Vicki's Office
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Vicki Nelson sat in a new chair behind her desk sorting papers. As far as she could tell, nothing was missing. They were obviously looking for something but she had no idea what. She couldn't help but wonder if the explanation was lost in her memory gaps. Nothing she found explained why she went to Lakeview Library or the park.

She sat back, removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. In a couple hours, she needed to retrace her steps. But thinking about it made her anxious. When she was diagnosed with retinitis pigmentosa, it made her mad. She refused to let it limit her. Leaving the police force and going private meant she could continue being an investigator. But the wrist injury and potential for further injuring her ankle were limits she couldn't fight. Reluctantly, she had to accept needing help.

Mike was limited by Crowley's restrictions. But a man hunt for the potential serial killer obsessed with her needed all of his attention. A woman potentially died because of a physical similarity. The killer had to be his priority. If she was honest with herself, their relationship. Friends, more than friends. Suffered from their conflicting perspectives. Outside of a life-threatening emergency, Vicki suspected the damage was irreversible.

The problems with Henry were completely different but equally problematic. He couldn't help her during the day. When he woke up that night, he would want to focus on the obsessive offender instead of her memory problems.

She was on her own.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Vicki scolded herself, reaching for her laptop. Detective or private investigator, she was damn good. If what was happening tied to past cases, she was the best person to find the connection.

"If a client brought this mess," she said quietly, reaching for a new notebook, "Where would I start?"

Behavioral analysis and informal checklists she developed as a police officer. On the surface, the homicide suspect looked like an attention-seeking stalker. Possibly an ertomaniac the imagined a complex romantic relationship. Alternatively, the staging of crime scenes, releasing his victim for witnesses to report and leaving her body nearby to be found by police officers suggested a rare type of serial offender that taunted the police.

The altar suggested he knew about the type of cases she accepted. That was likely because of Coreen's ads. Henry checked the house and was positive it wasn't accurate for a summoning. He thought the stone looked like something from an old cemetery.

If she wasn't convinced the park, angel and nightmare were connected to a supernatural being, she would have considered trauma-induced amnesia. Based on the night terror that affected her heart, trauma was still a possibility for different reasons. The physical symptoms were a side-effect of the angel making contact.

Vicki sat back and looked at her notes. She was missing something. The officers' attitude toward the park and the first break-in said there was something else happening. Mike wouldn't answer her questions. That meant added more possibilities. Unless several people were simultaneously targeting her, someone orchestrated it.

Why?

A knock startled her. Henry arranged to have the door replaced. She stopped accepting cases days ago and still had a notice posted.
With as much dignity as she could fake, Vicki stood and walked toward the door. She lost her night stick at the park. Not that she could use it. The pain meds barely kept her upright. If took enough to deal with the pain, she was at risk of falling asleep. That was potentially life-threatening without someone to wake her.

Get a grip, she told herself as she opened the door.

A model level gorgeous man in white and tan business casual stood poised to knock again. He lowered his hand, with a gold signet ring, and smiled. "Ms. Nelson, I am Nicholas Demetriou."

Greek, Vicki wondered, trying to place the accent.

"Margaret Winthrop said you needed a new assistant."

The name sounded familiar except Vicki couldn't place it. "I'm not currently accepting cases."

"She provided several recommendations." He held out a pocket folder in his hand.

The only Winthrop that came to mind died. Her granddaughter was struggling with unethical family members because she couldn't find a copy of her grandmother's will. The family attorney was trying to manipulate her. "How is Mrs. Winthrop?"

Nicholas laughed, his eyes lighting up. "Haunting her nephew for trying to steal his cousin's inheritance."

"You talk to ghosts?" Once that would have sounded crazy.

"On occasion they talk to me." He reminded her of Henry somehow. More than the obvious ego and self-assurance.

If he was a threat, the door wouldn't hold him. Resigned, she stepped back and motioned him into the nearly empty room. The took what they wanted from the debris.

The rest of the junk went into a dumpster while the door was fixed.

"Redecorating?"

"A break-in." Vicki wondered the best way to talk him into leaving. Working for her wasn't safe. Everyone around her was threatened and injured. Coreen had lasting psychological damage.

"You are in luck. I have experience with repairs."

She doubted it, looking at his hands. No callouses. With his looks, he could get paid for being pretty. "The landlord is making arrangements." He also suggested, with little subtlety, that she move her office when the lease was up. If not sooner.

"Nicholas," she said carefully, "I'm not hiring. If you saw the news in the last twenty four hours, I was found unconscious. I don't know who's after me. But it's not safe to be around me right now."

A flash of something crossed his face. She wasn't sure, but she suspected it was anger. Why do you care? The more she thought about it, the more she wondered who he was and why he was there.

He reached under his shirt and removed a medallion on a chain. "I know how to protect myself."

Vicki didn't have the strength argue. If he filled out an application, she could give the information to Mike. She walked past him toward her office. "Paying you will be difficult without cases."