by N. M. Brown
“Is this our next case?” McQueen asked, flicking his eyes over the list.
“No.” The Chief said stiffly. “It is your personal case to work on. However, you and Hale will still be working on any current cases that come across your desk, so prepare yourself for some long, hard hours. I expect nothing short of your full dedication, McQueen.”
“Yes, Sir.” Had been his reply, and at the time, McQueen had been eager to start, but that was before he’d collected the case files.
Kesslis, who oversaw the file room at the station, had been nothing but helpful; finding every file he needed like she already knew where they were. When he said as much, she’d let out a little tittle.
“Please Detective.” She smiled, her auburn hair twisted into two buns on top her head and her long flowing skirt printed with lovely Koi fish. “I am keeper of the Files & Testimony Entrepot. This is my job.”
Her laugh rang in McQueen’s ears in the present, as he stared blankly at his desk. That had been three weeks ago, and he still sat with sixteen cold cases stacked in front of him like a barricade. He’d gone from Detective of the month, to paper pusher of the year and could testify to God himself his ego couldn’t be more deflated. Yet once again without hesitation, he reached for another file, trying to deduce any avenue that hadn’t been pursued. His soul told him he couldn’t leave this case behind unless he was certain he’d done everything he could.
“Any luck?” A dull voice asked from behind and McQueen smiled as Ramirez walked up to his desk. In the few weeks gone, Ramirez had stayed connected which was surprising as McQueen didn’t think he’d made an impact with his fellow officer, but soon after he was cleared from hospital Ramirez had become a fast friend.
“Hay.” McQueen responded swallowing the last of his chilly tea, smiling sadly. "I’m just having another look.”
Open in front of him, his current file showed a happy smiling child, aged five, blowing bubbles at the camera. The laugher on the little girl’s face made McQueen's heart clench but it wasn’t even the worst of the lot; every file had a photograph of a missing child inside. It seemed the parents believed the more heart crushing the photos was, the more people would aid in find their baby. Sadly, ever files was a paper cluster of cold-cases that no amount of bubble blowing was going to help now.
“You’re giving this a lot of attention.” Ramirez admitted and McQueen felt his stomach drop in guilt as he looked towards the guys desk. On it lay his own pile of paperwork on his desk: background checks, family history and further details on how the children went missing that he’d taken on as a favour. "I have to say, more attention than any Detective before you has."
McQueen lookedup in surprise. “These cases have been given to other Detectives?” The file boxes had been so dusty he was still blowing moth balls out his nose.
“Old cases are revisited now and again. Fresh eyes and all that.” Ramirez picked up a file and flicked through the pages. “Every time the big boss thinks someone needs a ‘time-out’ he gives them some old cold case to stir their brain for a while. Most Detectives look at them for a day or two before saying they’re a lost cause and go looking for the next big adventure. I think the longest I’ve seen a Detective go was a week, but that was because they could test some evidence for DNA which they couldn’t before. But that lead to nothing, so they dropped it eventually.” Ramirez nodded his head at McQueen, “But two weeks is a new record.”
McQueen chuckled in slight embarrassment. In fact, the idea of just passing them back and saying they were a lost cause hadn’t occurred to him. “Well, I think this is my last run. Nothing new has come up and I feel awful calling the parents asking if any new information. It just gives them false hope.”
Ramirez nodded sadly. They’d both seen their fair share of crying parents. After a beat, Ramirez’s eyes flickered over McQueen’s shoulder and narrowed. McQueen to hitch a smile. Turning he saw Reese slinking over. Whatever was between the officer and the computer tech,’ McQueen didn’t want to know.
“What’s up Reese?” McQueen asked, feeling proud of himself for telling him apart from his twin.
That had been a shock. Looking back, McQueen could have kicked himself for not seeing it; the timid photographer and outlandish hacker. Roman and his brother Reese, two sides of a vastly different coin. Going to view their apartment had cleared up a few things.
“McQueen. Ramirez.” Letting his eyes linger on Ramirez for a second too long, Reese collapsed into Hale’s chair, swinging his converse’s on to the desktop. “I did that background check you requested – again, and I checked surrounding areas for any suspicious characters as well… nothing.” Reese gave him a sorry smile, before tossing an elastic band ball from one hand to the other.
McQueen sighed. He’d held out a small amount of hope that something might popup and he had to admit pushing ahead with a positive light might be a waste of time.
“I just can’t shake the feeling I’ve missed something…” Eyes drifting from Ramirez to Reese, he saw them exchange a look. “Look, I get it, but I’m going to give these another go. One last time.”
“You need to know when to let a case go McQueen.” Reese said, wincing like he was giving some bad news. “ But... i guess i can see if I missed anything.”
Ramirez stood too and huffed a breath. “I’ll contact the orphanages and youth hostels again. See if they have anything.” Straightening his white shirt and black police tie, Ramirez levelled his gaze in McQueen’s direction. “I’ll give you one thing McQueen, you’re dedicated. I hope when I pass, I’m half as dedicated as you.”
With a slap on his back, he walked off and McQueen hoped so too. Ramirez wanted to pass his Detectives exam and was studying hard for it. He had a knack for Detective work, so he wished him the best of luck.
Shaking himself awake, McQueen tried to focus on the file in front of him. Bowing his head, he allowed the black ink to blur into the white paper; his brain ticking over once more.
Absently, he scratched at his back where his two taser burns were healing nicely. Echo on the other hand, had been in a coma from blood loss and despite his hesitation, he found himself praying she would pull through. Consequently, she did, and he almost regretted it.
Despite his strength of faith, McQueen had left Echo’s hospital room with a lead pebble in his stomach and as the weeks passed, it had only grown heavier. He had no doubt that was what Echo wanted; spitting world of demons and darkness, Hell, and the Devil. He tried to brush her warning off, but a sliver of uncertainty clung to his mind, testing his resolve. Was she crazy, was Sydney? They both believed that the Seven Deadly Sins of Hell were living among them. Coudl two peopple believe in teh same crazy? He dared not ponder for too long, instead, trying to move on.
He’d moved out of the Spindle & Tread and into his new room with Reese and Roman: identical twins who were ridiculously hard to tell apart. But that had only been the start: he’d rekindled what friendship he could with Sage, dedicating himself to not only a work life, but a social life too.
They’d met for coffee twice and each time her smile made him feel lighter, like that lead stone shrank each time she distracted him from his troubles.
Life had been nothing but serene … except going to Church. His one solace in times of darkness had turned ugly and sour. He still went to church, still prayed every night and only did what was good and rightious, but it wasn’t enough.
Praying to the Lord above only made that lead pebble grow heavier until he felt physically nauseous and lightheaded and going to Church itself… that was a different barrel of fish.
◆◆◆
On a Sunday, just as he did every week, McQueen went to church as his Nana would want him to and preyed to God. Some days he tried to stay for the sermon, other days he could only make an appearance before he had to make it back to work.
This particualr Sunday morning, he’d once again been unable to sleep, so had extra time to sit at the back and bow his head. The church was qu
iet at that time; the sermons hadn’t started yet and only a few page boys were mulling around. The comfort he once found in sitting in teh home of God had turned bitter and cold.
“Can I help you at all Son?” The priest had asked him, the dawn bells chiming overhead.
“Hello father.” McQueen welcomed. “I’m… just in need of some understanding.” He’d lamely admitted.
Truth was, what was clawing its way through his mind was a lot more biblical and insane than the good Father was probably expecting. However, his need for guidance was greater than his fear of looking a fool. He’d grasped at straws that morning and even then, he’d felt so stupid asking such ridiculous questions.
“Father? To want extent do you think that-… that demons, are real?” The Priest hadn't frowned at him or laughed at his silly question, which only lessened the weight on McQueen’s chest slightly.
“Do you fear demons Son?” The Father asked and McQueen sighed, expecting this kind of response. The Father wanted McQueen to find his own answers rather than give him one. He shouldn’t have expected anything else but questions from a man who lived to guide.
“No Father I don’t. It doesn’t matter.” McQueen had stood, making a move to leave when the Father clasped a hand on his shoulder to stop him.
“All troubles of God’s children are of great matter, my Son.” The wrinkled old man had a soft sparkle in his eye. It was a sparkle of a man who was doing what he loved and had been doing it for many years. “Demons can- and do - take many forms child. To some they are temptations, others they are found inside themselves already. Some children of God see them in dark shadows while others… other’s see things entirely different.”
McQueen had contemplated his words, sitting back down slowly. “And do you think… do you think someone could wholly convince themselves that-… certain demons had manifested themselves as… people?”
The Father understandably took a minute. “I believe that some people’s minds are sick. They can create entire worlds around them that no one else can see or understand. I believe Doctors classify it these days as Schizophrenia, but I am not a doctor so couldn’t diagnose anyone.”
“But what if it wasn’t just in their mind? What if they saw these daemons as everyday people? People I could-… I mean, everyone could see. People you’d met, touched, and talked to. What if you knew their personalities were… sinful? Could a person believe in this fantasy so strongly, they’d convinced others too?”
This really spooked the Father. He took longer to reply and as every minute went by, McQueen wished he’d kept his mouth closed
“My Son.” The Father said looking him straight it the eyes. “I feel this is no longer hypothetical. Is there someone you know who see’s such demons? Does someone need help? The help of God or that of a certified Doctor?”
McQueen hung his head. How could he explain to others what he barely understood himself? He’d tried passing off what he had heard in that basement as delusions, but he knew that was the coward’s way out. Then he’d tried to pass Echo off as crazy - had even told her so in the hospital the day she woke up - but Sydney had been so convinced too.
Could two people believe in the same schizophrenic world? Could one crazy belief be imprinted onto another? Or was it something on the flip side: did seven people believe themselves to be seven corporeal beings from Hell, and had pushed their ideas onto a young, impressionable mind? But with every new theory McQueen made, a hole would appear and the more he thought about it, the more it grew.
“No Father.” McQueen smiled sadly at the Priest. “I don’t think any Doctor or Man of Faith could help. Not even if it was wanted.”
If the Father wanted to question him some more, McQueen didn’t let him.
Making excuses he’d left, tucking his gloved hands deeper into his pockets against the cold and swore he’d never mention that conversation again. Passing the adorable nativity scene by the doors, the strong smell of hay wafting up his nose, McQueen realised Christmas was fast approaching and he’d felt far from merry.
◆◆◆
“Ah. What a day?” Hale huffed as he stretched, cracking his back and rubbing heavy hands down his face. Dark rings ran under his eyes and he looked tired. Despite the Chief telling McQueen that the cold case was his alone, Hale had helped, but they’d had three other homicides in the past two weeks. They were both drained.
One homicide had been a slam dunk, the wife giving a confession within twelve hours, while the other was a homeless man in a drunken bar fight gone wrong. The last had been slipped onto McQueen’s desk at the start of the weekend, and was looking like a robbery-gone-wrong. They were waiting on a neighbouring county to get back to them, so McQueen had taken to his cold cases while they waited.
With only a few final cases to go over, he refused to stop looking until they were all done, unable to leave one file unchecked like it wasn't as important as the others. “Have you discovered anything we might have missed?” McQueen asked, hopeful as ever, but Hale only gave him a hard look.
The man hadn’t argued when McQueen had dived headfirst into the cold case. He hadn’t argued when McQueen continued to look a week down the line and pushed on another seven days. This was the start of week three however and now Hale wasn’t pleased.
“No. I haven’t found anything.” He groaned as he frowned into his empty coffee cup. “And unless you find something new…” He trailed off with sad incline of his head. “Sometimes McQueen, we do have to give up and admit defeat. There are new cases every day that need our attention more. These kids are gone, or dead, or don’t want to be found.” Hale got up, taking his coffee cup with him to get a re-fill. “Don’t beat a dead dog.”
McQueen, being the good Christian, nodded but dropped his head and breathed, knowing Hale meant well. He couldn’t get angry at the man. The truth was, nothing in his first few weeks as an officer could have prepared him for this; this feeling of failure.
“Hot tempers cause arguments, but patience brings peace.” McQueen muttered to himself adding a prayer to God himself to show him the light of this dismal affair.
“Why so glum chum?” A preppy voice popped behind him.
Every muscle in McQueen's body froze with panic, followed swiftly by the unappeasable need to vomit. Slowly raising his head, McQueen slid his gaze up lusciously long, leather clad legs, to a peek-a-boo cleavage cuddled in a burgundy leather jacket. Her hair was up in a haphazard bun with loose strands hanging around her neck. She looked like she’d just woken up, yet as if she’d spent hours getting every carefree strand right.
“Ech-… I mean Ms. Headly. I didn’t-…” McQueen choked on his tongue before he made himself take a deep breath. “When were you released from hospital? I was told you would be in for a few more weeks.”
“You care?” She questioned, picking up and adjusting the chair next to his desk, sitting herself squarely in his line of view. She then promptly began reaching for one of the files on his desk, only stopping when McQueen slammed a hand on top of it. It drew a few wandering eyes, but otherwise no one was paying too much attention.
“Will you relax Queenie?” Echo smiled, using that infuriating nickname she refused to drop. “I let myself out of hospital. But enough about my life-and-death experience. How’s Queenie? How’s police work? Find any interesting cases?” Hooking one leg over the other, she bounced it up and down, drawing his eyes to her heavy winter, biker boots.
He ground his teeth together, knowing she was here for other reasons, but she would rather enjoy torturing him just for the fun of it. Father help him he couldn’t be bothered to figure out her game. “What do you want Ms. Headly? And don’t tell me it’s for a catch-up?”
“Fine, fine, fine.” Echo smiled but her eyes never left his. “I’m here to report a scandalous case. My poor home was accosted by a treacherous woman in the early hours of this morning and I’d like to file a report.”
