sit in the metal chair across from him, facing the two way mirror. She clenched the fabric of her pants and peeked over Morris' shoulder at the glass. Anybody could be watching from the other side: Lipton, another detective, a psychologist, a whole class of investigators, the lieutenant, or the commissioner. They could've pulled Guerra from the hospital, or a witness, like the bellman, to point her out of a one woman line up. Morris sat close to the table and leaned over it to block out as much of her view as possible. The interview began, and like Internal Affairs, Morris wasn't interested in her theories about the Pantherian as much as her personal involvement in the whole affair.
His questions had an edge to them, and the longer the interview went on, the sharper they became. It was as if everything Annie said infuriated the detective. Every ounce of reasoning she offered was another insult to his career and his competence, especially when she was right. Morris resented her for everything she did the day Mr. Black demanded her involvement with the case. How could a lowly beat cop best a three star detective? It made her suspicious, unbelievable, and unwanted. The resentment wasn't just palpable. It was contagious, incubating itself even before Pantera ever bared her fangs.
Annie saw it in the glances of the other officers every time she made a collar. She felt it in every cop bar she visited. It was there, stalking her from her first day at the academy, to her first day on the job, until now. This brotherhood of badges wasn't open to any sisters.
Annie didn't want to believe it. Not in this day and age, but that wasn't the only target on her back. Morris made it his personal mission to expose her every flaw, even if it meant diving into divination. He asked questions she couldn't answer.
Why was a homeless nutcase banging on the door of a dead ace's apartment?
Why didn't her story line up with Guerra's?
Why was she playing mankey in the middle every time the Pantherian showed itself?
Just her and the villain in black.
Make that blue.
The more Annie talked, the more she realized she didn't know why things happened the way they did and the shakier her foundations became. She couldn't deny all of the facts flying from Morris' lips, but she could defend herself from his unreasonable accusations.
"You let him go, didn't you?" Morris claimed, his voice growing faster and louder with each word.
"I was trying to help my partner," Annie explained. It was the truth, right?
"How much do you really know about this guy?" Morris pried.
Annie clutched her knee. It ached. She had to be like Lipton. Tell the truth. Don't say more than you have to, but somehow, she felt that it was already too late.
"Did you really think he was completely innocent? Are you so stupid to think he'd never do anything worth questioning?"
The words bit with ferocious resentment, clamping around her throat and making it hard to breathe.
"He's no longer a suspect, but the suspect," Morris continued.
Annie looked down at the table because deep inside, she thought the same thing herself.
"Admit it. You're in league with him? Why?!"
The truth finally came out.
Annie's head shot up. "You think I'm a suspect," she said. "This isn't an interview. It's an interrogation."
"It's about damn time you figured it out."
Discredit her abilities, rob her of her dignity, and strip her of her pride, but Annie refused to relinquish her honor. She sat upright and fitted her hat on her head as if putting it on for the first time.
"I swore an oath to protect and serve," Annie declared. "No matter who or what is behind this shield." She pulled back her shoulders, cloaking herself in blue and white regalia that wouldn't be shrugged off so easily. "I don't turn away anyone who comes to me for help. It's not my place to deem them innocent or guilty and it's not yours either. It's the Law's and I suggest you follow it before forcing a confession out of me or anyone else for a crime they didn't commit."
A rap on the glass from the other side of the mirror ended the match. Morris glanced over his shoulder, then back at Annie. She heard his teeth grinding even after he got up and exited the room. His molars would be as flat as a miltank's by the end of the year. A few moments later, Sergeant Lipton appeared in the doorway wearing a face of polished granite.
"The lieutenant would like to see you," he said.
His tone of voice gave as much away as his expression. The Lieutenant must have watched the interrogation from behind the glass. Her words made an impression. Annie stood up and chanced Lipton a smile. She wanted to show him how proud she was to have the last word, words he'd be caught saying back when he was a uniformed officer working the beat. But when their gazes met, his fiery eyes had turned to ash. The rage inside had burned him from the inside out, leaving nothing more than dust and smoke.
Sergeant Lipton led the way across the station, this time, toward Lieutenant Blanchard's office. He settled into more silence. Annie hated the fact that it took an incident of this magnitude to finally schedule a meeting with the lieutenant, but this was her chance to stop the game of telephone and talk to him face to face about the case.
As they walked, Annie rehearsed what she wanted to say. Clarity and accuracy were invaluable when dealing with the brass. The lieutenant was a busy man. Running a precinct took long hours, hard decisions, and a dedication to the cause that rivaled obsession. He didn't have time for all of her theories and suggestions, only the details that would convince him that what happened was in fact, a breakthrough in the case. This last attack may have taken them all by surprise, but if they banded together, came up with a plan, and outfitted themselves with the right gear, they would be able to, not only find the Midtown Murderer, but capture them, and bring them to justice.
Nobody else had to get hurt. Nobody else had to die.
Annie knew she could convince the lieutenant of the truth. She practiced with the others enough to know exactly what sort of information he was looking for. This would be the most important speech she'd give her entire career. It was her last chance to explain herself. Sergeant Lipton and Annie walked into the lieutenant's office.
"You're suspended," Blanchard said.
A few loose strands of hair fell free from Annie's checkered hat.
"What?"
"You're off the case."
Blanchard's office, filled with its plaques, awards, file folders, and photographs was suddenly suffocatingly small.
"Turn in your badge."
Lieutenant Blanchard punctuated the command with a motion of his arm at the desk.
They didn't believe her. Not one single bit.
Annie's jaw dropped, pulling her head down to look at the gold badge pinned over her heart. It gleamed softly in the warm light of the desk lamp, basking in the centuries of mystery and crime that founded the 336 precinct. Her badge number, engraved in royal blue, couldn't have soaked in anymore color even if it wanted to. Annie looked up at Lieutenant Blanchard again. His hand remained pointed at the cramped section of the desk where he intended for her to place her badge. He was serious.
"That's a direct order, Officer."
Officer. That's right. He was the lieutenant. Her superior. She had to obey his orders.
Annie slowly reached up and touched her heart. Was this really happening? She looked down at the badge in her hand. She'd just ripped it out of her chest without a scream. The pin left two small holes in her uniform. Her arm slowly drifted down to the desk. The badge grew smaller and heavier the farther it fell from her body.
Annie stopped a few millimeters from the desktop. If she let go now, would she ever see it again? Of course she would. Besides, the lieutenant gave her a direct order. Refusing went against everything she stood for. Annie gently set the gold on the desk. She kept two fingers on it until finally willing herself to let go. The motion felt like the empty space between friends after a hug on the eve of a long departure.
Annie quickly pulled her hands behind her back and held them at attention. She didn't know what else to do with them. Lieutenant Blanchard snatched up the badge, opened the drawer to his desk, and tossed it inside. Annie's chest tightened as he slammed it shut. Everything she intended to say, the words she rehearsed so calculatingly, dried up faster than charcoal in her mouth. Like ash.
Lieutenant Blanchard picked up his pen and began addressing the mountain of paperwork on his desk. Most of it, she herself had generated. It was the perfect excuse not to look at her.
"Go home, Officer," Lieutenant Blanchard said. "We'll be in touch."
With that, Blanchard wrote her off with a scratch of his pen.
Annie stood in front of the desk for a few more seconds. She wanted to speak, but couldn't. He hadn't let her utter more than a stutter anyway. Apparently, she'd said enough already. The decision was final. There was nothing she could do about it. Annie stiffly tipped her head and turned around. Sergeant Lipton stood behind her. He raised his eyes, but not his head to look at her. Again, more silence. That awful sound.
Sergeant Lipton knew all along that this would happen. He knew and said nothing. Did he help make the decision? Had the order come down all the way from the commissioner? "No," Annie quickly reminded herself. This was just protocol. That was all. Annie looked down at her feet. Pins and needles ran through her legs, but at least the blood started flowing again.
One foot in front of the other.
Annie stepped toward the door, powering through the pain. "Endure this trial as you've done all the others," she told herself. She did what she thought was right, and if this was the consequence, then so be it. A Midtown police officer didn't quiver and quake. Neither would she, as naked as she was.
Annie quietly moved past Lipton. He shifted his gaze onto Blanchard, but the lieutenant didn't return the favor. One lick of the thumb and he turned the page on them both. Lipton glanced away and followed Annie out of the door, closing it behind them. She was a couple of paces ahead of him by the time he finally called out to her.
"Officer Cofield," he said.
Annie stopped, but this time, she didn't turn around. Her chin stayed up. Her shoulders remained squared because, like he said, she was an officer of the law and that was all that mattered.
"Your uniform."
A slow weight, invisible and unyielding, like gravity, folded Annie inward. It was the slightest of motions, one that could have been mistaken for a shift of clothing or a breath. She pressed her lips together. This was just protocol. If she wasn't wearing her badge, she couldn't exactly walk the streets in her uniform.
People might get the wrong impression.
Annie slowly spun around as precise and perfect as a hitmontop. Lipton motioned down the hall in the direction of the public bathroom. Not the women's locker room. He already had her personal effects in hand. They were stored in a plastic evidence bag. Blanchard had been waiting to get rid of them. Annie silently marched forward, took the bag, and walked down the hall to the bathroom. This time, Lipton followed her down the hall, his duty no longer to lead but to follow. This entire time, he meant to keep an eye on her. To escort her out of the building, not to keep her company.
Annie respected his responsibility. His silence. Conversation meant little to one no longer allowed to speak. What were words to the deaf and dumb? In the silence, everything was just what it was. It was better this way. She didn't have to stumble through anymore babble like in the breakroom. He probably thought her a fool for thinking she was still an integral part of the investigation. A dummy.
Annie went into the bathroom and undressed. She came out wearing a set of faded blue jeans, a T-shirt, and a sweater. She didn't remember putting them on. Lipton stuffed her neatly folded uniform into the same evidence bag she just emptied. And then, Annie stood on the stoop of the front entrance, looking down at the first marble step. She couldn't remember how she got there either.
Sergeant Lipton remained in the doorway behind her. He wouldn't leave until she did. Annie waited on the edge of the cliff. She wasn't trying to be defiant, but there was something holding her back. Something she'd risk what little of her job she had left. Annie looked over her shoulder at the sergeant.
"Will you keep an eye on Duke for me?" she asked.
"I'll make sure he makes a full recovery," he replied.
It was neither committed nor compassionate to her cause but it was something. Anything was better than that terrible silence. Sergeant Lipton was strict and apathetic at times, but he treated the department's pokemon as he did everything else, with efficiency and logic. He wouldn't do anything to jeopardize the health and safety of his officers, pokemon or person. Whether it was an incompatible pairing or putting them back on the beat when they weren't ready.
Duke would be just fine without her.
Annie mashed her lips together and offered him another smile. There was no need to speak anymore. She tapped down the steps and hit the sidewalk with the rest of the common crowd.
"Annie," Sergeant Lipton suddenly called.
Her heart fluttered as she whirled around. Lipton stepped out of the doorway and looked down at her from the top of the stairs. The tiniest of fractures in his stone cold visage.
"Your umbrella."
Annie looked down at her hand. There was an umbrella in it. She looked up, surprised to find that the sky was shedding tears on her face. It was raining and her clothes were getting soaked. She never even realized. Annie quickly fumbled with her umbrella and raised the brightly colored canopy over her head. The pitter patter of rain grew louder underneath it, blocking out the hustle and bustle of the street. She couldn't see the sergeant or the station beyond the rainbow.
It made walking away without looking back that much easier.