Chapter 4 part 1

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Chapter 4

The clothes were dry.  Finally, he was warm.

With his feet sheltered by the worn boots, William's stagger had evolved to a more steady walk and he crossed the street quickly to another alley.

This way, The Caretaker said.

The Advisor and The Hunter walked at his side, with The Caretaker in the lead.  William tried to push back the fog, to orient himself to the streets he had grown up in, with no result.  He thought Jessica's apartment was in the other direction, but he couldn't be sure in the fog.  He followed the voices a few steps more.

Down the alley was a parking lot and what looked like a small grocery store.  The pang of hunger at the thought of food gave him something to focus on, brought more color to his surroundings and shadowed the intensity of the voices.

The Caretaker led him around to the back of the store and stopped at a dumpster.

William looked up.  Nothing to climb to.  Nothing on the roof far above.

You need food.  You are hungry, The Caretaker said.

He followed her arm.  She was pointing at the dumpster.

There is food inside.

The Advisor stepped up.  It is fresh. Clean.

William looked between them, then to The Hunter as he prowled by.  "No."  He looked back down the alley.  He needed to be at Jessica's apartment, needed to be there to protect her.

The Caretaker stepped closer to him.  You need to eat.

The Hunter joined in.  You need to be strong.

William turned from them all.  They were right.  Without food, he wouldn't be able to protect her from anything.  But this wasn't food.  It was trash.  He clutched at the dumpster's lid and tightened his fingers until the sharp edge pressed into his palms.  The Hunter stepped up, but William leaned in, closer to the pain, nearer to the rusted metal and the old, rancid odors.  They gave him a focus.  He dove into the sensations and the fog wilted.  After a moment it had dissipated.

He kept his grip to ward the voices away.  His head sagged down to the lid, between his hands.  Even years ago, the voices wouldn't have listened.  They protected him, helped him.  But they had always been poor company, had never responded to his requests.

And now, they wanted him to eat like this, out of the trash.

"Leave."  William leaned down further against the dumpster.  "Just leave me alone."

An image of Jess formed in his eyes.  First, in the white room, where she held his hand and smiled, without meaning it.  He pushed that image away, went back further.  He found one of the two of them walking and of a smile that was real.

It was for her.  William knew that.  The voices had made him attack the doctor who wouldn't let him out.  They had pulled him out here for Jess, because somehow, she needed him.  But he didn't understand how yet.  He assumed she needed his protection, as Mary had in the hospital room.  But from what?  The voices wouldn't tell him what she needed protection from, only that she needed him. 

But that wasn't what was hurting him.

He sank to his knees, turned his back against the dumpster and closed his eyes.  He knew what the voices had meant when they had said that she needed him.  It was about what she needed, not what she wanted.  She still didn't want him, and wouldn't want him like this, commanded by the voices and eating trash.  He could escape the hospital, be here to watch and protect her, but he wouldn't get her back this way.

"I don't want it."  But he knew that didn't matter.

As he opened his eyes, the fog settled around him.  His face went slack.

You need to eat, The Caretaker said.

The Advisor formed next to him.  Get up.

William rose to face the dumpster.

 *

Bryan flipped the pages one-handed as he stomped up the wide marble stairs to the homicide squad room on the third floor.  Below him, the foyer boomed with more than its usual chaos, filled with politicians and brass congratulating themselves on their newest plans to combat crime.  Bryan continued up the steps, undistracted.  He closed the folder.

It was all a load of shit.

A missing person case.  That's all it was.  A load of shit.

For the first year after the fire he'd worked on his old case load and new homicide cases.  His clearance rate had been better than anyone else's in the department and he'd scored eight convictions.  But then six months ago, Hayes had stopped giving him real cases.  Nothing.  Not one new homicide case.  Just busywork cases like this that should have been handled by patrol officers or junior detectives fresh out of school.  Not a homicide detective.

He was good at his job.  And he needed every hard, draining minute of it.

He trudged up the last few stairs, pressed through the door into the homicide squad room and wound his way around the nearest fabric covered cubicle maze toward his own desk.  The room gave up its forty year history with laptops placed next to electric typewriters and tall file cabinets.  The case board hung on the far wall, a tall red ink list of victims' names.

Still yards away from his desk, Bryan could smell them before he could hear them.  The stench was acrid, harsh in his nose.  Not the warmth of campfire smoke, but the metal tinged after-bite of a chemical fueled building fire.

It stopped Bryan immediately.  Another fire. 

With the smell still on them, it had to have been last night.  And he hadn't heard or seen anything on the news, so it must have been another small fire, not one of the big ones.  Thank god. 

But he knew they would probably be talking about the big fires.  He listened.

"Shit knows what they got doused with, couldn't find a trace of gas or anything on the bodies afterwards, but they came running out of there like roman candles.  Never seen anything like it."  That was Nichols.

"Worse than last night?  That's wild."  Bryan didn't recognize this voice.  It was probably one of the rookie detectives.  Maybe Dieterly or Hicks.

"Don't tell it like that, Nichols.  Okay?"  Bryan's breath eased at this voice.  Meyers.  One of the best in the department.  They even had a beer after work a few times, years ago.  Meyers was one of the few detectives who hadn't tried to foist paperwork off on Bryan over the last six months. 

Bryan continued toward his desk as Meyers' voice came back.  "And you, shut your rookie ass up.  You ever hear what it's like?  To burn like that?  It's not wild, it's not cool."

Bryan rounded the cube wall and Meyers choked back what he was saying.  The three detectives were at the coffee pot only yards away.  He dropped the file down on his empty desk.

"Mickelson.  Hey.  I'm sorry.  I didn't mean anything."

Bryan waved a hand at Meyers.  He sat, opened the file, glazed over the contents as the three men stood silent.  Why did his desk have to be so close to the damn coffee maker?  "My lungs hurt for months, and all I got was smoke."  He looked up at the rookie.  It was Dieterly.  "You guys get another member for the task force?"

Nichols smiled, but it was Meyers who answered.  "Fire's running short of trained marshals.  Lieutenant wanted us to have someone else."

"He thought a rookie would be best."  Nichols' gut shook as he chuckled.

Bryan's hands dropped to his lap, right thumb to the watch face.  "How's the case going?"

Nichols reached out, tapped Bryan's dark computer screen with short fingers.  A sticky note hung there.  SEE ME - HAYES.  "Why don't you ask the Lieutenant?"

Bryan looked to Meyers.  "Still short on evidence?"

Meyers' eyes turned to Hayes' office.  "Got some bomb fragments from these new ones, the small ones.  Still looks like racial violence.  But at the big ones...nothing.  They don't make sense."  Bryan met his eyes only briefly before Meyers looked away.  "We're trying.  We are."

Bryan nodded, pulled his hands back up to the file.  "Let me know.  Okay?"  His peripheral vision caught them walking from the coffee pot.

Dieterly's voice came back to Bryan first.  "What's his deal?"

Nichols chuckled again.  "Burn out."

(Author's note:  Does anyone else have the feeling that Bryan's meeting with his boss isn't going to go well?  Read on to see what happens!)

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