#cerealunaliver #2
Wright’s set up is directly opposite mine and when we’re sitting down neither of us can actually see each other behind all the monitors.
We each have seven screens, four for CAD (Computer Aided Dispatch), two for the phone and phone map, and one regular computer.
It takes a hot second to get used to managing two keyboards and three mice, but I’ve been working here for five years now.
Wright got me an interview after my gran died and for a while it was the only thing that got me out of bed.
I spent the latter half of my teens caring for my gran and after she died, I didn’t know what to do with myself.
I went straight from breaking up with Tommy to end of life care.
I hadn’t even begun to process the damage he’d done but coming here, helping people in similar situations, gave me purpose. Plus, I’m good at it.
In true nerd form, Wright and I met at computer club, so this set up is kind of perfect. You know, if you ignore the fact that each call is gradually traumatizing me, death by a thousand cuts style.
I log in to the system and work the phones for the next couple of hours. I get off pretty easy with a couple of paramedic call outs and a missing kid who was found hiding in a supermarket freezer while I was still on the other end of the line.
It’s only when Wright swears that the hairs on my arms raise. She stands up, covering her mouthpiece as she says, “I got a DMW.”
Shit. That’s the tenth this week. I move around to her side of the desk and Connor and our boss Theresa rush over because, if you don’t include shootings, this is the worst sort of call we get.
DMW stands for Dead Man Walking because that’s exactly what the man who dared touch the woman Wright’s talking to should be.
“Okay Alyssa, keep breathing for me honey and look around. Tell me what you see.”
“Active?” I ask.
Wright nods and mutes herself. “She just woke up in an alley. He knocked her out afterwards.” For a second, all I can see is my mom lying dead in an alley, her body bloodied and broken.
My dad next to her, shot through the head.
Fifteen-year-old me thought seeing the photos from the crime scene would help. She was wrong.
To this day I think the case file should have come with a warning for idiotic teenagers. You know, just something simple. Caution: Looking at images of your dead parents is a bad idea.
Next to me, Theresa practically growls and I blink the image of my parents away and focus on the matter at hand.
Theresa keeps her hair shaved, like Cynthia Erivo, with the cheekbones and skin tone to match.
On the outside she’s fearsome but she’s soft hearted as hell once you get to know her.
The only reason she’s mad now is because a woman’s been hurt.
By a man. Again. Some days, it gets to us all.
Wright clacks her tongue piercing against her teeth. “She’s too scared to leave the alley.”
“Phone trace?” Connor asks, his ink black hair falling over his eyes as he braces himself against the desk.
Wright taps at her keyboard. “Working on it. She was out for lunch on Mabel Street.”
Theresa picks up the spare phone on the desk. “I’ll call the precinct, get them to do a drive by with the sirens on.” It’s a good idea. If Alyssa hears them, she might feel safe enough to leave the alley.
It takes us the next fifteen minutes but eventually we narrow down Alyssa’s location. She stays on the line with Wright until the paramedics and police arrive then says a tearful goodbye.
Wright tugs off her headset and goes blank. She stares at her monitors, her nostrils flaring a little as she breathes. One look at the state she’s in and Thersea orders her to take a break.
Wright shoots up from her desk, heading straight for Olivia’s office.
Theresa and I share a look. “Go with her. If she needs to take the rest of the day off, she can.”
I nod and rush after Wright.
She’s sitting on top of the filing cabinet in Olivia’s office/broom closet, her fingers white-knuckled around the edge of the metal. The space barely fits all three of us, so I squeeze myself behind Livi’s desk chair and lean against the wall.
Olivia twists in her seat and fingerspells in ASL. “DMW?”
I dip my chin, not needing to explain anything more. We both know those calls hit harder for Wright. At the moment, she’s staring straight at me, but I know from experience she’s not seeing anything.
Connor pops his head around the door, a coke can in hand. He gives Wright a once over, worry creasing his eyes. “I thought maybe she could use some sugar.”
Wright doesn’t even register him.
“Thanks Connor,” I say, and he places the coke on the filing cabinet next to her before gently closing the door behind him.
I have a feeling Connor used to have a crush on Wright but he’s going steady with his boyfriend now and if the constant sketches he draws of Jonty are anything to go by, the two of them are endgame.
Olivia and I settle into our usual routine, keeping everything low-key until Wright comes back to us. Livi’s selective mutism means she never speaks at work, so she signs while I fill the air with casual chatter. Or it is casual until Olivia signs, “Maybe the Vigilante Choker will find him.”
Wright laughs because Olivia’s quiet vicious side always makes her smile. I, on the other hand, go stock still.
“They’re saying he killed another patient before escaping,” Wright says.
Some boys bring you roses, mine brought me forensic evidence of a murder he just committed and tracked it around my house.
Olivia points at her screen where an article about Flynn is open. Wright hops off the filing cabinet to take a look, and I can’t help myself from peeking at the title.
Confession or pre-meditated murder: Did the Vigilante Choker hand himself in all to have access to his next target?
Olivia’s hands form patterns in the air. “The man he killed was a serial rapist, same as his other victims.”
“It’s still wrong,” I say, trying to convince myself more than anything else.
Wright’s sharp gaze cuts to me. “Does that make what I do wrong?”
I shush her, my eyes darting to the open door.
The three of us may know Wright colors outside the lines after hours but if anyone else found out, she’d be arrested for sure.
Maybe it’s hypocritical of us to be breaking the law but more and more cases are being dismissed these days and it’s hard to sit by and watch.
Besides, what Wright does is different. “You don’t kill anyone,” I hiss under my breath.
“Some people deserve to die,” Olivia signs and not for the first time I wonder what happened to her.
She’s got the sweetest face, delicate, elfin features and a smile of pure innocence but every now and then she gets this dark look that worries me to my core.
There’s a reason the three of us band together.
We have matching scars, but I get the feeling Olivia’s cut deeper than most.
Wright and I have known her for three years now, but she still hasn’t told us anything about her past. She just appeared out of nowhere one day and that was that.
Wright has her secrets too. I know what she gets up to at night, but she doesn’t tell me the details because in her words “plausible deniability exists for a reason.” She wants to keep me out of it, but she doesn’t realize I’d be her alibi in a heartbeat, even if I had to perjure myself.
After everything she did to get me away from Tommy, I owe her my life.
Out of the three of us, I’m the one who’s the open book. I tell Olivia and Wright everything. Which begs the question, why haven’t I told them about Flynn?