Sara
"Ms. Sidle"
I blink, vacant gaze shifting from the tired grey wall of the interrogation room to Detective Hayes, the senior I.A officer who I've been in interview with for the past hour. His hazel eyes are weary, revealing his dwindling patience. I squint softly, attempting to remember his question.
"I asked what happened next, after Wagner fired"
Terror. A wordless cry, lodging itself somewhere between my lungs and my throat.
"Detective Curtis was hit in the right side"
I absently touch my hip as I speak, hands still trembling. "She uh, shot him just below the left clavicle before he could get another round off"
My fingertips drift up to brush my collar bone, peeking out from a departmental sweater I had been given. His gaze feels heavy and scrutinizing, and I drop my hand down to rest on the cool metal table, blunt nails spearing into my palms.
"And that immobilized him?"
"Yes"
"And Detective Curtis was still moving around at this point?"
"She was. She checked for a pulse, kicked his gun out of reach"
The sound of metal skittering across a shellshocked silence.
"And where was Detective Lane while all this was happening?"
I grab the porcelain mug of coffee from the table- a small kindness from Lane, still waiting in his office. I recall him rushing past me as I stood frozen, staring at Sofia's bloody hand pressed to her slim hip.
"As I said, he had been waiting in the car. He joined us then, informed us that an ambulance was on its way, tried to check on Sofia…"
"Tried to?"
Hayes's eyes narrow in confusion, wrinkles becoming more pronounced.
"She uh, didn't want to be touched. She told him that she thought she was okay"
"She thought she was okay with a bullet through her side?"
I scoff, taking a long sip of coffee before nodding tiredly.
"Apple doesn't fall far from the tree" he mutters, giving a soft nod towards me.
"What were you doing during all of this?"
"I… wasn't sure what to do. I'd never been in a situation quite like this. Lane was checking out the car, so I took Detective Curtis around to the front. I wanted to get a look at her hip"
Paralysis turned autopilot. I had expected to be held at arms-length, but mercifully she allowed me to lead her out of the open driveway. "It's just superficial" she insisted, voice trembling despite her tone of conviction, allowing me a moment to scan her form before attempting to turn back to the house. I had grabbed her uninjured hip, pushing her back against the grill with just enough force to let her know I wasn't letting this go.
"I thought you said she didn't want to be touched?"
"I didn't care, I needed to make sure the bullet had exited"
"Please let me see" I had pleaded, voice tense and unfamiliar. Her eyes met mine, pupils huge and unfocused, adrenaline clearly on overdrive. I couldn't decipher any emotion in them, but she had given a tight nod, trembling hand grasping my shoulder as I lifted the bottom of her shirt. Her skin was soaked crimson, the entry point near the edge of her hip. An inch to the left and it would have been merely a graze.
"Turn around" I requested, words slow and thick in my mouth. She'd met my gaze briefly as I stepped back, allowing her space to turn. I exhaled for what felt like the first time in minutes as I noted a clear exit wound. I'd brushed the skin around it gently before touching her shoulder to signal that she could turn, leaving a large streak of crimson against her smooth skin.
She immediately sensed the shock that this triggered in me, shifting her gun to her left hand and sliding a trembling, unbloodied palm up to my neck. Fingers curled around it as her thumb rested against my jaw, forcing me to look away from the bloody mark and into her eyes.
"I'm okay, Sara" she had said, blue eyes anchoring me firmly in the moment.
"Ms. Sidle, please try to focus"
I blink once again, forcing my attention back to the present. I glance at the clock, ticking just past 2:30 am.
"Can we maybe take a break? It's been a long day and I need to check on-"
The door to the small interrogation room swings open before I can finish, a striking woman in a navy blouse appearing. Her dark hair is pulled up into a loose French twist, heels clicking against the cement floor.
"Ms. Burroughs…" Hayes starts in a warning tone, voice thick with exhaustion. He's silenced by a violent glance, held for a lingering moment before the woman settles gracefully into the seat next to him, folding delicate hands together on the table in front of her.
"Take it up with the sheriff, Ken" she says coolly, electric blue eyes meeting mine.
"Sara, I'm D.A Burroughs. I apologize for barging in like this, but I agree that it's been a long night. I'm out of my jurisdiction here…"
She shoots a quick sideways glare in Hayes's direction.
"so I will let Detective Hayes ask the questions, but please do be thorough and focused so that we can wrap this up"
I frown, but nod my agreement, tucking unruly hair behind my ear.
"You checked out Sofia's injuries, how did they appear?" she asks. Hayes throws her a warning glance, and she holds manicured hands up in a sign of surrender. Crossing one slim leg over the other, she leans back, fixing me with an expectant gaze.
"There was a clear exit wound, so I knew the bullet wasn't lodged inside. She was losing a lot of blood though, so I tried to slow the bleeding"
"With what?" Hayes asks.
"With my shirt"
It sounds absurd now, my sweat soaked tank top balled up in my hand, leaving me in a modest sports bra. I remember her weak smile as I tore it over my head, pushing it into her hand. The pain coloring her features as she held it tightly to her side.
"What happened next?"
"Sofia had told Lane to check the trunk… sorry, I forgot to mention that. Before I checked on her injuries, she asked him to do that. At this point he had gotten the trunk open and confirmed that Elizabeth Walton was inside"
"And what did you do?"
"We were about to check on her, but that's when Steve Walton came out of the side door"
Nails spear back into my palms as I recall this, a chill of anxiety creeping up my spine. The panic in his gravelly voice as he realized what was going on.
"Detective Curtis positioned herself against the side of the car and aimed at Walton. It's then that I was able to see that he had grabbed Detective Lane"
"How did he have Lane?"
"He was behind him, and had his gun pressed to his neck" I say, raising my hand up to mimic a gun against my throat, feeling my pulse racing beneath cool fingertips.
"Ok, go on"
"Sofia tried to talk him down, told him not to make things worse for himself. It was futile though; I think he knew it didn't matter"
I'm not sure I was breathing as she spoke. All I could think was that surely in his mind, taking two cops out with him would be a best-case scenario.
"Walton took the gun away for a second… he'd noticed Wagner on the ground and asked if he was dead, gesturing with his gun, and Sofia fired. She hit him in the neck, he fell…"
"She fired with that small a margin of error?" he asks, clicking his tongue and giving his balding head a shake. I feel a surge of anger at his disapproval, about to defend her actions when Burroughs slams a fist against the metal table.
"Really, Ken? When all likelihood was that Walton would have killed Lane and then turned his gun on a wounded officer and an unarmed CSI, you think that was a poor judgement call?"
She scoffs, tucking loose hair anxiously away from her sharp jawline, bright eyes narrowing into a glare at the older man.
"Let's just say Curtis is lucky that she's got a hell of an aim" he replies, unphased by her outburst.
Burroughs visibly bristles at this.
"If she hadn't taken the shot, your night would be a hell of a lot longer" she mutters quietly, sharply veering the focus back to me.
"So Wagner goes down. What happens next?"
"You good?" Sofia had asked as Lane took a moment to breathe, eyes closed before nodding. "Those are some lightning reflexes you've got" he commented, shooting her a weak smile before turning back to the trunk.
"I uh, checked on Steve Walton, who still had a pulse. Detective Curtis checked in on Lane, who was shaken up but uninjured"
"So everyone's alive"
"Yeah, including Elizabeth Walton. She was covered with a bloody duvet and looked to have been pretty badly beaten. I was sure she was dead, but Lane found a pulse"
"What did you do next?"
I recall the relief flooding through me at the distant sound of sirens. The slow gathering of neighbours, lingering cautiously back around the center of the cul-de-sac. The feel of Sofia gripping my forearm for support. The mounting anxiety I felt as she lowered herself to the pavement.
"Some of the adrenaline seemed to be wearing off and Detective Curtis was struggling. She'd lost a lot of blood at that point. I stayed with her, and the rest is… a blur. The paramedics and police showed up soon after and took over the scene"
I had dropped down in front of her, one hand pressed against hers which was holding my blood-soaked shirt to her side. The other slid up her neck with less grace than she had managed earlier, forcing her to look at me. I think of her unfocused blue eyes, the way her hand weakly gripped my bicep. "The paramedics are almost here. You are going to be fine" I had assured her, repeating some version of that over like a prayer. I'd stayed with her until someone had come up and torn my hands away, forced me back. I'd stood unmoored in the center of the driveway, blood stained and frozen, until an officer had escorted me back to the station.
"Sara"
Once again, I'm drawn from the depths of my mind, this time by a hand on my forearm. I focus on the softened blue eyes of D.A Burroughs, who gives my arm a soft squeeze. I notice the edge of what look like botanical tattoos peeking out from the arm of her silk blouse, and note that even beneath these harsh, unflattering lights, she is gorgeous.
"You did good tonight. We're done here, you should try to get some rest" she tells me, hand sliding away from me as she pushes out of her chair. Detective Hayes offers me a tight, tired smile, gathering his notes.
"Miss Sidle, thank you for your statement, I'll be in touch if I have any further questions. Kyle, I'd say it's been a pleasure, but you do make it difficult"
I freeze, eyes shooting over to Burroughs who scoffs, a smile playing over her painted lips as she opens the door.
"Likewise, Ken"
Oh.
Oh.
I blink, Hayes glancing back at me from the door.
"You okay to get home?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Thanks" I say, pressing my lips into a thin smile.
I slip my phone out of my pocket as I rush down the quiet hallway, desperate to shake this feeling of claustrophobia. Arguably, the worst part of an officer-involved incident, outside of the obvious, is the politics of it. The waiting and the judgements and the painstaking interviews.
The hospital had given me no information on Sofia's condition while I was confined in the department halls, pacing around like a caged animal. Brass had made some calls for me, easing my mind with the update that she was doing fine. The bulled had missed any organs, though the volume of blood lost was concerning enough to warrant a transfusion.
I don't stop until I push out of the large glass doors, the open space an instant relief. I click open my phone- a call from Gil, two calls from Nick. I scroll through the barrage of unread texts until I find her name.
'Hey. I'm fine, but they're keeping me here overnight. I hope IA isn't being too brutal with you... Get some sleep, I'll call you in the morning'
I take a deep breath, dropping my head back against the beige stone wall, pressing my eyes shut. Everything is okay. No one died tonight. Elizabeth Walton, against all odds, is safe. Steve Walton will spend his life behind bars. I'm grateful, and yet I can't shake this deep, nameless ache.
Sofia's blood soaking my hands and my clothes; her weakened grip on my arm as she sank to the pavement, the way she stumbled backwards as the bullet penetrated her side - it's all playing on a loop through my mind. I pray that she keeps her cigarettes stashed somewhere in her car as I head towards the parking lot.
I return Gil's call on the drive over, the concern in his voice soothing me deeply. He tells me he's grateful that we're okay. That I should come by when we get back. That he would like to spend some time together. I assure him that I will. Assure him that I'm fine. He accepts this, saying a soft goodbye.
I'm geared up for a fight when I arrive at the hospital reception desk, aware that I'm not family and that 4 am is hardly an appropriate visiting hour. The bright-eyed receptionist must sense this, as she doesn't argue. She just relays the room number with a sympathetic smile.
I catch sight of my reflection in one of the curtained windows as I head down the fluorescent corridors, pace faltering momentarily as I scoff at my shellshocked appearance. No wonder everyone is handling me with such a delicate touch.
I run a hand over my unruly waves as I approach Sofia's room, attempting to appear somewhat composed. I should have stopped by the hotel and grabbed her a change of clothes, or picked up some flowers from the tiny, 24-hour gift shop. Something considerate like that. Instead, I'm here empty handed with a deep-seated fear that I'm hoping she can quell.
There's a small window on her door that I stare at from a distance for a few drawn out moments before moving to glance in. I'm relieved by the sight of her, hooked up to an IV, asleep. Relief is quickly overtaken by unease. She appears so uncharacteristically fragile, and for a fleeting moment I'm tempted to turn away.
Her mother sits in one of the chairs, reading glasses perched on her nose as she reads over a file. She must sense my attention, pale blue eyes flicking up from the page to meet mine. She stares at me for a moment before motioning me inside.
I enter, gaze lingering on Sofia before drifting to Elizabeth. She regards me silently for minute, demeanor notably softer than the first time we met.
"How are you doing kid?"
I consider lying, but that seems futile. I know that she is seasoned in this specific brand of horror.
"I'm uh… a little shaken up to be honest" I tell her, a weary smile playing over my lips. Her bright gaze drifts over my tired form, taking in my dishevelled appearance before nodding softly to the chair beside her in invitation.
"It would be concerning if you weren't" she muses tiredly, slipping her glasses off and tossing them unceremoniously onto the small table beside her.
"She's still doing alright?" I ask as I take a seat next to the bed, gazing over at her sleeping form.
"Yeah, she should be fine to leave in the morning. They have her drugged to oblivion right now- that seems to be what it takes for her to get some rest"
I look at Elizabeth, her fingertips pressing momentarily into her temples. She appears as exhausted as I feel, dark circles accentuating her bright eyes.
"You okay?" I ask gently, to which she chuckles, reaching for her near-empty Styrofoam cup of coffee.
"Living the dream, Sara. I am glad you're here though, I've got a meeting in about…"
She glances at an expensive looking watch wrapped around her slender wrist.
"Four hours that I need to prepare for. Sofia said she told you not to bother coming, but I had a feeling you would show up"
She winks subtly at me, tossing back a gulp of coffee. My eyebrows knit tightly together, though I don't dare to ask what exactly she means by that. She's gathering her paperwork up when the door pushes open, and for the second time tonight I'm met with the electric eyes of Kyle Burroughs. She pauses in the doorway, gaze drifting between the three of us before settling on Elizabeth.
Her dark hair has been pulled out of its hold, loose and burnished now. She's traded her silk blouse for a white t-shirt, a sleeve of flower tattoos trailing up her pale arm. She's clutching a bouquet of roses and a pair of clothes in her manicured hands.
"She's fine, Kyle" Elizabeth assures her before Kyle can speak, pushing up out of her chair. She embraces the younger woman in a way that indicates a deep familiarity, taking the clothes from her and nodding in my direction.
"This is Sara, she's-"
"I know," Kyle cuts her off as she crosses the small room. "I just hijacked her I.A interview". She shoots me an apologetic smile before her gaze falls on Sofia, dark eyebrows furrowing. She reaches out to brush blonde hair away from her sleeping face, and I tense at the intimacy of it. Sofia had been so adamant about not wanting to see her this morning, I'm not sure that her touch would be welcome now.
The desire to extract myself from this situation feels suddenly overwhelming. Elizabeth must sense this, as her hand comes to rest firmly on my shoulder as she turns to regard Kyle.
"I need to head back to the station, walk out with me?" she asks her. Kyle hesitantly tears her gaze away from Sofia, regarding her with a frown.
"Liz, I-"
"I know" she interrupts, fixing her with a look that is somehow both sympathetic and unyielding. "Walk out with me?"
I watch the younger woman gaze at Elizabeth with tired, pleading eyes. They remain in some silent stalemate for a few moments before Kyles shoulders drop in visible defeat. She places the vase of roses on the cluttered bedside table and turns away. Elizabeth squeezes my shoulder, releasing her vice grip on me. She looks at Sofia for a lingering moment before grabbing her files and moving to the door. Kyle meets my gaze, bright and intense, nodding softly to the bed.
"Please just... make sure she's getting enough rest?"
My brow creases, but I offer a soft nod. I'm not sure what gives her the impression that I have any say over how much rest Sofia gets, but this seems to appease her.
"Try to get some sleep" Elizabeth advises, smiling softly before slipping out of the room. I take a deep breath, glancing over at Sofia's sleeping form.
The mess of emotions coursing through me are too heavy and I am far too exhausted to explore them now. I just glance around the room, gaze falling on an armchair in the corner. I drop onto it, allowing sleep to finally claim me.
A hand on my arm startles me awake. It takes me a moment to register Sofia as I squint against harsh fluorescent lights. I frown at her in confusion before everything settles neatly, horrifically back into place.
"Hey" she greets softly. I straighten up from my slumped position, wincing as pain shoots through my back, my leg completely numb from the awkward position.
"How are you feeling?" I ask, scanning her form for any sign of further complication. She seems fine though, dressed in the white t-shirt and jeans that Kyle had left. My eyes are drawn to her hip, the slight bulge of a bandage clear beneath the thin fabric.
"I'm okay. You really didn't need to spend the night here" she chastises, a soft smile playing over her lips.
"Yeah, I did" I tell her, rubbing a hand over my eyes. I glance around the small room, avoiding her penetrative gaze. The messy bed, her hospital gown abandoned on it, the vase of roses a strange, stark contrast to the pale blue of everything.
The desire to touch her feels unnerving in its immensity. I deal with this by ignoring it entirely. Ignoring the weight of her gaze.
"Come on, let's get out of here before they notice I've made a break for it" she says eventually, grabbing a small bag of pills from the table and turning to the door.
I snort, pushing up onto sore legs.
"...you're joking, right?"
She glances over her shoulder at me with a quiet chuckle but remains otherwise silent as I follow her out into the hall. Her pace is notably slowed, despite her attempt to play off any discomfort, our shoulders occasionally brushing as we move silently through the fluorescent halls.
I drop her off at the station for her turn with I.A, heading back to the hotel to pack our rooms and succumb to another hour of sleep. When I pick her up, my attempts to convince her to fly home are effectively dismissed. I'm met with a joke about my driving skills as she presses a foot up against the glove compartment and flips her aviators on, as though nothing wildly traumatic has happened.
We drive quietly for a few hours before pulling off at some sprawling rest stop overlooking lake Havasu. Sofia disappears inside while I sneak a cigarette, gazing up at the bruised sky.
The clouds are dark and immense, rain drifting slowly across the lake, visible in its intensity. Both a promise and a threat.
I stub my smoke out as Sofia steps back into the lot, drawn to the cliffs edge where a few people have gathered to watch the storm approach. Lightning flashes in the distance, forking across the sky, and I'm entranced by the ominous beauty of it. By the inevitability.
Eventually she turns back, wandering towards me across the near-vacant parking lot. I'm struck by the familiarity of her here, in this austere landscape. Her gaze is steady as she approaches, blue eyes electric, and I can't seem to look away. Her blonde hair is sun bleached and dry, static clinging to the ends. Subtle freckles are scattered across her nose, giving the illusion of someone softer. My vision blurs, and I blink back the heavy tears, tearing my gaze away from her to look at the sky.
I'm not sure what it is exactly that breaks me. Later, I'll blame it on heat and exhaustion and adrenaline fatigue. On being so close to her for four days. On some delayed response to watching her take a bullet, watching her fade, washing her blood off my hands.
"Hey" she says softly, attempting to draw my gaze back to her. I press my lips together, blinking back tears before forcing my eyes to meet hers. A gust of wind rips across the barren land, whipping her long hair violently across her face. She doesn't bother fixing it, just holds my gaze for a long moment before closing the slight distance between us, sliding her arms around me.
I stare over her shoulder as I tangle my arms firmly around her. Her fingers dig into the flesh of my back- clinging, anchoring. It's desperate and intimate and necessary. I can feel the tension in her shoulders, the fear that she has so skillfully kept at bay. Unsure how to articulate any of the things I want to say, I remain silent. I simply hold her, allowing myself to breathe.
It's not until I feel her tension soften that I release my grip on her. She steps away, eyes glacial with unshed tears, blinking them back as she looks out at the lake.
"We should try to beat the storm" she suggests quietly, and I glance back up at the sky, the rain about to make landfall, thunder rumbling low through the canyons. I nod, though I know it's futile. It will engulf us, we will endure.
By the time we make it back to Vegas, the sun is about to dip below the mountains. Sofia is asleep in the passenger seat, half-drank coffee now cold in the console, having lost a battle against painkiller induced fatigue. Her aviators are still perched on her nose, blonde head slumped against the door, and I sit parked in her condo parking lot for a few minutes before I have the heart to wake her.
It's been decided that I'll return her car in the morning. She slings her bag over her shoulder and lingers awkwardly outside as we say goodbye. It feels wrong somehow, to part ways like this. To head to our respective, silent apartments and sit with the trauma of the past 24 hours. When she's gone, I remain in place, raw and exhausted and overexposed. I should call Gil, tell him I'm home, but the thought of his familiar condo and tentative touch doesn't feel comforting now. I don't want to explain what happened. I don't want to be treated gently. I stare out at the water-starved hydrangeas, contemplating my definition of home.
I'm still undecided when Sofia reappears. She wanders up to my unrolled window, hands stuffed deeply into the pockets of her thin hoodie. I quirk an eyebrow softly as she approaches. She puffs out a breath, blue eyes squinting momentarily out at the quiet parking lot before meeting mine again.
"Any chance you want to come in and just… sleep?"
She fidgets, gaze drifting momentarily away, and somehow this is the most vulnerable I have seen her be on her own volition. I stare at her for a moment before smiling, my tension easing as I kill the engine, turning to retrieve my bag from the back seat.
Note: Anyone who takes a moment to tell me your thoughts- thank you. Trying to get the right is painstaking.