Confess

2. Autumn

Darly and I had been partners for a long time, so we knew each other inside out. We were more than just colleagues; we were like family. We shared our joys and our sorrows, always there for each other through thick and thin. After finishing up at the crime scene, I opened the car door and slid into the driver’s seat. Darly settled into the seat beside me. I pulled the keys out of my pocket and started the engine. As I glanced over at Darly, I noticed something unusual—he looked more pensive than I’d ever seen him before.

As I drove, he reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out his usual brand of cigarettes, the old brand he’d been smoking for years. He fumbled around, searching for something to light it with. Without a word, I took the lighter from my pocket and handed it to him. He nodded in thanks, a silent gesture that spoke volumes, and lit his cigarette. Then, he removed his fedora and ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back in that familiar way he always did when something was weighing heavily on his mind.

The drive was quiet, almost oppressively so. Darly didn’t say a word, and every five to ten minutes, he’d light another cigarette, each puff seeming to take him deeper into his thoughts. When we finally arrived at the precinct, he barely waited for the car to come to a full stop before he jumped out and hurried up the stairs. Our office was on the second floor. I parked the car, then headed inside, making my way up to our office.

When I opened the door, I found him sitting at his desk, still lost in thought. He had already pulled out the bottle of whiskey he kept stashed in his drawer, and he was drinking, the tumbler half-empty in front of him. He hadn’t even taken off his overcoat yet. The room was dim, the only light coming from the desk lamp casting a soft glow over the scene. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and whiskey, the scent of long nights and old memories.

Darly’s usual sharpness was gone, replaced by a heavy, brooding silence. It was as if the weight of the day’s events had finally caught up to him, and he was drowning in it. I watched him for a moment, unsure of what to say. We had been through a lot together, but I had never seen him like this—so deep in his own mind, as if the world around him had ceased to exist. It was a side of Darly I rarely saw, and it made the atmosphere in the room almost unbearably tense.

I approached him and asked, “Are you okay?”

Darly let out a heavy sigh, a weariness in his voice that I hadn’t heard before. “How can I be?” he replied. “While you were out talking to the neighbors, I got a call from the bank. It’s getting harder to keep up with the bills on a cop’s salary. Last year, my wife left and took my son with her. Now the bank wants to take my car and my house for what I owe.”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I knew things had been rough for him, but I hadn’t realized how bad it had gotten. “Don’t worry about it,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’m your brother, Darly. We’ll get through this together. You can move in with me. I’m living alone anyway.”

Darly shook his head, his pride still intact despite everything. “No, I can’t do that. I won’t be a burden to you.”

But I didn’t back down. I insisted, laying out the logic for him, reminding him of the countless times we’d had each other’s backs. Finally, after a long pause, he relented. “Alright,” he said quietly, “but just until I can get back on my feet.”

There was a moment of silence between us, the weight of the conversation lingering in the air. Then, as if to shake it off, Darly turned the topic back to the morning’s murder. “They might try to get rid of the murder weapon,” he muttered, his voice back to its usual gruff tone. “Jash, go tell Chris to hurry up. Let’s see if those cigarette butts lead us anywhere.”

I nodded, feeling the urgency return. “You’re right. I’ll tell him right away.” With that, I left the room, the door closing softly behind me.

As I walked down the hallway, the tension was palpable. The clock was ticking, and every second counted. The cigarette butts might be our only lead, and we couldn’t afford to lose any more time.

After leaving the office, I descended the stairs to the first floor, my footsteps echoing in the narrow stairwell. The lab was down there, and I was in a hurry to reach it. As I approached the lab door, I noticed Alberto stepping out. Alberto was a fellow cop, but we never got along. He was in narcotics and always believed his job was tougher than ours. I,

He sauntered over to me with that smug grin I’d come to loathe. “Hey, Jash. How’s the murder investigation going?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

My temper flared. I wasn’t in the mood for his games. “Mind your own business, Alberto. I’m not in the best mood,” I shot back, my words sharp.

He sneered, not backing down. “Why don’t you tell Darly he’s getting too old for this? Maybe it’s time he retired.”

That was the last straw. “Is your mother that old too?” I retorted, my voice cold.

I knew it was harsh, but he had it coming. The moment the words left my mouth, I saw the shift in his expression. His face twisted with rage, and he stormed toward me, shoving me with both hands. My instincts kicked in, and before I could think, my right fist connected with his face, the impact reverberating up my arm. Chaos erupted. Nearby officers noticed the altercation and rushed over to break us apart. Alberto was fuming, throwing out threats as he stormed out of the building, his face flushed with anger. Once the commotion settled, I took a deep breath, trying to steady my pulse. I turned toward the lab door, pushed it open, and stepped inside. The air was thick with the smell of chemicals and antiseptic. Chris was there, his back to the door, engrossed in his work. The hum of machines filled the room, and the glow from the fluorescent lights cast a cold, sterile light over everything.

I walked over to Chris, who was hunched over his workstation, eyes glued to the microscope. "How’s it going, Chris? Found anything yet?" I asked, trying to keep the urgency out of my voice.

Chris glanced up briefly, his fingers still manipulating the fine adjustment knob. "I’m analyzing those cigarette butts we found," he said, his voice measured. "They’re from an expensive brand. Not something you’d see every day."

I nodded, absorbing the information. "When can we expect the results?" I asked, leaning in a bit closer.

"A few days," Chris replied, his tone nonchalant, as if we had all the time in the world.

I stepped closer, making sure he understood the gravity of the situation. "Twelve hours would be better. I’ll be expecting those results by tonight," I said firmly.

Chris sighed, his shoulders tensing slightly. "Easier said than done," he muttered, but then he looked up at me with a determined expression. "I promise I’ll do everything I can."

I gave him a curt nod. "That’s all I ask," I said, appreciating his commitment. With that, I turned and headed for the door, leaving him to his work.

As I stepped out of the lab, I couldn’t help but notice Alberto’s office directly across the hall. He was sitting at his desk, glaring at me with eyes full of seething anger. His body language screamed tension—his feet tapped rapidly against the floor, and his hands gripped the arms of his chair so tightly that his knuckles were white. I caught his gaze and, unable to resist, gave him a quick wink and a smirk. His face contorted with barely contained fury, but I didn’t linger to see more. I turned on my heel and headed up the stairs, feeling the heat of his glare on my back the entire way.

When I reached our office, I found Darly still in the same spot I’d left him. The nearly empty whiskey bottle was a testament to his turmoil. His eyes were red-rimmed, and the weight of the world seemed to be pressing down on his shoulders.

"I spoke to Chris," I said, trying to sound casual as I closed the office door behind me. "You don’t look so good, Darly. Why don’t you head home and get some rest? Or better yet, let’s go to my place. We’ll talk, and you can unwind a bit."

Darly shook his head, his voice firm but weary. "No, Jash. I’m fine like this. You go get some rest."

But I wasn’t about to let him off that easily. "Come on, you need to relax a little. Let’s step outside and take a walk. Some fresh air will do you good. Maybe by the time we get back, Chris will have found something from those cigarettes."

He looked at me, exasperation mixed with reluctant acceptance. "Alright, alright," he said, a small, tired smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I get it. You’re not going to leave me alone until I agree."

Finally, I managed to get him up from his chair. He reached for his fedora, which had been resting on the desk, and placed it carefully on his head. Darly never went anywhere without that hat; it was as much a part of him as the badge he wore. It was worn, the brim frayed and the fabric faded, but to him, it was priceless. We descended the stairs cautiously. Darly’s steps were steady, but his bloodshot eyes betrayed the toll of exhaustion and stress. If you didn’t know him, you wouldn’t think he was anything but sober, but I knew better. The past few hours had drained him in a way that even a bottle of whiskey couldn’t mask.

When we stepped outside, the sun was peeking through the clouds, casting a warm, golden glow on the street. There was a gentle breeze in the air, just enough to ruffle the leaves in the trees and cool our faces. It was the kind of weather that begged for a walk, the kind that could clear your head and maybe even bring a bit of peace. Darly adjusted his hat and glanced at me, a silent agreement passing between us. As we started down the sidewalk, the world felt a little less heavy, the burden of the day easing ever so slightly. The city moved around us, oblivious to the demons we were battling, but for a moment, it didn’t matter. We were just two partners, taking a walk, trying to find our way back to some semblance of normalcy. The tension of the day hadn’t fully lifted, but out here, with the sun warming our faces and the breeze carrying away some of the weight, it felt like maybe, just maybe, things would be alright.

There was a park right next to the station, a small patch of green amidst the concrete and steel of the city. Darly and I walked there in silence, the sounds of our footsteps mingling with the distant hum of traffic. The park was nearly empty, as it was still working hours, and most people were busy with their daily grind. It gave the place an almost surreal quietness, as if the world had paused for just a moment. As we entered, the air was cool and crisp, carrying the earthy scent of rain-soaked soil. Yesterday's downpour had left behind shallow puddles that mirrored the overcast sky, their surfaces rippling gently in the breeze. Fallen leaves, in shades of amber, gold, and burnt orange, were scattered across the grass, painting the park in autumn’s vibrant hues. The colors were rich, almost glowing against the gray backdrop of the day.

The trees, half-naked with the season’s change, stood like silent sentinels, their branches swaying softly. A few leaves still clung stubbornly to the limbs, rustling quietly, as if sharing secrets with the wind. The park benches, slick with rain, were empty, their usual occupants—the elderly, young couples, and mothers with strollers—nowhere to be seen. Only a few birds flitted about, hopping through the leaves and pecking at the ground, seemingly unfazed by the weather or the lack of company.

Darly and I found a path that wound through the park, its gravel crunching under our feet. We walked slowly, neither of us in a hurry, both of us lost in our thoughts. The silence between us was comfortable, the kind that only long years of partnership could cultivate. Every now and then, Darly would adjust his fedora, his fingers brushing the brim absentmindedly. His face was still drawn with worry, but out here, surrounded by the quiet beauty of the park, there was a softness in his expression that hadn’t been there before. It was as if the park’s calm was seeping into him, smoothing the rough edges of the day. We reached a spot where a large oak tree stretched its branches wide, its leaves a brilliant mix of gold and rust. Beneath it, the ground was a patchwork of leaves and puddles, the remnants of yesterday’s storm. I stopped for a moment, taking it all in—the colors, the quiet, the fleeting peace that seemed to hang in the air.

Darly noticed and paused too, his gaze following mine. "It’s peaceful here," he said quietly, almost to himself. I nodded, agreeing silently. The park, with its serene beauty and the gentle embrace of autumn, felt like a world away from the chaos we had left behind in the station. For a moment, standing there in the middle of that quiet park, with the leaves crunching underfoot and the scent of rain still lingering in the air, everything else seemed to fade away. It was just us, the trees, and the soft whisper of the wind—a brief reprieve from the storm that awaited us when we returned.

“That’s why I love autumn,” I said, breaking the silence as we continued our walk through the park.

Darly glanced at me, a hint of curiosity in his tired eyes. “Why do you love it?” he asked.

I smiled slightly, glancing down at the leaves scattered across the ground. “It’s the way the yellow and orange leaves fall from the trees, creating this beautiful landscape. Walking through them, hearing that crunch underfoot, it’s calming, almost like nature’s own melody.”

Darly raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth tugging up in a half-smile. “Did you bring me here to talk about leaves?”

I chuckled softly, shaking my head. “No, I brought you here to clear your head, to help you feel better. I figured a change of scenery might do you some good.”

Darly sighed, looking around at the peaceful surroundings. “The only things that clear my head are alcohol, cigarettes, and work,” he replied, his tone carrying a touch of bitterness.