“I know, Bishop. You’ve told me.” I didn’t want it to come across that I didn’t appreciate his words. But hearing them made what I came in here to do hurt all the more.
“I’m sorry.” He chuckled at his sentimentality. “Go on, then. What brings you in?”
After stalling for as long as possible, I stood up and placed my hand over my rib cage. Steadying myself against his desk, I reached into my back pocket and took out my badge. As I placed it on his desk, I saw confusion sweep across his face. I took another deep breath and began the speech I had rehearsed several times on my way over here.
“I’m putting in my resignation, effective immediately,” I said. He looked at me as if I had just told him I only had a few days to live.
“No,” he said and pushed my badge back in my direction.
“Bishop,” I pleaded.
“No,” he repeated. “You had a lousy few months, and this case really took its toll on you. I get that. Take the rest of your medical leave, and come back in two weeks.”
“I’ve thought this through. I…I need to get out of here.”
“Where will you go?” he asked. It was a good question.
“I don’t know.” I looked away from him. “I just know this is something I need to do.”
He looked me in the eyes for a long time, and I could feel him reading me the way he did a suspect during an interrogation. He was searching for any signs of discomfort or hesitation to see if I believed my statement. He stood up and leaned over his desk to pick up my badge. He examined it cautiously and swiped his thumb over my name, which was engraved below the city’s seal.
“You’re sure this is what you want?”
“I’m sure.”
“I’ll let admin know,” he said as he placed my badge in his middle desk drawer. “But I want you to know: You’ll always have a place here.”
“Thank you,” I said—and I really appreciated his offer. “Who knows? I might be here in a few months, begging for my job back,” I tried to joke.
“I hope you do,” Bishop replied. He made no attempt to hide his sincere desire for that scenario to come true.
I didn’t want to create an emotional goodbye, so I politely nodded my head at him and turned to walk out of his office. As I opened the door, I took one last deep breath and let the scent of typewriter ink and sugared pastries fill my lungs. I was going to miss the early morning chatter of Braxton, bragging about the latest case he’d solved. I was going to miss Bishop and the way he’d walk over to me from his office and ask if I wanted to ride with him to the newest crime scene.
But I wasn’t going to miss feeling like there was something more for me out there. That was the only reason I was leaving. I wasn’t running from the painful memories lurking around every corner in Lyons. I was running toward something, something new and exciting—even if I wasn’t sure what that something was yet.
“I’ll see ya, Mills,” Bishop said as walked out the door.
“I’ll see ya.” I turned to face him and smiled.
As I closed his office door behind me, I walked quickly past my desk and didn’t make eye contact with anyone. I just wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible without seeing anyone else. It was hard enough telling Bishop my decision. I didn’t want to have to tell a room full of question-toting detectives that I was leaving too.
But there was something I had to do before I left.
Standing in front of my old desk, I opened the bottom drawer and pulled out the copy of Tara’s file. I placed it under my left arm and walked toward the back of the station. Next to the doorway was the trash can and the recycling bin.
As I opened the lid to the recycling bin, I stood over it and held the folder that contained the last two years’ worth of my private investigating. Tara’s murder—and the search for her killer—were officially over. There was no need to hold on to my notes. I had finished the job.
I let her file slip from my hands. I closed my eyes as the sound of papers hitting the sides of the bin echoed through the room. Once each paper had landed in its final resting place, I closed the lid and looked back across the station one last time.
I was ready to move on.
I walked down the cement stairs of the police station and smiled at the chill in the air. As I looked toward my car that was parked on the street, I saw Ali still sitting in the driver’s seat with Viggo standing on his hind legs in the backseat. He had his two front paws propped on the door, and he looked out the window. He started to wag his tail when he saw me, and he jumped from the backseat to the passenger’s seat when I opened the door to get in.
“Everything go okay?” Ali asked.
“Yeah,” I quietly answered as I shut the door, holding back a few tears. “Let’s just go.” I tried to force a smile.
Without saying another word, Ali started the car and drove forward. It took a while to get to the edge of town. We passed Denim and the supermarket by my house. We passed the video stores and the ice-cream parlor—and plenty of places Tara and I used to frequent. As we continued driving, I couldn’t help but say a silent goodbye to each spot. I wasn’t a sentimental person, but there was something about small-town sensibility that I wanted to hold on to.
As we reached the city limits, we approached a fork in the road. We got to the stop sign, and Ali turned to me. I looked to the left. Even though I had turned onto this road a thousand times in my life, it all seemed new to me now. I felt the same when I looked to the right.
“Which way?” she asked.
Epilogue
Two years have passed since Ali and I left Lyons.
Initially, we drove to a small rental cabin just outside of Gatlinburg, Tennessee, and we let the quiet calm of nature be our only form of adventure. Late at night, we would discuss where we’d like to go, and we eventually decided to go back to Chicago where Ali ran her agency.
We’ve been working together ever since.
It wasn’t until I received an invitation to Bishop’s retirement party that I felt an urge to go back to Lyons. Sure, there were times I missed being part of a police force, and Ali’s cheating-spouse cases had become a bit mundane. But we had a good thing going in Chicago.
Bishop’s retirement party was at the station. Ali and I were the only attendees who didn’t work for Lyons P.D., so we had to wear visitors’ passes. Had I not worked there previously, I doubt we would have been allowed in at all. It was rather jarring to be considered a visitor in a place I once called home.
Plastic handcuffs and toy police badges hung from the ceiling with fishing wire. Toy police batons and costume police hats were on a long table brought up from the cafeteria. A punch bowl sat in the middle of the table, along with doughnuts that had been cut into appetizer-size pieces. The main course was six large pizzas that were delivered to the station just as we arrived. And a sheet cake with “Congratulations, Bishop!” was on display at the far end of the buffet table.
Not much had changed at the station since I left. Braxton was still sergeant. The main door to our unit still stuck and had to be yanked open. Even the photographs on the walls leading to the interview room were all the same.
As Ali talked with a few rookie officers by the elevator, I decided it would be a good time to walk around. I approached the desk that used to be mine, and I stopped in front of it. I had expected it to be just the way I left it, with my computer monitor in the same place along with all my pens and notepads. But it wasn’t exactly the same. Things had been moved around. I had been replaced.
Staring at the desk that once was mine, I took a deep breath as I tried to picture what my life would have been like if I’d stayed. There was no room for advancement once Braxton accepted the position of sergeant, so I would have spent the last two years investigating break-ins and minor drug busts. But part of me—the part that was bored to death investigating insurance fraud and infidelities—envied the alternate life I could have been living here.
As I turned to walk toward th
e main hallway so I could rejoin the party, I saw Bishop standing in his doorway, watching me. He was holding a drink in his left hand and carrying a piece of cake with a fork sticking out of the top of it in his right hand. He cleared his throat to let his presence be known, and I motioned for him to come over. I turned myself back around to face my desk as he stood beside me.
“I brought you some cake,” he said as he handed me the plate.
“Thanks,” I said. “Store-bought?”
“Brax’s wife made it.” After a long pause from both of us, Bishop let out a sigh. “Do you miss it?”
“I do,” I admitted.
“It took us a long time to fill this desk,” Bishop said as he patted the wooden chair I used to sit in daily. It was something he told me repeatedly during the past two years when he came to visit Ali and me in Chicago. “We were hoping you’d come back,” he added.
“You’re the only one who hoped that.” I playfully nudged him with my elbow.
“Do you ever think about coming back?” he asked.
“I do.” I wanted to give him all the reasons I couldn’t come back, but I knew he wouldn’t listen.
“Now that I’ve retired, Braxton’s moving up to captain,” he said before taking a sip from his drink. “That means the sergeant’s job is going to be open again….” He trailed off, allowing me a chance to reply. But I didn’t say anything, so he continued. “I already spoke to admin. If you want it, the position’s yours.”
“Bishop,” I was rather taken off guard by his abrupt proposal. How many officers thought they were next in line for the sergeant position? I couldn’t just barge in and take what wasn’t rightfully mine. “Ali and I have a business in Chicago, you know that,” I pleaded with him.
“A business she can move,” he said.
As I thought about what to say next, Bishop set his drink on the corner of my old desk and fished through his jacket pockets. After a few moments, he pulled his hand from his inner breast pocket and handed me my old badge.
I stared at it, the fluorescent lights filled the crevices of the city’s logo. How many times had I held this badge in front of a witness or a potential suspect? This was more than just a piece of metal I was holding—this was heart.
“Just think about it,” Bishop said and slowly walked away.
When I turned around to watch him leave, I saw Ali was standing nearby. I was sure she had overheard my conversation with Bishop.
Ali started to walk toward my old desk, where I was still standing. She took my badge from my hands and smiled.
“You heard?” I asked.
“I heard,” she replied. But she didn’t give me the impression she was bothered by the thought of moving back to Lyons. “Are you going to take it?”
I looked at her and tried to gauge her reaction. All of this came so suddenly, I didn’t have much time to think about it. In Chicago, I felt more like a tourist than a permanent resident, yet moving back to Lyons had always felt like it would be a step backward.
Until now.
I was offered a higher position within the department, and moving back to Lyons didn’t seem like a terrible idea.
“What do you think?” I asked.
“I think we can make it work if this is what you really want,” Ali said. I looked at my old desk then over to where Braxton’s office was—the same office that could be mine.
An office. With four walls and a door. Walls that I could decorate and a door I could slam when Braxton would inevitably piss me off. Did I really want to put myself through decades of orders from Braxton?
I took a deep breath, looked at Ali, and nodded. “It is,” I smiled through the tears tickling my waterline.
I could do this. We could do this. Ali and I could finally be happy in Lyons. Maybe we just needed some time away to make our relationship about us, and only us.
Coming back to Lyons hadn’t crossed my mind until just now. But this was my home. My demons were gone and this is where I needed to be. It’s where I wanted to be. I was fortunate enough to be with someone who didn’t hold me back and I had to take this opportunity to further my career. “I’ll let Bishop know,” I smiled and a sea full of optimism at the unknown flooded my mind.
About The Author
Michelle DiCeglio has been working in law enforcement for twenty years. She volunteers as a director, photographer and (sometimes) stage manager for a local theatre. In her spare time, she writes and directs short films. Her photography has been published in newspapers and online magazines/blogs.
Michelle is married, and has two dogs and three cats. She hopes to see her novels turn into a movie or television show one day (Netflix, are you listening?).
Other Titles by Michelle DiCeglio You May Enjoy
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If you love the drama of Glee, Pitch Perfect, and So You Think You Can Dance then you will fall in love with this in depth look at what it's like to find yourself while pretending to be someone else.
“My heart began to race. Was all this applause really for me? I felt a nudge from behind me and stepped forward. The audience began banging on their tables, and I heard a few cat calls from the side of the stage. The more I let the performance rush linger, the more I realized I wanted to do this as often as I could.”
It’s a typical Friday night for “River Dancer,” who initially joined dance troupe Friday Night Players to get closer to “Siren,” the troupe’s leading female performer. When River learns that Siren is dating another member of FNP, however, he must decide where his loyalties lie: with the troupe or with his heart.
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Josh and Emma own a beautiful house together, and they’re getting married in less than a year. Josh wonders how he ever got to be so lucky as he waits for Emma to come home – only she doesn’t.
Tragedy soon tears Josh’s life apart, as he’s trapped in the stages of grief and believes he can control his dreams to reclaim a future with Emma that Fate so cruelly ripped from his grasp... that is, until he meets Natalie.
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