I Am Chosen

Considering the Impossible

The night she responded to the deputy's call, all she had wanted to do was talk to Declan. She and the deputy searched the property separately and it was Kacey who found the businessman, on the sixth floor, standing at a busted window staring out at the open lot below.

"Declan Crowe?" She had called. When he turned, silhouetted against the opening, she had identified herself as a police officer and said she had some questions for him. That was when he had reached into his jacket with his right hand-Kacey was already in the process of drawing her gun, telling him to keep his hands where she could see them-and pulled out something that reflected the moonlight, something that he raised toward her.

She had shot him three times in the chest, propelling him backward and out the window but not before... not before she had seen something else. Something about his left hand. Something wrong about the way it moved...

Just then three loud knocks at her door nearly made her jump out of her skin and piss her pants at the same time.

"Kacey, it's me," a baritone voice called. It was Hanson.

Jesus, what was with this guy?

"I had bought you something, before we broke up... I just wanted you to have it, okay? No strings attached."

Kacey waited. No way was she opening the door. Over meant over. Gifts be damned.

A long moment passed. Finally she heard Hanson say "I'll just leave it here. You can return it if you want... I kept the receipt."

She heard him walk away.

It wasn't long before curiosity got the best of her. Looking through the peephole, she saw no one. When she opened her door and glanced to either side, there was not a soul in the hall. Finally she reached down and grabbed the small gift box.

Bringing it back to the couch, she set it on the coffee table. It had a simple ribbon, which she untied. Lifting the lid off the box, she looked in.

It was a Starbucks mug from Portland. Kacey collected Starbucks mugs from various cities.

She lifted it out, smiling. On her way up from California, Kacey had stopped in Portland and picked up a Starbucks mug. That mug was in her apartment, on the kitchen table the first time she and Hanson decided to get intimate. He had started to take her right there against the table and the mug was a casualty of that encounter.

So what was he trying to say with this gift? That their broken relationship could be made as good as new? Or was it just a kind gesture, a genuine attempt to make amends?

Kacey wasn't sure. Either way, she was keeping the mug.

The next morning Kacey stood with her Portland mug full of coffee, eyeballing the timeline of the Chosen Killings on a white board in one of the station's meeting rooms.

Pictures were accompanied by dates and names: Percy Graham. Nicole Richards. Robert Sullivan. Bree Park. Duncan Styles. A lawyer, a secretary, a construction worker, a wealthy housewife, a real estate agent. All killed over a roughly month-long period. Until just over six weeks ago when Kacey shot Crowe- she gazed at his picture, suppressing a shudder: He had high cheekbones, a small mouth, short, dark, spikey hair... and a penetrating gaze.

The names and pictures of the victims had the names of their killers written above. A different killer for each victim. And seemingly nothing connecting any of them, except Crowe.

And, even though she wasn't working the case, she had put up a picture of Doctor Faulkner, along with the date he had tried to kill her.

Hollis walked in holding a half-eaten bagel. He was sporting a nice purple bruise on his forehead. "I see you added Rhonda and Carl," he said. Kacey had put Carl's picture and name on the bottom, with Rhonda's name written above. Pretty soon they were going to need a bigger board.

Kacey put her coffee down and picked up a marker, chewing on the end. "I did some background checking on Carl. He had been dating Rhonda for five years, living off of an inheritance. Couldn't find anything connecting him to the others. As far as I could tell he did nothing all day but sit around and make use of his DVD collection. Basically a pathetic loser reliving the good old days."

"Hey!" Hollis said. "I have a DVD collection!"

"Dude, seriously..." Kacey picked up two more markers, then held them in one hand as if displaying them. She poked out her top front teeth and curled up her lip and said "ermahgerd! Derverders!"

Hollis had plopped one butt cheek on the table in the center of the room. He was staring at Kacey in absolute confusion, his mouth open, a chunk of bagel still in it.

"You know, the girl with the books? The meme?" Kacey prompted.

Hollis swallowed and said "what the hell's a 'meme'?"

Kacey threw the markers over her shoulder. Two of them bounced off the whiteboard. "I give up."

"Whatever. Look," Hollis said, "IF Declan was behind all this, there had to be a reason. There's a connection somewhere, we're just not seeing it."

Taking the coffee in her right hand, Kacey turned around and sat on the end of the table. "Have you thought about the grave?" she asked. "About what Rhonda said, about Declan visiting the office after he died?"

"Ha! You can't be serious." Hollis finished his last bite of bagel and said "Rhonda was clearly mentally disturbed. Besides, remember the words of the world's greatest detective, Sherlock Holmes: 'when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.'"

Hollis was quiet, as if waiting for a smartass retort. When he received none, he said "I'm gonna get some coffee."

Kacey sat staring at the board, wondering what might happen if she said screw Sherlock Holmes...

And started considering the impossible.

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I realize that my "meme" reference is already obsolete, but I couldn't resist. Hope you're all enjoying the story! Remember, if you absolutely can't wait to read the next chapter, you can download the radish app and read the next chapters there. Otherwise, I'll see you back here in one week!