The Incident

Chapter 1-2

When Michael stepped outside Saint Anne’s, the sky was a tumult of color. It was early evening and the summer sky was at its best. The Fireman’s Carnival would be coming and the whole town would soon celebrate. He would have liked to feel some stir of excitement, but instead shook his head in annoyance at his hometown’s need to celebrate every damned holiday, season, or turn of leaf.

He stood on the stairs and took a deep breath. It was a fantastic night—warm, comfortable, a perfect night for a run. Although he had been to confession, it had done nothing to ease his mind. Even the warm evening seemed to be weighted with the cold memories that he was trying so desperately to erase. He had seen a shrink, which his sergeant had said was mandatory. The sessions had been a slog. The shrink hurled some feel-good, new-agey double talk at Michael and he could still remember nodding the entire time while thinking what a load of s**t it was. He didn’t want to hear about healing his inner child. He wanted to hear about a way to make the trauma disappear. The shrink’s language always left him confused and he usually left his sessions full of buzzing thoughts. He had half-hoped that by seeing the shrink it would help empty the garbage that was mucking up his brain. Instead, it felt the exact opposite.

Now, as he made his way to his cruiser parked in the back parking lot of the church, he tried to shut out the static in his head. Getting in, Michael took a minute to clear his head before turning the key in the ignition. The radio that always seemed to buzz and crackle incessantly was blessedly quiet.

Suddenly it was a drink he craved, not a run, and he knew exactly where to get one. He owed Angel a slap on the back and a beer to boot. Michael waved back to Mr. and Mrs. Collins, an elderly couple he passed on his way out of Saint Anne’s back parking lot. It was a small town and Michael had gotten to know many of the inhabitants over the years. Sometimes he wished he hadn’t. There was nothing wrong with them acknowledging him. It was that he had been seen, and being seen meant that somehow his being there would set tongues wagging, which was something he had unsuccessfully been trying to avoid. Things had gotten strange since the incident and he wondered if he would ever feel normal again.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath as he maneuvered his cruiser onto the street and back toward the station, which was only about a mile away.

He got there in record time, parked, got out, and headed inside. His fellow officers had put him on a shelf since the incident, which made it easy for him to get to his locker, change out of his uniform, and head back to his truck with little to no communication aside from polite, if slightly restrained, interactions. That was fine with him. He had lost the social spark that he’d once had and, in losing it, had lost the need for it as well.

Sergeant Kinter stopped him at the back exit. Michael favored this route as it was closer to the parking lot and hardly anyone used it. For Kinter to be there at all meant something was up.

“Sergeant,” Michael said. He adjusted the duffel back containing his dirty uniform, duty belt, and his gun.

“Today’s your early day, Carmac?” Kinter asked, glaring at Michael.

The air reeked of Kinter’s cheap cologne.

“Yes, sir.” Michael sniffed and fought back a sneeze.

“I want you to go home and get some rest.” Kinter moved closer. He searched Michael’s face. “You off the booze?”

Michael nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“I hear otherwise,” Kinter said. He moved closer so his nose nearly touched Michael’s. “If I hear you’re back on the bottle, we’re gonna have a problem. Problems are something you cannot afford, Carmac.”

Michael stayed still. “I’m not drinking.”

“Yeah? If you’re hanging out with Angel, I’m not so sure.”

Michael didn’t answer. A trickle of sweat ran down his back and he did his best to stifle a shudder.

“Get out,” Kinter said, not moving, “and when you do, stay away from the f*****g booze.”

“I will, sir,” Michael said, hating the fact that his life had brought him to this moment and wondering how much longer he could stand in this man’s presence before he lashed out.

Kinter stepped aside.

Michael pushed open the door.

“I mean it, Michael.”

Michael let go of the door and walked slowly to his truck, instinctively knowing Kinter was watching.

Once he got there, he looked back and saw Kinter standing outside the station staring at him. Michael fished his keys from his pocket, opened the door, and put the duffel bag carefully on the passenger-side seat.

“What a f*****g prick,” Michael muttered as he put on his seat belt and started the truck. Kinter hadn’t moved. Michael didn’t bother waving as he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street.

Halfway down the street, heading up the hill and away from the station, Michael screamed. He screamed until he couldn’t see the police station in his rearview mirror.

At some point he must have started crying, because when he stopped to collect himself at a tiny gas station that also served as a convenience store, he wiped tears from his face. Surprised, he swiped his sleeve across it and took a few breaths.

He’d gotten himself together enough to open the door and saw two fellow officers exiting the store. He hadn’t noticed their cruiser parked alongside the building farthest from him.

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, hoping they hadn’t seen him, but they had. From the looks on their faces, they looked about as thrilled to see him as he was to see them.

They finally waved and Michael sighed, grabbed his wallet, locked the truck, and jogged over.

“How’s it going, Carmac?” Officer Fitzgerald asked.

“Tired,” Michael answered honestly.

Fitzgerald’s partner Douglas stayed quiet. He rolled his eyes to the sky and sipped from a straw stuck inside the massive soda cup.

“You guys just starting?” Michael asked, already knowing the answer. On a small force, everyone knew when everyone else worked.

“Yup,” Fitzgerald answered. “You know Douglas needs his sugar fix or he’ll be whining in an hour.”

“We all got our vices,” Douglas snapped. “Isn’t that right, Carmac?”

Michael winced but didn’t give in. “You boys stay safe,” he said and hurried past.

They said something in reply, but Michael ignored them.

Fuck, don’t let there be anyone else I know, he thought as he entered the store. Thankfully, it was empty.

He didn’t even know what he was looking for. He scanned the refrigerator shelves and decided on water.

Michael paid and lucked out again as the kid behind the counter was new. Outside, the parking lot was filling up with people getting gas and Michael dodged between cars and got into his truck.

As he was starting the engine, he felt his cell phone vibrate. Michael dug the phone from his pocket, saw Angel’s name on the screen, and answered.

“Where you at?”

“I’m on my way. You at the Four Leaf?” Michael asked as he navigated his old truck past the station and up the huge hill that led to Main Street. “Or are you down at the club?”

“I’m home, bro, waiting on you. Thought we’d have a couple drinks here then figure it out. So, where you at?”

Michael heard the familiar tone in Angel’s voice, the heightened rise at the end of the question that let him know that his partner was drinking. “I’ll be there in a few. I’m just leaving the store. You want anything?” He prayed Angel didn’t.

“No, I’m good,” Angel said. “Well, maybe some chips or something.”

“Chips?”

“Yeah, you know the ones I like.”

Michael hung up, shaking his head. It wasn’t even six yet and he could tell Angel had probably been drinking for at least an hour.

Michael turned off the truck. He could see through the store windows that a line had formed at the cashier.

“f*****g chips,” he grumbled, but thinking of Angel enjoying the food later made him smile.