Finding the serial killer

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Jake’s POV

These cases are like trying to get your answers to be rechecked hoping to get better score, better grades, also knowing subconsciously the final results will still be the same, but we just hope it won't. hope is a funny word we go so out of the way just because this word exists. This job that is. We will end up to be more messed than any of that criminal, we will experience more pain and discomfort trusting others, all for what? A greater good.

It's all fine, it’s all for a greater good. I try to keep telling this to myself that I won't let this job consume my delicacy, the values of love and respect mom has taught me. I fear, I'm forgetting a little bit of it every day.

A mother killed her daughter for a dream that was unrealistic from the get go. I sleep on my bed thinking about it, I dreamed about it, but when I wake up my mind was a clean slate. All for to make space for new horrifying thoughts that I will experience today.

I am so used to it, I can't help myself. I usually wake up at seven even when I want to sleep in longer. There is no way my strict sub-conscious would let me sleep late. Ever since a kind, I've been fed this idea of waking up early by dad, like a regimen. It’s been a commonly exercised ritual in the family and I don’t hate it but I can't change it either. When I'm out working, pulling an all-nighter, that’s when the things get tough. If I sleep in early in the morning the alarm clock of my body won't let me sleep past seven. I end up lethargic all day.

Even when I have nothing good to do today, I woke up at seven. I went for a run, a re-run. I ran thirty-two miles, the number of my age. And yes, it adds one on one mile every birthday. After the run, I grabbed whatever was the freshest at the bakery opposite to my apartment’s menu and today it was a cheese filled milk bun and I'm not sure how to feel about it. I barely take time to taste the bun enough to judge and went in to the bathroom for a quick shower. I got in in my civilian clothes, slate pants and a brown shirt to make a run to the precinct forgetting that I wasn’t allowed there for the week. But now I'm here may as well try to stay below the radar of Captain’s

“Weren’t you suspended?” and I was thinking I can camouflage if I go by like normal days. Same trousers, same shirt. No one notices me anyway.

I was wrong.

Emily noticed me.

She always notices me.

“I was bored home.”

“Well then I will tell you to come and help me a little.” She pulled the chair beside her indicating me to sit and accompany her to sift through the pile of files lying dusted over her desk. That’s how it’s supposed to be. It’s her way of work. Confused and messy. But she always knows how to make it a productive labour.

Now, I have two jobs, one to hide from other officers, one to seek the files I had no idea what to look for in. “What are we looking for?” I asked dreaded to the amount of work I'm going to have to do just because I made a mistake turning to the address of this precinct.

“Anything you think can help me figuring out about the murder-suicide three years ago.” She said those words like they made a lot of sense to me, though, it didn’t, at all.

At all.

“What? A murder-suicide?” she nodded so non-chalant, it’s hard to say if it was for a yes or for a no. “Did you get a new case? Is that it? we are not partners anymore?” I acted hurt. Maybe I am. Maybe I'm losing the only job I have.

“You can tell that, not me.” She raises her hands up in defeat and move her whole body, her whole attention to state her answer to me. “I can't answer that, it depends on you, what you want, what you can do for this job. It’s all on you.” she is my personal mirror, no filters, no cover up. She is as honest as anyone can get. And I don’t know if that hurts me or motivates me, because all I feel right now is a pang of disappointment for myself. and that means I don’t like honest people.

“I can do anything, anything.” I said so loud, I haven’t even admitted it to myself before today, now when I did, I'm kind of proud of myself, not because I said it out loud, but because I've never really wanted anything before this, before now, never wished for more than I had. Now’s the first time. Everything I did before this job came along was to run away from my life. Run away from my dad and the responsibilities that came along with being his son. This piercing feeling in my stomach is too much for me to keep it couped up inside anymore. This is the only job I have. This is the only thing I can use to make myself feel useful. I'm useless in all matters. Losing this job only prove dad right. he can't be right, I'm not useless. He can't be right. Jerry isn’t the only one worthy of his attention. “I can't afford to lose this job.” More than her I tell it to myself. “I promised mom this time I won't let her down. I won't prove dad right. I won't run away. I need this job.” I admit it, I accept this.

She gets closer to me than I thought can be possible, so close I can see the mole on her left cheek, I've never known of its existence. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you and your family, all I can tell you is that Captain is fuming for what happened yesterday. If media outlets even sniff that over officer passed out on duty because of his phobia, we can lose this case, our reputation, even our job. He can lose the reputation he has worked for all his career. He won't let you off the hook so easy this time. you are going to have to earn it, prove it that you deserve to be here, that it's not just a waste of space.”