Elisa's eyes felt like they were going to burn out of her head if she stared at this screen any longer. She opened her desk drawer, tilted her head back, and dripped a few eyedrops into her eyes. Closing them for a minute, her head resting on the back of her squeaky office chair, she let herself relax, just a tiny bit.

"Having a good time, Maza?" Matt asked.

"You ask that every time I get stuck on a complicated incident, Matt." Elisa huffed. "And the answer is never gonna change. No. No, I'm not having fun."

"Devil's in the details." Matt said. "You wanna catch these crooks and put them away for good, you give the prosecutors a detailed report."

Elisa finally opened her eyes, fake tears soaking into her dry eyeballs. She sat up, and gave Matt a flat, dead look. "The devil's in the details, alright. As in, the sheer volume of details."

Matt scowled at her, rolling his shoulders in a shrug. He slid his chair back, just far enough out of his cubicle for her to make eye contact with him. "Look, you know that we get to write the 'funnest' reports in the precinct. Would you really trust Tatasciore or Brooks to write any of the cases we handle?"

"No." Maza sighed, wiping the last of the eyedrops out of her eyes. "But mostly because I'm pretty sure that neither of them can even read."

Matt lifted his eyebrows, pursing his mouth into a very funny, very awkward sort of smile. One that seemed to say, 'You knew what you signed up for.'

Officially, there was no such thing as monsters. There were no ghosts, aliens, wizards, or alligators in the sewers either. Back in the 80s, when things started getting weird in New York, some 2nd Circuit Court of Appeals judge had handed down a ruling that defined and denied such things. A bogey–an unexplained or unidentified entity or phenomenon in an official police account–cannot be used as evidence in a court of law. If the defendant said that the aliens made him do it, you had to find a psychiatrist who would be able to weasel out a different explanation, or the case got dismissed.

Matt and Elisa were usually on differing assignments. Matt worked in robberies and burglaries, and Elisa worked in missing persons. But they were also the only two detectives at Manhattan 23 qualified to deal with 'the weird calls'. By 'qualified', that usually meant 'sacrificed'. Elisa had done so many interviews with alien abductees that she was pretty sure she'd met more crazy people than sane in the past five years of her career.

It certainly didn't help that her only partner in these cases was a guy who actually believed in aliens. Matt wasn't quite a tinfoil hat type, but he certainly believed in some very unusual things. Where Elisa was a diehard skeptic, Matt was the sort of person who believed in things like demons and lizardmen and the Illuminati. Every Halloween, he insisted on crossing the doorsteps of the precinct with salt and turned a radio on to a station full of white noise, 'Just to be safe'.

She finished the report, signed it, and submitted it. She opened her desk drawer again, and pulled out two apples from a bag full of fruit.

"Heads up, Matt." She tossed him one.

He caught it without even looking up. He stood up with a sigh. "Did you wash these?"

"No, not yet."

"You really should wash your fruit."

"Why, because the Global Elite cover our food with nanites that make us blind to the aliens?"

"No," Matt gave her a funny look. "Because it's covered in waxes, preservatives, and pesticides. And those are gross."

Elisa waved a hand at him. "C'mon, you know I'm just giving you crap."

"And I'm giving you facts." Matt shrugged noncommittally. "Not my fault if you don't believe me." He went to the break room to wash his apple.

Elisa did feel a little guilty for making fun of him. But, he gave as good as he got. The last department open mic night at the bar, he delivered some particularly choice roasts directed at her, and she still felt like he needed his comeuppance.

He came back with a clean apple, polishing it on his turtleneck before taking a bite. "Any luck on those kidnappings?"

Elisa held up a report with a grumble, reading it aloud. "Fred Sykes. No next of kin. No identified suspects. A mountain of debt and several reputable creditors. Estranged girlfriend. Dead-end job. Last seen the night of that explosion at the Blockbuster. Two witnesses; a minor, and a guy so high he couldn't find his own shoes."

She set the sheaf of papers down and continued. "In other words, several weak leads with no real motives. I sent a subpoena to the O'Neil kid. I'm hoping that she'll be able to help ID his kidnappers, and maybe we can close the books on the psychos who blew up that store too."

"I'm still trying to parse out those B&E's at Cyberbiotics. Who in the world breaks into an advanced robotics lab, and then steals absolutely nothing? I swear, there's gotta be some connection to those robot ninjas you saw on the 1st. But we swept that construction site clean; not even a bolt." Matt sighed, crunching another bite of apple. "Good news is, the Gangs Unit has been saying that things have calmed down."

"So I've heard." Elisa acknowledged. "Apparently, most of the cliques in the city are calling a truce. Weird show of solidarity, but I won't complain."

"They're still New Yorkers." Matt agreed. "They probably lost loved ones that day too."

Elisa rubbed the apple on her t-shirt, taking a chomp. "Grief is a very human thing."

Matt stopped chewing. "Oh, god, Elisa, I didn't mean–"

"It's okay." She looked at the apple in her hand. "He… he'd want us to talk about it. Hell, he'd probably be smacking me up the back of the head and telling me to leave it in the past, move on, get my work done. He wouldn't want me walking around, hanging my head, letting it hold me back. You know?"

"It doesn't change the fact." Matt's face and voice were soft, sympathetic.

Elisa, deep within herself, knew that. She'd been wrestling with it for weeks. The family grief counselor that the department had assigned to her, to Derek, and to their mother had been trying her best to help them all process their feelings. But to Elisa? She remembered that day so clearly, so vividly, it was like a VHS playing every time she closed her eyes. All she saw was dust. All she smelled was hellfire.

All she heard was her own voice, screaming for her father to come back.

Matt knelt down next to her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Hey." He said quietly. "Listen, Elisa, I know we're coworkers. It's embarrassing to admit, but you're probably the closest thing to a friend that I have. If you ever need to talk about it, I'm here for you. Anytime. Alright?"

Elisa's smile was a ghost, pulling her lips into some semblance of life. "Thanks, Matt. You're alright. For a straight white guy, at least."

Matt burst out laughing at that, his smile vibrant and real. "I gotta have some redeeming qualities!"

Elisa couldn't help but feel grateful. Matt really was just a good friend.

There was a wolf whistle at the door, and Elisa's eyes snapped to its source. "Got something funny to say, Grieco?" She glared.

A man in a dark blue uniform crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. He had brown hair that was slowly receding up his scalp and a patchy five o'clock shadow. He sneered, eyes gleaming with wicked delight. "I just think it's sweet, the freaks' gettin' cute with the freaks."

"You're a real charmer." Elisa chomped the apple. "Speaking of sweet, how's your girlfriend doing?"

Grieco's cruel smile froze, like he'd been hit in the face with something cold. Elisa knew full well that Grieco hadn't had a date since high school, and the likeliest culprit to his involuntary celibacy was his sensitive and gentlemanly demeanor. "Go to hell, bitch." He rolled his eyes. "Cap'n wants you in her office."

"Right now?" Elisa set the apple down on her desk, standing up.

"Yeah." Grieco stuck out his bottom lip. "Sounds like you screwed up the other night and pulled a juvenile into one of your messes. Classic 'you'. One for the history books, Maza."

"Thanks. Say hi to Rosy Palms for me, Grieco. Stay classy." Maza shouldered past him roughly.

She heard a sound, familiar and disgusting, as he hocked a loogie and spat. "You're gonna die alone, Maza." Grieco vowed.

"If it means I don't have to die looking at you, I hope that's a promise." Elisa retorted.

Elisa shoved her hands in her pockets and marched off, putting as much distance between Grieco and herself as she could. She couldn't afford to let slimeballs like Grieco get under her skin. But still, they didn't make the task of keeping them out of her head easy. In the back of her head, she wiped a bit of sludge off of the shield she kept raised around her soul. He was a worthless piece of trash, and he was just projecting his lack of character onto everyone who was happier than he was.

But you aren't actually happy. Are you, Elisa? She found herself asking.

She decided that when she met the guys later, she'd talk to Goliath. If anyone could understand, it would be the man who just lost his family.

She felt struck by that thought. It was a funny thing, really. She used to be happy. She had a good career, she felt like she genuinely made a positive difference in the world, she had a stable relationship with her family, and she hadn't been demanded to make any major moral compromises. At least, no more than the usual major moral compromises that came with being a police officer of color. But that was why she had her therapist, her friends, and her family.

For the first time in a very long time, Elisa felt like she was walking a thin line between one hellscape and another, and she was losing her balance. Caught between doing her job and turning over the full truth, and lying in her reports to protect people she barely knew.

Maybe Mom has some advice. She thought.

She knocked on the Captain's door. Behind the bulletproof glass and horizontal blinds, she saw a stirring in the office. There was the creak of an office chair, and the door opened.

"Detective Maza," Captain Chavez's voice was calm. "Please, have a seat."

She pushed open the door to her office space. On a very classy yet simple shelf behind her, she had arrayed lines of public awards and old trophies. Elisa spied old ones, like a Youth Judo Championship trophy to a more recent award from the NYPD for most cases closed in a week. On the wall were framed newspapers from important political and newsworthy events from the past. Not just cases closed; she even had a framed copy of the Chicago Daily Tribune that falsely proclaimed that Dewey had defeated Truman, a rare piece indeed.

Elisa pulled up a cheap wooden upholstered chair, and it creaked when she sat in it. She felt her guts tingle. There was nothing quite as scary as sitting down in front of a desk knowing you were about to get an earful from someone with more authority than you.

Chavez tapped her pen on her desk. She may not have been a natural redhead, but she wore the color well. Her uniform was clean, and her insignia practically gleamed. Not a single pen, post-it, or paper was out of place on her perfect desk. But she did have a stray wisp of hair that fell on her sharp nose. She frowned at Elisa. "I assume you know why you're here, Detective."

Elisa took a deep breath. "Yes."

She pushed a piece of paper in Elisa's direction. "Endangering a minor. Misuse of ride-along protocol. Going in alone. And–" Chavez tapped the bottom of the paper. "–you wrecked a cruiser."

Elisa looked at the paper. Her heart squeezed down her blouse, down her pant leg, and burned a hole in the toe of her boot, squeaking out and disappearing down through the floorboards with a cold hiss. "I didn't know that IA sent warnings."

"Usually, they don't. I'll be up front with you, Maza. This is a write-up, and it's staying on your record. You're damn lucky I can't afford to suspend any of my detectives right now, or you'd be staring down the barrel of a very long mandatory staycation. Without pay. One more act like this, and your ass is grass. You hear me?"

Chavez is going to fry your ass and serve it with waffles. Matt's voice seemed to echo in her head. "Yeah, Captain. I hear you. I'll be more careful. No more detours."

"A detour?" Chavez raised her eyebrows. "You call what happened to that cruiser a 'detour'? You look like you rode it into battle against Godzilla and lost. And the kid you subpoenaed? One, you already had a witness who was the age of majority. Two, security cameras exist for a reason. Three, you really think it'll help your case to have the sixteen-year old you dragged into danger sign an affidavit? Does 'fruit of the poisoned tree' mean nothing to you?"

Elisa felt very small. She let the reprimand go on, like raindrops on a tin roof, weathering the storm and fury of her captain. She already felt like garbage. She already knew that she'd done something wrong, and she had struggled all night that night to make it right.

"More to the point," Chavez leaned back in her chair. "I got a call from the DA's office. The Blockbuster explosion is being dismissed."

"What?!"

Chavez shook her head subtly. "Don't act so surprised. The evidence you submitted in the report was already shaky. Those 'kidnappers and arsonists' you used such colorful language to describe? Well, I'm sure you'll have an interesting tale to tell to TMZ. You were banging on the door at 4 AM to issue an emergency warrant to arrest a TV crew."

"You're joking. You've gotta be."

"You know me better than that Elisa. I lost my sense of humor years ago. That license plate came back clean. It belonged to a film group working the set of some new action TV show. That explosion was an accident; their demolitions expert was filming a car chase, and they had to store their equipment next to the Blockbuster while they were on lunch. Fire marshal cleared it just this morning. The studio and the franchiser are settling out of court."

Elisa leaned back in her chair. That can't be right. It just can't be! I saw them!

"What about the shots they fired in the store! You can't tell me those rounds were all blanks."

"I can, and I am. No shell casings were recovered."

"What about the girl? I swear to you, they were honest-to-god trying to kill her!"

"The way that you almost killed her by complete accident? You still haven't explained what happened to that cruiser, Maza." Chavez pointed an accusatory finger at her. "And don't you dare use the B-word in my office. You know I don't believe in them, and neither does the DA's office."

Elisa got up to protest. "What else could leave clawmarks in steel, Captain?"

"Not a fairy tale that the department forces me to pander to, I'll tell you that!" The captain fired back. "You got until the end of this shift to come clean, or else that cruiser is coming out of your wages. And no, I am not even kidding."

Elisa's pride flared in her chest, insulted and outraged. She felt her blood running so hot, it threatened to boil her skin. But she sat down stiffly and grunted. "Yes, sir."

The captain's eyes didn't change. Neither did her voice. But something in her posture shifted, signaling a change in her demeanor. "How's your mom doing?"

"About as well as anyone else." Elisa answered evasively.

"Therapy's working out then?"

Elisa's flat, hard look was all the answer she had the heart to give. The captain took the piece of paper–the first and only black mark in Elisa's entire spotless career–and tucked it into a folder with her name on it. She could practically feel her father's ghost looking over her shoulder and shaking his head.

"Elisa…" The captain asked slowly. "Have you spoken to your brother lately?"

"No, not really." She answered. She felt indignant and insulted and wounded, and didn't want this conversation to go on any more.

"He hasn't been acting unusual? Any more… rash, or reckless lately? No change in his drinking and sleeping habits?"

"No–" Elisa's answer caught in her throat. She narrowed her eyes at the captain distrustfully. "How did you know that?"

It was true. Derek had been more quiet, more withdrawn than he had been in years. The last time Derek had shut down and walled up like this was when their uncle died, back when they were teenagers. Derek had locked himself in his room for weeks, doing nothing but making music. And not the usual, bright, fun sort of music he liked to rap about; it was angry. She remembered listening at his door, hearing him write, discard, and rewrite poems of pain, play chords that were unlike anything he usually played on that electric piano in his room.

It had been years since he'd done that. The last time she knocked on his door at his apartment, it was like she'd been taken back in time to that dark period in their lives when their uncle had left their world. When he'd opened the door, he looked miserable. He had cherry pit eyes and ashy skin that clearly hadn't seen a bar of soap or a beam of sunlight in days. Poor Cagney weaved around his ankles like he was his own little gray shadow. The sheer volume of cat fur on Derek's old academy hoodie told her one thing; he had been holding that cat like he was the last lifeline he had.

Captain Chavez didn't tend to emote much. So when she furrowed her brow in concern, it was enough to twist Elisa's stomach. "Elisa. Your brother handed me his resignation this morning. He's quitting."