Requiem
553 Words
I shove open the police station door. Cold air bites at my face, but it’s nothing compared to what’s inside me.
Two days.
Two f*****g days.
And nothing. No updates. No justice. Just silence.
The station is quiet—too quiet. Sterile. Indifferent. Like grief doesn’t belong here. Like Mia never existed.
My legs carry me forward, barely. I don’t look left or right. The officer at the front desk barely glances up.
I slam my hands down, hard.
The sound echoes.
“I want to report a hit-and-run.”
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t care.
“Take a number.”
That’s it. That’s all he says. Like I’m ordering a f*****g sandwich.
A bitter laugh slips out. It sounds wrong, cracked and hollow.
“What the f**k do you mean, take a number?” My voice shakes. I hate it. “My sister was killed. I saw the car. I know who owns it.”
Finally, that gets his attention. Barely.
“It was a black SUV. LC71 EGU.” I lean in, my fists trembling. “It belongs to Alistair Cole. Leader of the Opposition.He was behind the wheel. I saw him.”
Recognition flickers across his face. He tries to hide it. Too late.
“He gave her an award that morning. Told her she was the future.” My voice cracks. “Then he killed her. Left her bleeding on the street.”
And in that flicker, I see it.
They know.
They’ve known the whole time.
That’s when it happens.
The grief dies. The rage takes its place. Cold. Focused. Clear.
I don’t want to kill him.
I will
It’s no longer a thought. It’s a vow.
I turn and walk out before I do something that’ll get me arrested. My legs barely work. My chest is tight. The city blurs past in grey smears. I don't feel the cold. I don’t feel anything.
Then the rain starts.
She loved the rain.
Loved.
It hits harder than anything else. That word. Past tense.
She's gone.
I scream.
Loud. Ugly.
No one hears me. The storm swallows it whole.
And then—
Darkness.
---
White.
Everything is white.
A steady beep echoes. My skull feels cracked open.
Hospital.
I try to move. Can’t. A voice speaks beside me.
“Easy, Miss Maya.”
Doctor. Calm. Detached. Like I’m already halfway gone.
“How did I get here?” My throat burns.
“You collapsed. Someone brought you in. He’s outside. Want me to let him in?”
“No.”
Pause.
“...I don’t care.”
The door creaks open anyway. Muffled words. Footsteps.
Then silence.
The air changes. Heavy. Charged.
I look up.
He’s tall. Suit sharp. Too clean for a place like this. But his eyes—
Cold. Dark. Knowing.
“You brought me here?”
“Yes.”
His voice is smooth. Russian. Dangerous.
“Why?”
He takes a step closer, slow. Calculated.
“Because I know who you are, Maya. And I know what happened to your sister.”
The air disappears.
He doesn’t stop. “And I know what you want.”
He’s not asking.
I nod once.
“Yes.”
A slow smile curls on his lips. It’s not kind. It’s something else.
“Good,” he says. “Then let’s begin.”
- Writer
