Pathetically Mute isn't the truth [ON HOLD]

II

  "Yes, sir. Yes, no one was harmed from the individual. No." My teammate scowls as he listens to the other person on the line

  We're lucky to even find a signal. We told to get an ambulance and some detectives on the scene to see who the girl was. Those were on my orders.

  Staring at the ground, I put my gun in my holder and take a look at the house. The moon shines behind it, making it have an eery glow.

  It was a fragile looking one. The roof -or what was left of it- was a dark maroon tile, and the windows were boarded up. The walls outside and inside were peeling. The grass was overgrown and a dead looking yellow. The bushes were just pointy sticks, and the welcome mat held blood that wasn't our doing. 

  We were called here because of a suspected kidnapping. We didn't realize it would be a minor shooting at us.

  The young woman, it was unusual. She had aim. Great aim in fact.

  I realized, after awhile, that the windows we shot through, they had no bullets around it. They went straight through the window. Every shot she threw at us.

  After my teammates and I searched, there was no one else in the house or around. If there was, they'd be long gone by now.

<<<

>>>

  I stumbled into my apartment. Today had been rough. We were there for more than ten hours longer. We arrived there at 17:00 post meridiem and came home at 3:00. Tired and sad, I grabbed my remote, and turned on something, just to be there for white noise.

  I knew that I would be called back anytime now, to go back to my job. You're probably telling me then that I should at least get some sleep; I can't though.

  I shot a girl who was around fifteen to seventeen. She was bleeding profusely and I watched her slip away from reality. She was a dead body.

  Dead bodies messed me up, I would write to my past therapist. I would tell Dr. Sanchez that anytime I see something horrific, I'm brought to that time. That moment.

  He tells me that it's okay. We need to endure the past, and I need to say something about it. Whenever he said say, I knew I couldn't do it.

  I've tried hard to speak, to scream, to shout, to whisper, yet there's no outcome. I know I have a voice. I always replay the yes in my head. My voice was gentle and soft. It was young and free. Back then, I felt better than happy.

  It all ended with that man.

  It still scares me today at how the silencer was loud to my ears, how I heard his body hit the floor. It scared me. Everything scared me.

  I wish I was better.

  I tell Dr. Sanchez that I'm trying, I'm really trying to get better. He told me that time is forever, and that you can always be patient.

  I would tell him it's been 10 Years, and he would nod and say the same thing, "time is patience. Time is something it waits for. Time waits for the right time."

  I never knew what he meant, if he meant anything. He just wanted to sound professional and/or a hippy.

  I let out a breath that I didn't know I was holding. I usually decide that I always live in the past. The past is where everything happened, everything goes too. Time has a something we take ahold of. Time has power over everything.

  All it takes is time.

  My phone rang, and it made me jump out of my skin. I walked as slow as a sloth to the phone and picked it up.

  I don't say hello, they just tell me the things they want from me for the department, and I'm there.

  I grabbed my phone, putting it away as I got on my button up uniform once again. I pick up my shiny badge and examined it.

The badge says:

Private National Detective

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