Hey ok next chapter. Sorry it has been a while, but I still love writing this fic, and updates will be more frequent. Promise! Also, sorry that chapter 5 was so short. I just didn't think that Lana's version of events would be very articulate. I felt she would be sketchy and maybe have forgotten a few things. I hope that's ok, and this chapter will be longer. So keep reading and reviewing as they keep me motivated. Thanks x
Chapter 7 – Reflections
Outside, the rain thundered down at an impressive speed; showing no signs of relenting. It was then that Smithy spared a thought for his colleagues out on the beat: drenched and bone-weary. It would be a long shift, quiet or not, and under no circumstances did he envy them that job. Smithy observed this dreary weather from his comfortable, mock-leather black sofa as he waited on a takeaway he'd ordered twenty minutes previous. On reflection, it had been a long day for him too, and a stressful one at that. It seemed a silly thing to say that a day in the police had been stressful; everyday in the police was filled with stress. He just felt that that day had been particularly difficult. It was all surrounding the young woman who had come into the station that day, asking for help. Smithy had been there at the time, and so he offered to help her, taking her into the interview room to hear what she had to say. It had been a harrowing tale: she had been walking home from work one evening when, as she entered the park near her apartment building, she was attacked and raped. No one was around to help her, and the young woman had eventually staggered home before trying to gather up the courage to contact the police. Throughout the whole story, Smithy's jaw had been clenched firmly shut, aware of his own rising anger. He didn't even know this woman, and yet he felt like he wanted to find the man who had attacked her and tear his…well, did it need saying? It was the same with all rape cases, but thankfully by this point Smithy had developed a sure-fire way of channelling his anger into his work; a good result was satisfaction enough. He just couldn't help wondering if this guy would go down for his sick crimes. He had attacked several women in a short space of time, but sadly only one of them had so far agreed to testify, and that was the girl: Lana Crowley. The rest were either too scared, or simply unable to provide any sustainable information, and Smithy knew that with just one witness the case wouldn't make it to court. Nothing would stick, and the bastard would go free! Just the thought of it created a gnawing anger in Inspector Smith that he himself was surprised at. When had he gotten so involved? Why did he feel like this was more than just professional? It baffled him; he'd dealt with rape cases in the past, and yet this one felt like…like it held more for him. It wasn't a problem; his professionalism would remain priority. After everything he had found himself involved in during the Devlin case, Smithy had decided he was going to keep himself whiter than white. Besides, he was an Inspector now, and with that incredible honour carried a tremendous amount of responsibility. The last thing he would do was jeopardise his career, after all the effort he had put into building it up over the years. However, he still felt an invisible connection between himself and this case, and that perplexed him. But he'd have to worry about that later, he thought, as the buzzer finally went to indicate the arrival of the delivery man.
"Alright mate, that'll be £9.80." Smithy scoffed, but begrudgingly handed over the money. £9.80 for a beef curry! Including delivery, that was still extortionate! As he pocketed his wallet, Smithy gave the delivery man a look that said 'for £9.80 this meal better make me weep with joy at every mouthful, or else I'm going to find creative ways of making your robbing git of a boss pay me back!' However the delivery man – stood in his very own puddle of rainwater – clearly wasn't interested in Smithy's telepathically-inferred threats. Instead, he just pocketed the money, handed Smithy his 20p change, grunted his version of an 'alright' and then left, his trainers making a squeaking sound akin to that of a mouse being repeatedly danced upon. Smithy shut his apartment door and headed into the kitchen, putting the bag down on the counter. As he opened his wallet to replace the 20p, he noticed something. Something that should have been so obvious to him from the beginning, but that his brain had clearly omitted from his thought process. Once he unzipped the larger compartment of his wallet, it was only then that he figured out why this particular rape case was having such an impact on him. Right there, no bigger than a packet of cigarettes, was a photograph of the reason. Long, gorgeous blonde locks tied up in a bun, police uniform placed perfectly over her intoxicatingly beautiful body, lips full and blush pink, reminding him of the sweetness of their taste. Kerry. His Kerry. And now it all made sense.
He lay in bed that night, rain continuing to pound the windows, and he thought of her. Of Kerry, and all the things they had been through. The times when they had argued or when they had been trying to keep their hands off of each other, and also the times when they had stopped trying! It brought back a pain in Smithy's heart that he'd long since forgotten, but over the years – whilst still remaining painful – things had gotten better for him. He'd managed to confine his sorrow and heartbreak until it seemed almost miniature, but he'd never truly lost it, only because he knew if he lost it then he would lose himself. He had always vowed that, while he would move on from Kerry, he would never forget her. She would always hold a place in his heart that – to this day – no one else had been able to get to. That said, he had opened himself up to another relationship…with DC Kezia Walker. However, in the short time he was with her, he had never experienced those moments when the breath was knocked from him; the moments where everything else melted away to leave just him and her, together. It all seemed really 'Hollywood', but that's how he had felt with Kerry. It was as if when they were together nothing could touch them; they were invincible. Except they weren't, as he had been forced to realise one horrible day. It was an average day for most at Sun Hill, except it wasn't. Some terrible stuff happened that day, and everyone in turn had been affected. A lot of it was a mystery to Smithy's memory, but the main scene was still clear in his mind as if it had happened yesterday. He could see it clear as day: him, holding Kerry in his arms, blood soaked and terrified. She had looked so fragile; so scared, and although it pained him to admit…..so alone. He had always sworn he would be there for her, throughout her ordeal at the hands of the evil Gabriel Kent. Smithy had made it his mission to have Gabriel held accountable for his actions, but instead he had surrendered the love of his life to the evil son-of-a-bitch, and it sickened him! It had been so painful and he had been overcome with a white hot pain in his heart that – at the time – had threatened to floor him completely. It had almost ended his life for him, but over time he had managed to overcome any emotional obstacles and eventually he had moved on – almost scar-free. When he had first lifted the photograph out of his wallet, he'd realised what was special about this case. One of the victims – Alicia Moore – bore a striking resemblance to Kerry, except she was slightly smaller in height, and wore heavier make-up. Other than that, the similarities were quite stark. He had found Alicia's body three days ago at the local reservoir, but at the time she was too mutilated to make anything of. It was only once they had managed to locate her presumably hidden purse in a green bin on neighbouring Turnpike Road that they had discovered who she was. The purse had contained a student union card for the university, and a bank card plus £23 in notes and coins. When Smithy had looked at the photograph on her student union card, it was difficult to get a handle on what she truly looked like; as everyone knows those photos never look 100% like the person they depict. However, once the family had been located, Smithy had met with them to inform them of their daughter's death (not a task to relish in). They had been distraught, as she was studying to become a lawyer, and she had a promising future ahead of her. She had been the top of her maths class at high school, and had even gained a few literary awards in her final year. He remembered all this because he needed to humanise the women. He couldn't let them become just bodies; victims. They needed to stay human beings with lives and relatives, and so he listened intently to every word the family members had to say, and he retained as much of the information as he could. Once they had talked for a bit, he had gotten the father – Martin Moore – to give him a framed picture of Alicia that clearly showed her face. It was a pretty picture; one which the family had had done at a professional studio 3 months previously. At the time Smithy hadn't really thought about her resemblance to Kerry; he had been more preoccupied with work. It was only once he was in the quiet solitude of his apartment, looking at a photograph of Kerry, that he made the connection. Putting the photo back in his wallet – which he placed on the bedside table – he got up to go to the bathroom. Upon his return, he switched off the bedroom light and flopped down into bed, exhausted after the troubles of the day. A small smile crept over his lips as he pictured Kerry telling him she loved him, and him returning the affection. That single warm moment was what helped him eventually drop off to sleep, safe under the covers of his bed, dreaming of the girl with the golden locks…
End of Chapter 7.