Like mother, like daughter.
I sat beside my father, Valentine, in the blacked out squad car on our way to an afternoon crime scene. My entire body was coated in a thin layer of nervous sweat and shallow trembles, I wiped my palms on my black jeans anxiously for the hundredth time in an hour.
"Relax, Clary," my father finally chimed after a double take, "it's really not as scary as television."
The confident tone of the man beside me drew my visual attention away from the way my leg bounced heavily against the leather seat beneath me. At first glance, one may assume my father and I weren't biologically tied as he had a head of striking blonde hair that he cut short and excessively gelled back from dark brown eyes while I sported long red curls and green irises that paired well with the surrounding forest.
I rolled my eyes at the optimism. "It's not that. I don't know, it's just…I know some people don't take kindly to being partnered up, especially the way you describe this one. Seems like a recipe for disaster," I responded begrudgingly, tugging on the sleeve of my pink long sleeve shirt.
"Well, you're 24 years old now, my love. You need to get out of your cocoon, become a social butterfly. My detective may be rowdy, unpredictable, and…generally annoying…but I can assure you that you'll never be bored," he released a sigh that feigned to instill confidence within me.
If I was to be partnered up with a detective, I hoped they at least wouldn't be upset about it, considering I had no real choice in the matter, either. After I broke into my fathers study, read the file of a murder case that had been going for a year, and reviewed photos for the Midnight Crawler—a serial killer that had been prowling the streets of Salem, Oregon up until recently—and solved the case within a few hours, Valentine finally took notice of my skillset.
My fingers fiddled with my six sided Rubik's cube in my lap, twisting each component as my eyes only glanced down a few times from the road ahead to check the progress. Once each side of the cube was complete, I handed the puzzle to my dad.
He glanced over and chuckled, taking it from my hand and scrambling the six colors around haphazardly, using one knee to hold the steering wheel. I wanted to reach out and hold the wheel for him, but fear made me keep my hands knotted in my lap.
Valentine handed the unsolved cube back to my open palm. "Thank you," I mumbled, my thin fingers idly sliding the pieces around again.
"You are just like your mother with that," he commented with a loving but distant smile.
"Hmm," I hummed somewhat resentfully. The topic of mother was always a sensitive one, even after several years of coping with her imprisonment. She had done very bad things, and I didn't very much appreciate being compared to her, but I knew my father only did it out of love rather than any malicious intent.
"We're here," Valentine said suddenly, throwing the car into park in front of an ordinary looking house. Moss had begun to grow on the beige shiplap paneling from the constant moisture in the Salem air, making the house look as if it was oozing velvety green blood down its sides. Police cars surrounded the property with their lights on, lighting up the large pine trees with strobes of red and blue. It was a sight I had grown used to over the many years of having the Captain of Salem Police for a father but it still put a pit in my stomach. Police lights usually meant trouble—I wouldn't be here if there wasn't.
The overhead lights in the SUV turned on when I popped open the door and stepped out onto the weather beaten sidewalk. My steps hesitated at the edge of the grass lawn. Green tendrils reached out and brushed against the tips of my Converse until I finally found the courage to take a step, knowing there was no going back.
Several officers stood in a circle on the driveway, chatting about what may have happened here with their hands grasping the neckline of their kevlar vests or at the utility belt around their waists. They greeted Valentine as he approached with my awkward stride following close behind, trying hard not to show how timid I felt.
"Hey, Captain," a few of them said, standing at the ready for any commands from their superior. They fed him the entire situation with evidence they found while I broke away from him and explored the crime scene.
My shoes toed the threshold of the house before braving a small step onto the laminate flooring. The air smelled metallic as if I had strolled into a bank vault full of pennies, the taste clinging to the back of my throat. Forensic techs in Tyvek suits took pictures of anything and everything they deemed important in the living room, camera flashes blinding me every so often like sporadic lightning strikes. I scanned the chaos, and determined the murder took place in the bedroom at the sight of busy bodies flicking past the open doorway like bumble bees in a hive.
"Hey Clare," Simon poked his head out of the bedroom with a wide smile, dressed in his own Tyvek suit to avoid cross contamination. "The drama is this way." He disappeared back into the room just as quickly as he appeared. My shoulders relaxed at the comfort of Simon being here, at least I knew one person in this house that wasn't my father.
Simon and I had been friends since early childhood. Really, I felt as if he was the only one willing to be my friend since my neurodiversity made people uncomfortable.
I stayed quiet as I approached the bedroom doorway with a strained swallow and my hands tucked into my back pockets. A thick coat of blood along the duvet made me stop in my tracks with a twisted stomach, trying hard not to let the coppery taste in my mouth induce vomiting along with the sight of the source.
Perhaps I could distract myself with other clues.
Great idea, I thought and spun on my heel.
Broken glass littered the tile of the kitchen in millions of tiny cube-like shapes. The sliding glass door had been smashed in, making that the entrance for the killer. I tugged the hem of my shirt to cover more of the half exposed navel before crouching above the broken glass.
"Definitely an entrance, but…how did you exit?" I mumbled to myself, noticing no glass on the patio, not even a shard. Typically, glass shards would cling to the soles of shoes to indicate where they have stepped, but I saw none.
I turned to one of the techs. "Was there any prints on any door knobs or…?"
They visibly perked up and adjusted the mask hugging their face. "Oh, yeah, there are prints everywhere. But that glass door is the only place they came in and out, none of the windows—or the front door—had prints," they explained before turning back to snap more pictures.
The killer didn't wear gloves, didn't exit through the front door or windows, and judging by the complete lack of glass on the patio—
My blood ran cold and pooled to my shoes.
I sprinted to the open front door and heard loud, erratic thumping from above in the attic above me as I ran. My shoulder slammed against the doorframe, bringing me to a halt with the Captain in view across the driveway. "Dad! He's still here!"
"Who?" he called in confusion.
"The killer! He's still—" my words were interrupted by a loud crash behind me. I jumped as my hands shot to my ears to drown out some of the chaos. Valentine ran into the house and pushed my body behind him with his gun drawn.
In the center of the living room were two grown men, one bald and one with a head of dark hair, wrestling and throwing punches, covered in white powder and shreds of pink insulation. A man sized hole decorated the ceiling with rotten splintered wood and drywall that hung on by threads and rusty screws.
"Show me your hands!" Many of the officers ordered in a disordered assembly. The men continued rolling and fighting against each other's grip. I stood on my tiptoes to peer over the Captain's shoulder, trying desperately to get a glimpse of the—alleged—killers.
The light haired man managed to get on top and gave two more solid punches to the bald man's face, who promptly went limp beneath him. Rough hands lazily raised to the sky, blood and drywall dust caked to them. "It's alright, I got him," he called over the commotion, swallowing breaths that were bound to be compromised with insulation.
"Christ's sake, detective," Valentine chastised, slipping his gun back into his holster while other officers cuffed the unconscious man and dragged him out through the front door. The light haired man—the detective—stood on swaying legs with a heaving chest, brushing his dirty hands on his black jeans.
"Hey, Cap." He coughed and spit blood onto the carpet much to many of the forensic techs' dismay as they all groaned. "Calm down, you already got your killer," he grumbled to Simon who gave a displeased look at the contamination.
Valentine rubbed the corners of his eyes. "Do I need to tell you how many rules you walked the line on?"
The detective chuckled. "Nah, I'm all good. Hey, by the way, our suspect was hiding in the attic. Your boys in blue need to work on their sweep skills," he commented, dusting white drywall powder from his jacket. "Fucker gave me the surprise of my life."
"You didn't know he was still in the house?" I asked incredulously, looking from him to the broken glass that had immediately given the clue. I regretted my tone as soon as it left my mouth and flinched. I was self aware enough to know I had a bad habit of assuming everybody thought the same way I did when I only knew of one other person that did—and she was in prison.
He raised a dust covered eyebrow and looked over at me for the first time. His eyes narrowed, the molten gold darkened with irritation. "No, I didn't."
I closed my lips at his negative response, sensing that he took the question personally when it hadn't meant to be. My instincts made me take a step behind my father to hide from the strangers eyesight like I used to do as a child, internally groaning at my smart mouth.
A pang of panic spiked in my chest as Valentine sidestepped to bring me back into the conversation. "Jace, this is Clary. She's going to be tagging along with you from now on." He placed a hand behind my back in support.
The detective narrowed his eyes. "'Tagging along'? What are you saying?" His temper was evident as he raked his eyes over my body. I wanted to pull my hem down farther but resisted showing submission, regardless of the beads of sweat rolling down my spine.
"She is your new partner," dad stated.
I felt Detective Herondale's stare boring a hole into my face and desperately wanted my Rubik's cube in my hands but realized too late that it still sat in the passenger seat of Valentine's SUV. Instead, I shoved my hands into the back pockets of my jeans nervously.
"I don't need a partner, thanks though, Cap," he said and stepped from the mess he made on the carpet.
"Then how is it she knew the suspect was still here and you didn't?" Valentine asked before Jace could walk out of the front door. He stopped mid step but didn't turn around, I winced again.
"Dad," I hissed under my breath, feeling my cheeks brighten in embarrassment.
"Do you have an issue with my performance?" he asked, finally turning to face his Captain.
"Seems your eyes are getting clouded. It's time for a fresh set."
"On what grounds?"
"My grounds," Valentine growled. "And she is the one that solved the Midnight Crawler case—your case." I tried to keep my face from blushing further in fear of looking like a tomato. I had never meant to solve the case, especially since it belonged to the fuming detective. At the time, I just wanted a puzzle to work on.
"So be it," Jace huffed. "Let's go." He tilted his head at me, gesturing to follow him. With a quick glance at my dad, I reluctantly left his side to follow the man out the door.
The Coroner and crime scene cleanup crew sprung into action as police officers dispersed to answer constant calls around Salem. I tried to keep myself small while they shouldered past me on the stone walkway, carrying a gurney and bags of supplies.
Jace walked fast with tense shoulders. I had to pump my legs to keep up. "Hey, slow down," I huffed, following him between the panel vans with the words Biohazard clean up in red and other displaying Coroner in yellow. "Detective, wait—"
He spun around and caged me against the hard metal of a van with a hand bordering each side of my head, anger colored his features and flames bore through his gold eyes. I held my arms up to cover my face for a second to protect from a strike, but when the strike never came, I lowered my arms back to my sides and dug my nails into the thighs of my jeans.
"Here's how this is going to work," he grumbled, bending to my eye level and trying hard to catch my gaze with his sharp one. "You are going to tag along, sure, why not? But the second you start telling me how to do my job—" he got close to my face until I could smell a mixture of drywall and cedar, "you're done."
A whimper wanted to escape my throat and I wiped a stray tear from my cheek, his eyes softened at my pathetic weakened state and he leaned back a bit but still caged me in. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to insult you, I just wanted to help and I didn't want to be thrown into this—" I rambled nervously with tears lining my eyes. My skin flushed in embarrassment under my clothes.
"Okay, alright. Calm down," he sighed, removing his hands from their position on the van and tucking them into his jacket pockets. I trembled slightly, pressing myself into the panel van as if I could sink into it and be rid of this situation. He pulled his hand from his pocket and tossed something into his mouth before chewing.
I forced a calming deep breath. "I really am sorry. I didn't want to be partnered up and I don't want to be here. I won't tell you how to do your job, but I really do think we're stuck together."
His gaze turned thoughtful as he studied me, no doubt attempting to profile my reactions and the words I spewed with so much anxiety, giving another toss and chew of something from his pocket.
"Okay," he said finally, continuing down the walkway of cars until we came upon a glossy black 1969 Chevy Camaro with white racing stripes. The headlights blinked excitedly when Jace pressed a button on his keychain. I reached for the handle but my hand was intercepted by a rough one with brown splotches of dried blood. "This car is old and has to be opened a certain way. Here." He opened the door easily and motioned a hand to invite me into the seat.
I suddenly remembered my anchor. "Wait, sorry, give me one second," I said quickly, sprinting for Valentine's SUV a few yards away and snatching the Rubik's cube from the black leather seat before returning back to Jace. His arms were crossed over his chest as he leaned back against the closed passenger side door.
Dark eyebrows knitted together in confusion when he spotted the multicolored cube in my hands. "I haven't seen one of those in like…I don't know, fifteen years?" he guessed, popping open the door again.
I just shrugged and carefully sat, feeling like any wrong movement would damage the pristine condition of the historical vehicle. The door shut and my hands nervously fiddled with the puzzle while I waited for Jace to walk around the car and take his own seat.
We stayed silent as he drove down Empire Street, heading towards the precinct in the smack middle of Salem. Hard rock played on the radio, drowning out the clicks and whirs of the spinning pieces in my hands. My eyes were on the toy as if I was mapping how to solve it but my mind was focused on the wildcard beside me while my fingers did the work.
He gave me a side eye the same time I did. We both looked away just as quickly, knowing for a fact that we just caught each other.
He cleared his throat. "So, what did you do to invoke the wrath of Captain Fairchild to be stuck with me?" he asked, turning his head to look at me more obviously for a moment.
"I broke into his study and solved the Midnight Crawler case," I sighed, twisting the final colors in place.
"His study? You broke into his house?" he asked incredulously.
My fingers stopped and I looked up at him with confused brows. A mental snapshot was taken of the detective as I memorized his face in an instant. Golden hair was lazily brushed back with his fingers, revealing sharp features and soft lips surrounded by a clean shaven face that moved down to broad shoulders and a cut torso. Black jeans hugged around his thighs in a way that made me have to avert my gaze.
He was handsome. Blush crept to my cheeks at the thought.
I shook my head when realization finally hit me like a ton of bricks. "No, I didn't break into his house, just his study. He's my dad."
I didn't blame him for not knowing, I knew I resembled mother more than anything, the only feature that proved me to be Valentine's spawn was my nose. It was nothing special, but mothers nose was pointier and more upturned, making her features appear more sharp—mirroring her wretched personality perfectly.
"Hmm," Jace hummed.
Silence filled the space again, making me zone back into my thoughts and the puzzle at hand. When I was done and all six sides became their own solid color, I habitually handed it over without a thought. Before I could backtrack, Jace plucked the completed cube from my pale fingers and raised it to his vision on the road.
"Impressive. I've never completed one," he commented. "What am I supposed to do with it now? Do I keep it?"
"Sorry," I reached for it but he pulled it away with a smirk. "My dad usually scrambles it for me. I'll just take it back."
Gold eyes inspected the puzzle. "Scrambles it for you? Why can't you do it? Seems simple enough."
"I can't," I answered flatly, crossing my sleeved arms over my chest and leaning into the black leather bench. "I'll just know how to solve it. Like playing hide and seek with a stuffed animal."
"You don't make sense," he chuckled. I bit the inside of my cheek and faced the passenger window, twisting my fingers in my lap.
It had not been the first time I was told that. I knew I didn't fit in with anybody since the day I set foot in my Kindergarten class 20 years ago. From then on, students began to notice my nervous fidgeting and how reserved I was, as well as my desire to avoid social situations and work on jigsaw puzzles instead or read novels in a dark corner of class.
Needless to say, I was the social outcast in just about every situation. I had spent a lot of time working on being normal, so it was disheartening to hear that all my effort was all for nought.
As if he sensed my change in mood, he chewed the inside of his cheek and scrambled the cube colors with a knee on the steering wheel before handing it back to me. I warily took it from his fingers, trying hard to read his energy and began picking at the colored stickers with a fingernail.
"I didn't mean that in a bad way," he mumbled apologetically. "I'm just finding it hard to understand."
A patient sigh left my lips. "I have a form of high-functioning autism that torments me with an eidetic memory, inherited from my mom. It's…overstimulating sometimes when I'm anxious so this helps keep me grounded," I explained for the thousandth time in my life.
"Eidetic? That's like, photographic memory, right? So, you are extremely smart."
"That's a misconception," I said shortly. "Obviously I don't know what I don't know."
"You just became much more interesting," he smirked.
"I'm glad my autism appeals to you," I said matter-of-factly. "Would you like to have it? Take it off my hands, maybe I'll be normal for once—"
"All I need is you. Maybe this partnership is a good thing after all."
I rolled my eyes but warmth spread to the high points of my cheeks at his willingness to keep me around—that was a first.