Chapter 46
Mireya
Play - Smother by Daughter
Rat race
Christmas came and went by so quickly but I managed to spend the entire weekend with Milo. I don’t like this period. The memories that came with it every year. A birthday, screams, tears, and so much fear.
But, still, it was nice to see Milo happy opening all of the presents we bought him. Even if we spent it a day too soon. I’ve tried not to think about her now that I’ve returned back to St. Ellesta.
Instead, I’ve focused on nothing but the string of constant routines.
A simple structure that you have to memorize until it’s perfected. They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting the same result.
Well, that’s what I think I’m doing. Going insane.
Morning training, classes, scenario after scenario until everything sounds like a script: clear your lines, call out your errors, move on.
We ran the same drills until they fit into muscle memory. The classes are long, difficult but efficient. And somehow Damien is just as similar.
He wasn’t what I’d expected. Grumpy but not so bad, not too cold.
He was watchful, always leaving two coffees by my side before starting working.
He taught me how to read micro-expressions without making it sound like superstition.
He taught me neat things: the way someone’s shoulders sag a fraction before they lie, where to look in a word to find the truth it’s trying to hide.
Small tools that didn’t fit in a textbook.
He taught them to me like he was passing along something he learnt by someone else. We worked late in the library more than once, but not on the case this time. And being here without him feels wrong in a strange way.
We have a simulation exercise on Monday and Hayzel and I decided it was a good idea to finish it off on Friday and not work on it before.
The file on the table makes it clear:
TACTICAL DECISION brIEFING, CITY CENTER STATION, 36-HOUR EXERCISE.
Thirty-six fucking hours.
The exercise was supposed to test our ability to make decisions under pressure. A simulated hostage situation inside City Center Station, multiple entry points, civilian risks, limited information and a constantly changing timeline.
We've been here since Thursday morning. It's now Friday afternoon.
My hands smell like reheated coffee and printer ink. The table was buried under maps, fake CCTV reports and so many sticky notes that we could cover an entire wall with them.
Neither of us had slept properly. Hayzel looks just as exhausted as me. Dark circle under her eyes, hair pulled back messily, still gripping her highlighter like she could force the answer out of it.
“Hostage 9 is here,” she says, circling entrance B.
“But the location is too exposed and there are too many civilians.” She drew another line across the map and continued, “If we send the negotiation team between 4:07 and 4:13, we might create enough distraction for the other unit to move without causing any damage.”
She stops, looks at the page, then at me and sighs dramatically. “That sounded better in my head.”
“No, it’s a really good idea,” I reassure her, but I honestly don’t think I understood everything she said.
“I can’t take it anymore, Rey,” she whispers, resting her head on the table.
“Me neither,” I admit. “I have to leave before 5:15 to go to Edna’s and pick up Milo.”
Hayzel looks up, her eyes misting over and her eyebrows raised. “You’re really leaving?”
“I'll continue working on the brief tonight and we'll get on the same page this weekend.” I raise my paper cup to my mouth, finish the last few sips of coffee before continuing, "It'll be fine.”
We hear the door open, and Ethan arrives in his pajamas, looking happy to see us at the end of our tether. He drops his bag, glances lazily at the table, and taps it with his hand before laughing. “Do you need the bad influence or the crisis manager?”
“Both, only if you have coffee,” Hayzel mutters.
He proudly pulls out a chocolate bar and a small gummy candy. “Stocked up, but not on coffee, sorry. You've practically used up the year's coffee supply already.”
I laugh softly, standing up and stretching quickly, then start packing my things.
“You're leaving already? Avoiding me, Reya?” Ethan asks.
“There’s definitely some truth to that, and the fact that I have to pick up Milo.”
“My best friend is a responsible person, and responsible people should do responsible things.”
Ethan looks at her blankly before looking back at me with the same expression, and it makes me laugh.
“Leave her alone, she’s sleep-deprived, she’s not used to this.”
Hayzel stifles a laugh that turns into a sob as I raise my empty cup in a ridiculous gesture and whisper, “Back on Monday. And Hayzel, don’t forget to bring Blue’s toys tonight.”
“Promise I won’t, I’ll kiss him for you!”
And I leave the library, heading towards the parking lot.
It’s cold. Snow is still covering the ground, and all I can see is her.
Happy birthday, mom… I still make wishes for you too.
Damien
Play - The Blower’s Daughter by Damien Rice
Mireya wants to go back home tonight, but I’m aware that she’s been working for hours on the assignment I gave the class, with her friend Hayzel which has also taken a toll on her.
Again, it’s concerning.
She had been reluctant to let me drive her home, but I didn’t give her much of a choice. I know how that sounds. I know the line I’m standing on. I’m her professor still, and I’m supposed to be the person who keeps distance, who stays objective and all.
But when it comes to her safety, objectivity becomes harder to hold onto.
She has been in the library all day, and I’m certain she didn’t eat anything. I tried to convince myself that waiting in the car for her was about making sure she got home safely.
“Mister Caldwell,” she says smiling as she enters and sits next to me in the passenger seat.
“Miss Vitelli,” I replied, nodding and starting the engine. Her expression looks tired, pretty sure she’s hungry and lacks sleep but that’s not new for her.
“Is the assignment done?”
She sighs and looks back at me with a sarcastic smile, “Yes kinda,” she stops and looks back at me, her brows furrowed, “Although I would like to point out that our very kind and generous professor may have underestimated the psychological damage of that assignment.”
I smile, looking back at her, “It was just a two-part analysis.”
“Hmm, yeah exactly. Two parts.”
A laugh escapes me then, “You’re exaggerating.” I shake my head, nodding toward her, “Also, when was the last time you ate?”
“That sounds like a tricky question,” she replies, closing her eyes.
“Still waiting for an answer.”
Her eyes meet mine quickly before turning back to her hands. “I had coffee.”
“Coffee isn’t food, Mireya.”
A long sigh escapes her lips. “You’re very annoying and weirdly observant outside of class.”
“It’s part of the job.” I reply, keeping my eyes on the road.
She laughs and shakes her head, “Do you always drive exhausted students home?”
“Only difficult ones.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she says with a faint smile.
The journey to her house is unfortunately quick and she spent the entire time looking out the window, humming the songs playing and tapping her fingertips against the car.
After a few minutes, we arrive at her neighbor’s house and a little boy, who I assume is her little brother, jumps on Mireya as soon as she gets out of the car. An old lady is watching them on the doorstep with a smile and I can hear the little boy yelling, “Reya!”
Her shoulders relax softly as soon as she hugs him.
He looks up inside the car and smiles before waving at me. “Hi sir!”
I smile before getting out and taking his small hand in mine, kneeling, “You can call me Damien.”
“You can call me Milo,” he says, nodding. Then he runs back to the lady who’s waving at me too.
Mireya is standing there, looking at her little brother, a hand in her back pocket, hair dancing in the wind. She turns back to me and says, “Thank you again, I needed to see him.”
I smile, “he needed you too, I think.”
“Don’t miss me too much this weekend, Damien.” And she walks back to the house as she waves with her hand.
“See you on Monday, Miss Vitelli.”
I watch her disappear behind the door and stay there, staring at the house that has nothing to do with me.
I don’t have the right to want more, not even to wonder whether she’ll eat dinner and sleep. Most of all, I don’t have the right to want to know.
She has a future she’s fighting for, a life she’s trying to build. The last thing she needs is someone in my position complicating it.
So I drive back to campus, the same CD still playing, and somewhere along the way, I catch myself smiling. It disappears the moment I park at St. Ellesta.
That’s when my phone rings, and I see Kyle's name appear.
“Go for Caldwell,” I say, getting out of the car.
“Damien, I have some information about the girl they found,” he answers immediately. “You'll never guess.”
“Tell me everything.”
“Elena Stanwell, nineteen years old, was accepted to St. Ellesta on a recommendation, but according to the autopsy results, she was killed just before the start of term.”
“They never mentioned her even though the results indicate that?”
“And yet the Seraphin Bay police notified them. I have the police commissioner’s phone records; you can thank Lena for that. He called the headmaster that same day, and the call lasted five minutes.”
“He called him to tell him that the body found belonged to a student, and he didn’t even issue a statement about it within the school, not even to the faculty.”
“Wait for the rest. What do you think the case was closed under?”
“Suicide…”
“Exactly. Yet the chain marks perfectly match those of the other victims. Damien, he's back. I don't think he's an impersonator.”
Fuck..
“Okay, keep me posted if you get any more info. I'm going to see the headmaster and try to find out more. Tell the team that when I get back, it's my turn to buy drinks,” I say before heading into the main building.
“Okay, and take care, yeah?”
"You too."
He's back. The Chain Poet is fucking back.
Why? Why now? What triggered this?
The headmaster’s office door is oddly wide open, as if he expected me to pay him a visit. I knock once and then go in before he even gives me permission. He doesn't immediately look up, as if I don't deserve his respect.
It must be his way of reminding me that here, he's the one in charge.
“Mr. Caldwell, what can I do for you this time?” He asks, feigning politeness.
“You know a body was found,” I say. He settles back in his chair, as if I’d just told him about some administrative delay. So I continued, “A local girl enrolled here. Strangely enough, she never showed up for the semester.”
He doesn’t answer right away, but his gaze falls on me.
I sit down opposite him and speak again, “She was killed several days before term started.”
He slowly gets up and walks toward the bay window overlooking the campus.
The buildings, the walkways, the figures training, unaware of what’s happening above their heads.
“Do you know why my office is here?” He asks, gesturing outside.
“I can see the parking lot, the exits, the gate. I have access to the security cameras. I know everything. I see everything.”
“Me too.”
He turns halfway around, his gaze locked on mine. “Would you like a drink?”
“Get to the point,” I spit.
A thin smile stretches across his lips. “I often see you with that student, Ms. Vitelli, in the car, late at night, low voices, unnecessary detours.” He shrugs. “Strange, for someone supposedly here to solve a case.”
My body stiffens the moment her name leaves his mouth.
“I took you in,” he continues. “I found you a room on campus so you could work here in peace. Yet, I get the feeling that’s not enough for you.”
I stand up and take a step forward. “You know exactly why I’m here, to find a murderer, and yet you continue to monitor me and my students as if what I’m doing belongs to you.
” My jaw clenches. “Tell me, do you want to sabotage my investigation? Do you want this case to disappear?” He sneers without answering.
“Either you’re the person I’m looking for, or you know who did it.
Because the girl found dead had to be here this year and you don’t look particularly concerned or saddened by this information. ”
He sighs wearily, as if the truth is a burden he’s carried for far too long.
“Do you really think this academy survives on principles? Training agents who will then return to the mainland costs more than people realize. Government funding has never been enough.” He finally turns fully toward me.
“What keeps this academy alive is the donors. And when a donor asks for something, there’s no discussion. No questions. You keep quiet and obey.”
Corruption and compromise. A system rotten to the core.
“If I find out you’re involved,” I say slowly, “I’ll make you go through hell and, I’ll let you burn there.”
He smiles slightly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Mister Caldwell.”
I laugh, because I know exactly what I’m talking about. “You know why I joined the FBI? Because when a system turns against human rights for power and money, you can’t fight it from the outside.” I move closer. “You have to be on the inside and destroy it from within.”
His gaze hardens. “Don’t forget your place.”
“I won’t forget it. One day, I’ll burn your throne to the ground and expose every single one of your secrets.”
“I have contacts at the bureau,” he says with a fake smile.
I turn around, already opening the door. “I’ll burn them too. I told you, I’m inside this organization for a reason.”