Chapter 7
Terran
Early Saturday night, TJ surprised me with a visit and a bag full of my favorite take-out, held up in the air with an impassive expression that didn’t at all match with the cheerful swing of the full bag.
“Heard the food here sucks.” He set the bag down on the bed by my hip, deftly pulling apart the tie on top to part the plastic and fish out the first container. “Figured this was better than coming by with a bouquet of flowers.”
He knew me too well. At this rate, he was never beating the mother hen allegations.
The smell of overly processed food wafted over to me and had me forcing myself upright slowly, trying not to bother my stitches that were already starting to dig at my skin uncomfortably.
I was sore from the constant moving around and getting up to walk every few hours; my determined spirit to get out of here was slowly beginning to wane with the growing exhaustion of my body healing.
I knew this road to recovery was going to be rough. I wasn’t that much of an idiot to delude myself in believing I was somehow immune to it. But goddamn, it was annoying to deal with.
My stomach was already twisting in on itself by the time he set the container down onto the tray folded across my lap; the corners of it were stained and bulging with how much food had been stuffed into it, a good sign he’d gotten the last of the shop’s stock before closing.
Grinning, I snagged the plastic fork from his outstretched hand and quickly peeled off the plastic top. “What, you didn’t want to add it to my growing graveyard on the windowsill?”
He gave me a gruff snort. “Not when they’re going to end up in the trash in two days.”
If I weren’t so busy with swirling the sauce-covered noodles around my fork and stuffing the whole helping into my mouth, I would’ve quipped back with something along the lines of food having the same kind of shelf life.
Regardless, I was happy to see him and get something besides cafeteria food scarfed down. There was only so much tapioca pudding I could stomach before the sight of those little plastic cups began to haunt my nightmares.
TJ left the opened bag next to me to pick through while he flopped back into the guest recliner, a weary sigh leaving him. “Got yourself into quite the pickle, kid.”
Wasn’t that the truth.
Honestly, I knew I was lucky to be alive, even with people constantly reminding me.
These past few days, while rough and annoying, were definitely welcomed compared to the dirt nap I could’ve been taking had the EMTs arrived any later to the scene, or had the life-saving measures taken while I’d been transported to the hospital failed.
It wasn’t often I envisioned my own death, but that had certainly not been on my list of ways I’d most likely kick the bucket.
Imagining leaving my sister and niece behind, or any of my coworkers at the precinct, in such a traumatic way made my stomach squeeze uncomfortably, despite the mounds of food I was still shoveling back. Being a burden in any capacity was the last thing I wanted, even if it was for a noble cause.
It felt wrong for people to worry about me, as natural of an instinct as that was for someone you cared about.
I’d walked through life this far coming out all right on the other side, and for something as stupid as a small mistake to almost cost me my life had a lot of things shifting into a different perspective.
How many near death experiences had I come close to without ever realizing?
“Sorry about all that,” I said, after taking a swig of the soda he’d also shoved into the bag. “Did I at least get used as a training dummy for CPR?”
He gave me a look. “Don’t even start with that shit. You know how much blood you lost while we were trying to pack those stab wounds? You’re lucky you’re still alive to be yapping like that.”
Yeesh.
Bad move on my part for cracking jokes so soon after the incident, then. “Sorry.”
Although, it was quite touching to know he cared that much.
Deep enough to be bothered with the memories of me getting almost sliced and diced like a fucking Thanksgiving turkey.
TJ would never admit to it out loud, but he was a compassionate guy.
He had that close connection with a few of us from the precinct that went beyond simply mere coworkers.
It was nice to see I was one of them.
“Next time, save the hero shit for someone else.” While his tone was surly, it didn’t quite match the pinch of worry in the rest of his expression. “You barely got your training wheels off. Don’t make me have to attend your funeral. You’ve got a family to look after and I look like shit in black.”
Fair point.
If we were in the reverse situation, I would also be appalled to be the one sitting in that chair while my twenty-something year old partner nearly got their life snatched in what felt like the blink of an eye.
“I’ll make sure to put it in my will that it’s mandatory pastels for the service.”
“I’ll be long dead by then, so fine with me.”
I twirled another helping onto my fork, letting it hover in front of my mouth while I said, “Unless the cigs kill you first.”
He rolled his eyes. “Talk to me when you quit drinking that battery acid.”
No promises there. The second I was out of here and a free man walking the streets, I was marching myself right over to the convenience store down the block and grabbing an arm full of cans. “They’re better than beer.”
“I can take you to rehab for only one of those things.”
Touché.
“Any word on IAB?”
He shifted back in the recliner at the sudden subject change, spreading his legs apart wide while he let both of his arms settle on the arm rests.
Even from all the way over here, I could tell how tired he was.
If the dark circles under his eyes weren’t the neon flashing lights pointing to the obvious, his posture certainly wasn’t doing him any favors.
I doubted our captain was sending him off on calls by himself so soon after what happened and while I was still out on recovery.
There would be no point in shuffling around our partner rotation for the next couple of weeks when I’d be returning eventually, so more than likely he’d been slapped with desk duty.
For someone like TJ, getting a break from being on the streets 24/7 wasn’t as bad as it sounded.
Pushing papers with no mandatory overtime right around the corner from the holidays was a blessing in disguise when you had a family to go home to at the end of your 9-5 like he did.
Aside from boredom, there was no reason for my partner to be looking like he was three days overdue for an actual restful night’s sleep.
Unless IAB was on everyone’s asses with an impending investigation and causing a whole lot of restlessness.
“They’ve been snooping around the past few days,” he said, shrugging. “Not much is being said but there’s whisperings that the girlfriend might be looking to bring about a lawsuit.”
“The girlfriend?” Not what I expected. Thomas’s family? Sure, absolutely. Most parents would want justice for their child, even while they were well aware of the crimes committed. It was a natural instinct to want to protect the person you raised. Even in death. “Why?”
“She thinks we escalated the situation. Provoked her boyfriend into feeling the need to defend himself from us being violent.”
How in the world did she come to that conclusion?
“By him trying to steal a gun from a cop and then stabbing another one?”
If anything, that made Thomas look a hell of a lot worse. Going up against a grand jury or a judge with a case like that was looking to be laughed out of the courtroom. Naomi, while during my brief meeting with her that night, hadn’t seemed like the type to blow things out of proportion.
From what I’d observed, she seemed fairly levelheaded.
TJ’s face slipped into a grim frown. “She’s alleging that since she disclosed he may have been on drugs, we used more force than necessary, which is what ended up provoking him.”
Sighing, I leaned back against my bed, my fork dropping down onto my half-eaten pile of food. What a bunch of bullshit.
I wanted to feel surprised, but in reality, this was pretty typical in cases of Domestic Violence—a victim wanting to protect the image of their abuser, even in death.
My mom had been the same way with our step-dad, constantly being beaten by him and treated like garbage, but clinging to those small scraps of love and stability he sprinkled at her every once in a while. It had been enough to keep her right where he wanted her, and by extension, Amelia and I, too.
Naomi might feel some sort of relief later on down the line once her grief finally let her see past her trauma, but that was a long road of recovery she had ahead of her.
Until then, we were stuck dealing with whatever guilt she felt for calling us that night and the residual anger of us getting involved in the first place.
It was a sad situation for everyone involved.
Even Thomas, who, at one point, was no doubt a decent person.
People were seldom born with their screws loose.
Whatever happened to encourage him to turn to drugs and alcohol to help cope with the world around him was a demon he hadn’t been able to face on his own.
I only hoped that with death, his release had at least been peaceful.
I blamed him for his actions but that didn’t mean I had to hate him. Empathy wasn’t so black and white.
“I’m guessing you were already brought in for an interview?” I asked.
He nodded. “They’re going to want you to come in once you’re able to.
Capt’s already got our reports from that night good to go and ready to be filed with the court if this thing goes to trial.
But that’s a long way from now. You just focus on your recovery.
Don’t worry about what’s going on with the precinct until you can actually walk up a flight of stairs without wanting to die first.”
Easier said than done.
It wasn’t like there was much of a case ruling in Thomas’s favor at this point to make this situation look anything close to negligent.
If anything, I was going to look like a complete dumbass for not handling the situation like I’d been trained to and getting myself hurt in the process.
I would be lucky if IAB didn’t send me off for a couple of training seminars in the city to keep me from pulling another stunt like that again.
“Thanks for bringing some goodies with you.” Rummaging around in the bag, I tossed him one of the fortune cookies and ripped the other one open myself. “Let’s see if we got anything good this time.”
He let out a snort but indulged me, snapping open the plastic easily. We broke our cookies apart at the same time—him setting the two halves down on the armrest while smoothing out the slip of paper and me, shoving one of the halves into my mouth to chew while doing the same with my own slip.
Usually, we were both notorious for getting nonsense, but today I had a good feeling.
“Enjoy life. Too many days are wasted thinking about the past,” he read. “Lucky numbers: 8, 5, 4, 11, 12.”
“Well, as the fortune speaks, you should listen to it. Might do you some good,” I teased, looking down at my own. “Don’t expect romantic attachments to be strictly logical or rational. You will miss out on something grand.”
I stared down at the slip, re-reading it again in my head a few times, each pass feeding into my growing confusion more and more.
What the hell kind of fortune was that?
TJ shoved a part of the cookie into his mouth. “You got someone I don’t know about?”
“No.”
I wasn’t one to believe in these things as being some kind of sign of divine fate from the universe. Most of the time it was a bunch of mumbo jumbo that was fun to subscribe to in an ironic sense and not at all meant to be taken seriously.
That being said, I wasn’t at all a fan of the way my gut tightened on my fourth pass-through over the words printed on the slip, my gaze getting stuck on the ‘logical or rational’ part of it while a pair of ice-blue eyes flashed inside of my head.
I crushed it between my fingers immediately.
That thought was going to be stopped right in its tracks.
Absolutely in no way was I going to be fueling that particular flame with any amount of energy that was better focused elsewhere.