Many thanks to PJ1228 for beta reading this story!
Also thanks to Brightknightie for organizing and running FK Fic Fest.
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"Listen to this, Nick," Schanke said as he plopped down into his chair, tossing his notebook and pencil onto his desk. "This guy just told me his wife is missing and he wants us to investigate because—get this—he says she was raptured."
Nick raised an eyebrow. "Raptured?"
"Raptured! As in, go directly to heaven, do not pass Go, do not collect $200," Schanke confirmed, exasperated. "I said, 'Sir, if that's the case, then the Toronto PD lacks jurisdiction. How about telling me about that last time you saw her on this earthly plane?'"
"And?" Nick prompted, unable to keep a smile from playing on his lips.
"And it turns out they had a big fight right before all this." Schanke waved vaguely at the rest of the bullpen, still chaotically understaffed in the nights since the asteroid had been revealed to be a hoax. "The wife went to stay with a friend in the States. Andno, he hasn't even tried calling her." Schanke rubbed his hands over his face and yawned. "I'm telling you, Nick, I can't handle another nutcase report like this. I just can't."
"Detective Schanke," a firm voice cut in, and they both glanced to Captain Cohen's office where she stood just outside her doorway. "Go home," she instructed. "You too, Knight. You've both put in more than enough hours."
"Thanks, Captain," Schanke replied, shoulders visibly relaxing. He rose from his chair and stretched his back, his spine making little cracking sounds as he did so.
Nick glanced at his watch; still a couple of hours until sunrise. "I'll stick around a little longer," he offered.
"You don't have to push yourself," Cohen said. "I know we're all exhausted."
"It's fine, really," Nick insisted with a reassuring smile.
"Okay, I won't say no because the Missing Persons Unit has been completely overwhelmed. The more we can screen the legitimate reports from the..." she paused as if searching for the right term, "more questionable ones, the better." She held up a finger as if in a warning. "But only another hourtops, then you're off. Recovering from everything that's happened is going to be a marathon, not a sprint."
"As for me," Schanke chimed in, his voice tinged with fatigue, "my tank's run dry and I'm running on fumes. I'll catch you both tomorrow."
With a weary nod to each of them, Schanke grabbed his rumpled gray suit jacket from the back of his chair and left. Cohen retreated back into her office to the stacks of the legitimate missing person reports that needed her attention.
Nick got up from his desk and made his way to the precinct's front desk. The lobby was packed, the subdued people in it looking like haggard travelers trapped in a train station late at night. Not enough benches meant some stood, while others just sat on the floor. Some had even fallen asleep.
"Hey Reeves," Nick greeted the uniformed officer manning the front desk, "who's next?"
Reeves inclined his head toward a young woman in a pale blue sweatshirt sitting on one of the benches. Her features seemed vaguely familiar, but Nick couldn't pinpoint where he might have seen her before. A long blond braid hung over her shoulder, and she leaned against her neighbor, both of them deep in sleep.
"What did she say when she came in?" Nick asked.
Reeves flipped through a notebook in front of him. "Ah, here it is," he said, his finger stopping on a page. "She reported that her sister, who's incarcerated at the Prison for Women, has gone missing. I told her she's gotta take that up with the Correctional Services. But she said they aren't doing anything about it. She asked for you specifically, Detective; said you were the one who arrested her sister so maybe you'd help." He pointed to a large, unlabeled manila envelope resting on the woman's lap. "She brought that along, said it was important to show you."
Nick regarded the woman. Her face was peaceful, but the skin around her eyes was red and puffy, telling the same story of loss and stress that was written across so many faces in the lobby. "Looks like she's been through a lot," Nick remarked. "I hate to wake her."
"Maybe have a look at whatever she's brought," Reeves suggested. "If she wakes, I'll explain that you're reviewing her materials."
Nick gently slid the envelope off the woman's lap and opened it. Inside, he found a VHS tape with a label printed with the words "Prison for Women." Underneath was a handwritten date—two days prior—and the words "Visiting Room C."
Nick showed the tape to Reeves and said, "I'll be in the conference room. There's a VCR in there."
Reeves nodded and then, with a grimace, pointed at the tape. "Terrible what happened there."
Nick gave him a puzzled look. "Sorry, with everything here on the ground, I haven't kept up with the news."
"It was on the front page of the paper a couple days ago," Reeves explained. "Prison was locked down at the start of the scare, and then the staff stopped showing up. No one to feed the prisoners, or let them wash, or even contact their families. Prison also lost power. All those women just left to rot in the dark. A few didn't make it."
Nick's brows furrowed as he absorbed the news. The chaos he'd witnessed on the streets had been bad enough; the bloodshed and destruction would take months or years to fully recover from. But this—this was beyond anything he had imagined. A complete breakdown of the system of justice he had sworn to uphold.
"That's horrific," Nick said quietly.
Reeves nodded solemnly, then added, "The prison wouldn't allow visitors once the news broke that the asteroid was a hoax, but a court issued an emergency order requiring it. That's how the press got the story. I'm not surprised Correctional Services hasn't been any help, they're too busy trying to cover their asses. But what are we supposed to do about it?"
"I'll start with whatever's on the tape," Nick replied. "She said I arrested her sister? What's the name?"
Reeves rifled through his notes again. "Sorry, Detective, with all these people to process, I must have forgotten to write it down."
"Don't worry about it," Nick reassured him. No one who had still been coming into work was at the top of their game.
Nick headed to the conference room, closed the door behind him, switched on the TV, and slid the videotape into the player.
A low-quality black and white image flickered onto the screen. A time stamp in the corner indicating it was around 8:30 PM two nights prior—unusually late for a prison visit. A familiar fair-haired young woman with a black eye sat with her hands shackled to the table in front of her. She drummed her fingers on the table's surface.
The camera, positioned above the room's door, captured the door swinging open, though no one stepped inside. The woman looked to the door, a surprised expression on her face, and said something Nick could not hear. He paused the video, rewound it a few seconds, turned the volume all the way to maximum, and then hit 'play' again. Still no sound; the recording had no audio. Frustrated, he rewound once more and replayed the scene, trying to read the woman's lips. It looked like she said, "What are you doing here?"
The visitor finally stepped inside the room, but from the camera's angle behind and above, Nick could make out little. He could only see that the newcomer wore a dark hooded coat. The visitor approached the table and seemed to be engaged in conversation with the prisoner, who nodded and shook her head as if answering questions. Suddenly, the prisoner's eyes widened in what looked like alarm, and she appeared to recoil, but her shackled hands kept her anchored to the spot.
Then the visitor turned to face the camera, staring directly into the lens before the image went black.
Nick stopped the tape, his heart in his throat. He rewound to the moment before the door opened and paused it. He hesitated for a moment, but he had no choice. With a sigh, he pressed 'record,' overwriting the footage of Visiting Room C, erasing any evidence of the visitor's presence.
"Detective Knight?" He heard a voice at the doorway of the conference room. He turned to see the young woman from the lobby, nervously playing with her braid. "Did you watch the tape? That's the last person who ever saw my sister. Corrections can't tell me who it is. They aren't even looking into it; told me something about an early release?" She was speaking fast, stress underlining every word. "But that' had a life sentence. There's no early release for that, is there?" She paused and took a shaky breath before continuing, "I don't believe them. Did you read what happened in the prison? She would have called me if she got out. Can you help me?"
Nick could help her, but not in the way she hoped. He ejected the tape from the VCR and handed it to her. As she reached to take it from him, he captured her gaze in his, her heartbeat in his ears. "There's nothing on that tape," he told her, his voice firm yet soothing.
She nodded, her expression vacant.
Nick continued, "Your sister was granted an early release. You're estranged and that's why you haven't heard from her. You should go home now." Nick guided her gently back toward the lobby.
"She didn't call," the woman muttered, voice slightly dazed. "She's flaky like that."
Nick put a hand on her shoulder, "Get some rest, you'll feel better in the morning."
"I'm going to head home," she agreed, her tone distant. "Thanks, Detective."
After she left, Nick returned to the bullpen and tapped lightly on the frame of the open door to Cohen's office. She glanced up at him from the pile of paperwork in front of her. "Sorry, Cap," Nick began, "I know I said I could stay, but something urgent has come up and—"
"Go," Cohen interrupted, offering a small, weary smile. "I appreciate everything you've done. But like I said earlier, go home, get some rest."
"Thanks, Captain, I'll see you tomorrow."
Nick hurried out of the police station, digging his cellular phone from his inner coat pocket as soon as he stepped into the cool night air. He dialed, and the line rang repeatedly with no answer.
"Come on," Nick muttered, "pick up."
The line continued ringing. Just as he was about to hang up, the call finally connected—to a machine. It had no greeting, only a beep to indicate recording.
"Are you there?" he asked, his voice tense.
Silence.
With urgency in his tone, he continued, "We need to talk about Celeste. What exactly did you do, Janette?"
— — —
The End
Celeste was the young prostitute Janette tried to help in "A Fate Worse Than Death." Janette wanted to turn Celeste into a vampire until Nick revealed that she had murdered another prostitute. Nick arrested Celeste for that and two other murders.
