― Tasha Alexander
I was sitting in the Chinese restaurant with Clare trying to carry on as if life were normal, when it wasn't.
In my mind's eye I could picture the calibrated axis of the sniper's scope and my head dead centre. I didn't want to ruin her dinner but she was now my partner and I felt I had to tell her.
I tried to make my tone sound casual. "I stopped by the scene of Sarah's shooting on my way back from the city."
Her eyes widened. "Why'd you do that?"
"We were close and that was the last place we were together. I wanted to tell her I was back on the case."
She stopped eating and stared at me until I began to colour.
"Does that sound weird to you?" I asked.
She shook her head. "My mom died when I was seventeen. I talk to her each night before I go to sleep and say a prayer."
"Are you Catholic?"
She nodded. "Yeah, we pray for the dead."
"Same here," I added. "Going back there was like visiting her grave."
"Did you sense her presence?" she whispered.
"Naw, there was someone uninvited there."
Now her eyes were huge. "You mean, he showed up?"
"Ya, guess he's been stalking me―wants to finish the job."
"What did you do?"
"Saw the sun glint off the gun barrel and hit the dirt. Scanned the cliffs but he was gone. Finally figured it was clear and got the hell out of there."
"You didn't call for back-up?" she asked, incredulous.
Again, I coloured. "I left the hand-held unit in the charger back in my vehicle―besides, he was clearly sending a message―back off and you live. Well, I'm not backing off. I'm going back and scan that ridge for clues or any trace evidence he might have left behind."
She shook her head. "You're not doing that alone. Cyril will want to cover the zone―put a drone overhead with thermal imaging and tape down the scene."
"But it's dark now," I said, staring at the black restaurant window.
Her eyes were filled with sparks of fire. "Yeah, I know. We're sitting here in a lighted display case. I don't want you to ever play Lone Ranger again. You're not only endangering yourself but me as well. Do I make myself clear?"
I nod, deservedly chastened. "I'm sorry, Clare―you're right―it was a dumb move."
She softened. "Okay, let's put it behind us. At least now we know we're rattling his cage."
I felt sheepish for being impulsive. I suppose I didn't really trust Cyril's judgment as much as I thought. Wanted to see the evidence, but narrowly avoided being a victim.
Later back in my new loft, the guilt set in. I was wrong to put Clare in danger by putting a target on my back. Isn't that how Sarah was killed―taking a bullet meant for me?
I stopped for a moment and paused at the thought. Why did I assume I was the target? The sniper tried to kill both of us. I was shocked at how skewed my thinking had been. It was as if all my training went out the window eclipsed by the shock of seeing her die before me.
I began to question whether my personal feelings might colour my analysis of the case. The doubts began to pile up inside me exhausting and overwhelming my senses. I couldn't think―just needed to sleep.
I lay back on the couch and closed my eyes to clear my head but in minutes I was soon fast asleep.
And then Sarah came to me as she often did, speaking softly in the gentle voice of dreams.
"I'm glad you returned," she whispered, "I knew you wouldn't forget me."
The tears began to roll down my cheeks and my throat tightened until I couldn't speak.
"It's all right," she consoled, "you're here for me. I knew I could always count on you."
And then before I could answer, she was gone, evanescent as an autumn mist. And once again I was left alone and bereft, unable to reach out and connect.
I awoke and the cushion was damp from tears and my heart broken from grief. I felt empty and desolate as that field where I lay with Sarah just out of my reach.
And somewhere above us death rained down and The Destroyer wasted my dream.