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Part 3: Sun Ablaze

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It was the year 1981; and it was a time of contradiction. It was a twisting rod of lightness and darkness spun into a winding helix; light in between the color that pulled everything apart – dark in between the color that pulled everything back together. Ambiguity traversed the lines around him – sparked fluid to flame within him.

Coincidently it was not only the world around but he himself that felt like a contradiction; his being was something that hung on a rope, suspended from a towering tree – he could imagine the branches reaching skyward like gruesome bare blackened hands. The wind was fickle; it pushed him back and forth in a pendulum – forced him to change his direction at every turn even if that direction was but a disguise. He could not go anywhere tied to a tree.

Contradiction made him forge ahead however. He welcomed the feeling into his being with nothing more than a slight hesitant thought – the foremost thought one of determination that hung onto him like glue; he went headfirst into the pool of work, resolute. Sanctuary would always be work; sanctuary would be that which came to him naturally. Work was the glue that held his body together; it was the very foundation within him that broke no waver. That work was an immense part of the darkness seeping into his life did not escape him. But nothing else would beckon his attention, nothing else would be able to bring peace within him – it slowly became his life.

However natural the work of a homicide detective came to him, it also brought forth something he had not accounted for when he had joined the force. He would never admit it out loud but he had a problem with control – with anger. Not something worth mentioning; but sometimes he could feel it slither around underneath his skin – breaking the water to remind him that little dark part of himself was still existent.

He was a bit reckless; his partner defended him whenever he landed in hot waters. He was rogue; the higher-ups would say with a small smile – it never amounted to full-blown intensity that anger of his. It was a rare event to find him completely out where he couldn't swim; however forceful the roar within he managed to be able to ground himself to something. It helped he was far from the only one in the force; helped that there were others – high ranking officers – who vented with more intensity than him. Brutality was too much the quintessence of their work that it was hard to let yourself not be encased in it as well.

However, sometimes he felt like a brute.

Sometimes he was a snarling wolf.

A little incident had happened the week before; it was only now it had truly gotten through his skin and situated itself into his heart, heavy. He felt slightly regretful; it was only a week after that he found clarity and a little regret for not being able to control himself better. The incident had warranted suspension for a couple of days; formality forcing the higher powers to give him a little slap on the wrist while they felt compelled to award him with a clap on the shoulder.

It did not warrant much disciplinary action when an officer reacted to being shoved by a junkie pusher. The slimy little guy, greasy hair and wide eyes, had pushed him, caught his jaw with a good left fist and taken off on unsteady feet. He had chased and tackled the creep into a door. He had a problem with control; he knew it. It was not something new – it was not an epiphany. He had broken the guys arm when he had forced small spindle arms behind in a deadlock. The floor had been red with blood; he had smashed the creep's nose into the door apparently.

Supposedly it was not a big complication; but still it nestled within him now - restless.

He was the embodiment of his job; it eroded him to the core and became the only thing he felt was something he could hang unto. It was the only thing in his life that felt certain. It was a contradiction when doubt sneaked into the domain that was supposed to be certainty incarnated. It forced him to abruptly stop; forced him to hold his breath as he contemplated his life. It made him unsure; it made him spin further out of the reach of control.

Contemplation that inevitably led to his marriage the year before; to the little boy at home – not more than four months. The little thing that seemed so fragile in his arms; precious yet fragile. It was absurd but he had never contemplated being a father; had always kept the notion far out of his world. The recollections of his own father were nothing but grimy – overshadowed by a dark color. This family seemed to have come into his life in the blink of an eye. It was both wonderful and frightening at the same time; both absurd and yet so real. Still it was a huge contradiction; he was not sure it was supposed to be filled with this amount of darkness the prospect of being a husband and a father.

Another contradiction in his world; Sharon.

He met her now and then, her signature red hair always gaining his attention, her eyes always alight with recognition when they landed upon him. Sometimes she smiled when they passed in hallways – sometimes she gave a miniature little wave when their divisions suddenly happened upon a shared conference.

The poignant thing about her though was something that stunned him; he had not realized how immensely different she was to all the other contradictions in his life. It was her outward façade that brought forth an opposing impression with what he knew of her, what he saw behind the mask when she let it slip every now and then. Mostly, her presence in his life filled him with a sense of belonging. They were both happy on the surface; they were both in the business of concealing the dark creatures in them. This masquerading felt like kinship of some kind; the tenuous bond of knowing another person understood you to the core felt far from a contradiction. It felt indescribable.

He found her to be well disguised. She reminded him of a large cat; calculating and with obscure intentions – moving through the motions of life with a graceful gait. However much their creatures seemed alike there was always a little bit of mystery to her; there was always a little nagging thought that he knew but a bit of the underground – knew only what she endeavored to let him know. If he had never met her that dark night years back – both drunk and inevitably sad – he would never have been able to see past the veil now. If he had not been invited inside that fateful night she would have remained a complete stranger to him. Above all he treasured the little key she had put in his hands; dark creatures safeguarded the truth more carefully than their own skin and blood after all.

A little dark creature that put on porcelain skin and painted her lips red; a little astute creature that knew that being alive in this world meant donning a disguise. The best disguise was the one that endeared you to others. He imagined you had to become someone else to make it in a man's world; imagined it was either being labeled as a secretary or become a sister in this world of solving crime; either a sex object or a loved one.

She was a walking talking, living breathing contradiction.

She was cunning, most of all.

She was a doll; always so impeccably dressed and always so pale; red painted lips always in a happy little smile. Her red hair always shone with something that reminded him of ripe fruit and sunsets ablaze; he was sure it was with that very intention she styled it. Nothing about her was left to mere happenstance; it all had an underlying reason – sometimes it eluded him however. Caught in between fascination and a little snip of surprise he watched as everyone became trapped in among her red strands, hair and light trapping everyone in her illusion – watched as she easily fitted herself into this little family that never took well to newcomers or outsiders.

She was always an exception; he put that insight in the back of his head – sure it would only be reinforced throughout his acquaintance with her.

It was like magnetic pull; a force to be reckoned with. She was clever that way; knew which way the world spun – knew how to twirl men around her little finger, knew how to integrate herself into whatever environment she happened to be taking residence in. Later on he would liken it to a basic survival instinct within her – animate and mysterious; later on he would wonder how one happened to come upon such a skill. Much later on he would wonder why she chose to abandon such an instinct.

However disguised she choose to be he was always afforded a little glimpse of the true being; it was unique – he felt welcomed into an exclusive group that only consisted of the two of them. He saw the dark little creature, saw the dangerous smile behind the mask. She became a little sister to every detective working with her, became the sister you protected with teeth and bare hands. It was an amazing feat. Importantly, she fit in with the crowd of officers; hung out with the boys – joined in the little tight-knit society. But to him she remained herself; he neither saw the sister or the doll – only that astute little creature.

In the beginning they rarely spoke – both too solitaire and independent to bring up a drunken night. In the beginning it was the dance of animals; shy and sovereign. They circled each other; looked in among the grass of the savanna as they approached each other and then swiftly slipped away again. Survival instinct was an intense piece of them both; they had to canvass the territory before they approached foreign terrain. She remained a force of mystery to him; he had a suspicion he remained just as elusive to her – why else would she circle his life with the approach of an interested cat. Maybe it was a rarity for the both of them to find a creature so alike their own; it naturally afforded them curiosity.

In the end it became strange not to talk to her; she seemed to belong in his world. Sometimes predators hunted in a pack; sometimes they forgone their solitude for just a bit of company.

Where she belonged in his life, he had no clue. It was with both hesitance and confusion that he found it hard to put her in a category; he was unsure how to catalogue her – what was she to him? She was more dear to him than most of his friends – but he saw her less. She was not the foremost fantasy in his mind – but she sometimes sneaked into his mind. She was married as well; off-limits as much as he himself was off-limits. He rarely entertained any romantic notion about what would have happened had they both met again and been available. He felt certain such a notion would only have ended in some kind of fight; dark creatures rarely found being dependent on others something to reconcile with. Such a union would surely only have ended in bared teeth, snarling throats and raised haunches. No; she felt more like a piece of himself – different yet so alike.

Mostly he felt intrigued by her being – mostly he felt soothed when she suddenly orbited into his life.

She frequented the usual hauntings for their kind – a warm little bar just a few streets from headquarters; it was the place where he met her most. It was in the dim lights of a warm smoke-filled bar where he settled into an acquaintance with her that grew into something he had never anticipated.

He enjoyed those times where she sauntered around the room, flittering back and forth between friendly faces before she planted her presence firmly next to his, eyes alight with something he never knew how to describe. He liked those quiet times, sharing a beer and a knowing look as it was just the two of them in a cubicle. Mostly she was surrounded by a warmth that felt like a compulsion; pulled him into the embers of her smiles and the flames of her warmth. It was soothing. It was a rare event for him to see the distressed sad girl from when they had first met. Somehow it seemed like an important nuance; only he was not sure what it meant. He pocketed it into a growing list of inconsistencies and puzzles in the back of his mind; reserved for her.

Sometimes her boyfriend-turned-husband joined her; sometimes his wife came along as well. There was something very profound about those nights in the police bar that became precious to him in hindsight. It was the only time he could ferret out anything about her life – when the girls went to the toilet or trotted arm-in-arm to the bar he was left with the blonde man.

She was a trickster in his mind.

The key to her existence lay in illusions not in truth; it lay in deciphering the many layers she pulled around her existence. She never provided personal details about herself. Oh he knew on the surface she supplied you with a torrent of impressions but he was interested in what lay beneath. He was interested in the little dark creature. Her husband was an eminent source; chatty and charming – never able to resist anything with just enough whiskey in him.

It was because of those evenings he knew anything about her at all. It was because of such an evening that his heart had constricted and two pieces of a puzzle had clicked into place. A little tidbit of information and he felt absolutely dreadful and blissful simultaneously. A contradiction indeed – dreadful on her behalf, happy to know more about her.

Her brother had died; her husband-then-boyfriend had told him almost as an afterthought – died just a year before she joined the academy. The blonde guy had commented that he thought it was the reason she joined. There was something there – a story that contained more than what either of them had been told. Later on he would put more pieces together; maybe someday he would stand with a whole picture and not just small fragments.

Now, he gleefully watched the movement of her slender body, covered in a grey LAPD t-shirt and long black tights; an aura that of a predator regarding him from the corner of her eyes. Even covered in sweat, tresses of red hair pulled tightly back in a ponytail, there was an air of something poised about her. Muscles stretched and tensed; coming alive beneath her skin, eyes animated with a sparkle – danger unraveling before his eyes. Flexing his own muscles he contemplated tackling her to the ground and forcing her to spill whatever secret that put that sparkle in her gray eyes; she was awfully ticklish.

This was another place they frequented; the hard mattress in the middle of the fitness room a nest of body sweat and blood. He still remembered the first time he came across her; in the fading light of day. It had not surprised him she had chosen to habit this place in the same hour of the day that he had; they both wanted to be alone to ruminate – alone to work out both their body as well as their mind. His presence however had surprised her; it was a seldom event and one he had cherished. He liked surprising her.

Now she greeted him with a smile; beckoned him forward.

He rolled her hands in tape; his large fingers always seeming too big and rough in comparison with her small slender ones. She helped him with his own tape; he watched her eyes as she fastened the tape.

It had begun as a little contest; to spar with someone where there was no need to keep up facades. On her part he was certain she enjoyed sparring against someone who would not hold back; the problem with being a little sister to your division meant they taught her an extensive list of self defensive work but felt compelled by nature to not go too hard on her. He felt no such compulsion; he knew if he lowered his defenses she would break his nose.

Mostly it was merely a harmless little battle of keeping up their footwork; of keeping in form. Mostly they both ended up exhausted and sweaty. Sometimes one of them was not paying attention and they went away with a split lip, a broken eyebrow or a sprained wrist; nothing too serious.

Today however, there was something about her that confused him. There was something mysterious about her this evening; a small little smile at the corner of her lips. A little smile he had become familiar with but one he had no clue about; clueless about its origin or interpretation. Another little thing that slipped past illusions; he liked it when her façade slipped and she let him into her world.

She kept giving him a challenging look; kept on a strange little smile on her lips – something entrancing dancing in her eyes.

They easily danced around each other; left and right – evasion maneuvers around each other as they circled. Fists meeting air or a well-grounded deflection. Quick on the ball of their feet's, swift on their toes.

Abruptly he ended up on his stomach, arm pinned painfully behind his back, a knee into his spine. He breathed heavily into the sour mattress; not surprised she had managed to get him down first. He was too occupied by her strange smile.

Next she had him pressed into the mattress again, his face flattened against the cold hard surface, a hand rough around his neck, keeping him down. He gave a little chuckle and he caught the answering glimpse of laughter in her eyes when she let him up.

"C'mon you big oaf – show some," she teased him.

He merely showed his teeth in response; she always managed to catch him off guard the first couple of rounds; he always managed to hit back with brute force after landing headfirst into the mattress a couple of times – he always needed a little incentive to topple her off her balance.

They tumbled together and this time he had her pinned beneath him; easily once he had the right angle – all he had to do was use his heavier body and gravity; he could always rely on strength in this. Something he knew she resented; it meant she had to be extra careful – always make sure not to thread into that position where she would inevitably fall under the extra gravity of his weight and taller frame.

He grinned down at her; this was not really a maneuver they used frequently as officers; his grin widened - he could see the surprise in her eyes, around her mouth. Her arms were easy to pin down once he sat on top of her; her body too small to compete against his when he was planted firmly on her pelvis.

"You sneak," she huffed out at him.

"No rules remember," he grinned back, tightening his hands around her wrist. She didn't even wriggle; it would be pointless anyway. She never did things that were pointless; it was outside her nature.

"Out with it," he told her.

"Out with what?" she said in a confused tone but he saw beneath that layer she chose to put into her voice. He saw the knowing little glint in her smile. She tilted her head, in a little angle that told him he was on the right trail; there was something she wanted to tell him.

"C'mon – you can't hide it," he coaxed. He knew the moment she let go and chose to just tell him; tense muscles beneath him became relaxed and loose; her smile evolved into an even bigger grin.

"I won't be able to hide it in a few months, no."

He grinned; two pieces fitting together – it clicked and he understood.

She smiled back.

"Congratulation, Mama."

She laughed.

He continued to look at her; she seemed happy – even beneath the mask. Especially under the mask he amended.

"I'll show you the ultrasound later, Michael has been staring at it for days now."

"I kept mine in my back pocket for months," he told her.

"Oh you boys, turning all mushy mushy."

"You betcha."

He was happy for her; genuinely.

"We will be able to arrange play dates you know." she told him with another grin.

"Oh woe – Flynn and Raydor Junior"

She nodded.

There it was again; that aura of warmth surging around her, within her – genuine and rare. It reminded him of sunsets again; sunsets in the middle of summer. That time of the year where the sun rises and sets with a warm hue; barely a visible object on the horizon before you feel the warmth seep into your bones. A summer sun; burning on the tips of her lips – edged into the swirling specs of gray in her eyes. Everything seemed possible with that smile, he reflected. Memorizing the lines around her mouth, the specific color in her eyes; it was unlike any gray he had seen before – he wanted to be able to remember this when it disappeared.

Before he could restrain himself he leaned down, lips on warm skin as he kissed her forehead – he could taste the salt of her sweat, felt the quiver in her arms pinned down. Neither of them had a propensity for affective touches; but this was an exception. Even if it made her eyes obscure, even if that sun burned even more intensely – felt dangerous close to bursting into a flammeous ocean.

They both pulled on their masks; it was hard to linger on a moment like this – better to let it float away on its own than continue to watch it. Loosening the lock he had around her arms, he filed the little tilt to her head away.

"C'mon Mama," he said as he stood up and provided her a hand, "gotta keep you out of harm's way, huh."

The sun was instantly passed by a cloud; not a surprise but anticipated by him. The minute tightening around her mouth, the narrowed eyes; he grinned – sometimes she was predictable. Sometimes he knew her too well; it did not happen a lot but when it did he cherished it.

"I'm kiddin'," he threw his hands in the air, "I'm gonna take you down."

With another smile, not as bright but still warm, she took his offered hand; muscle once again tense as they started circling each other again. In the years to come he would come to love the summer sun; it was finally a little fragment of her dark creature that blossomed. It was both genuine and infectious.

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