shadow [h.s.]

s e c o n d

At precisely 8:16 AM on December 11th, 2015, I strode up the bold pathway leading to my workplace and mission, the New York Police Department's facet in Manhattan. I smiled as Mr. Denton, my boss and head chief of detectives here at the NYPD, waved at me holding his signature corn dog and coffee.

At 8:00 in the morning. A corn dog.

Mr. Denton waved me over and I hurried to meet him near the giant doors. "I heard you got 1145," he mumbled through bits of beef.

I swallowed and shrugged. "Yeah."

"Best of luck to you. Remember, don't let your feelings get in the way."

I stared at him agilely. "Why'd you give me the case?"

"I didn't. Leighton, your fiancee?"

"Boyfriend, Mr. Denton. Just boyfriend."

"Well, whatever he is, he was very confident you could handle the case."

My thoughts swirled. Leighton had acted like he had known nothing of the case, but now Mr. Denton told me the complete opposite. "It doesn't matter," I countered objectively. "Whatever way works best."

Mr. Denton nodded, his dark eyes looking past me and locking on an individual in the distance. "There he is," he murmured, and my blood turned cold. I knew who he was speaking of. The killer, the murderer. The man who had killed my father.

I turned and saw him for the first time. One might expect him to be fighting the guards, fighing the chains. Maybe evilly smiling at the outsiders.

But he was doing none of those things. He was watching a little girl, on the corner on the pathway. The girl's mother was speaking to a fellow friend, I expected, and the little girl waited patiently for her mother to finish. Her twin brother, however, had different plans in mind. As I watched, the boy took the girl's pink balloon from her hands.

It took me back, I'll admit. To when I had been that little girl, only about five or six. Walking home from school, followed by my brother Jack. "Hurry up, Sky!" he had whined in his nasally tone. But I had been too engrossed in my balloon to notice this plea for speed.

Jack had taken my balloon, too.

I couldn't remember what had happened after that. I stood, watching the girl, and then became entranced as the villain- the murderer- advanced towards the little girl. He smiled at her- a genuine, caring and complete smile- and gently gave the balloon back to the little girl.

"Well, I'll be Moses," cursed Mr. Denton under his breath.

I was shocked, to say the least. A villain? A murderer? A con man? Giving a pink balloon back to a little girl?

Then I remembered how the rest of my story went. Jack had taken my balloon, and I had cried, whining to be given it back. To no avail. I wasn't getting it back- until the neighbourhood's poor kid, Eddie, came and gave it back to me.

Much like case 1145 had just done.

I tried to grip onto the sanity left in me. I was Skyler Jacobs, wasn't I? Undefeatable detective, caseworker finalist, all-around perfect person. So why did the man walking up the stairs... Harry, was it?.... Give me a sinking feeling in my chest? Why did my blood turn cold when I saw his green eyes flutter over the building's name? Why did I shiver when I saw his brown curls bounce a bit as one of the guards jerked him forward?

And not in fear. The feelings I felt towards this murderer (who had just shown lovely behaviour towards that little girl) were of admiration. A quiet interest.

The person who I had hated a mere hour ago, I now wanted to get inside him. I wanted to know why a murderer like him had so strictly become an angelic figure to everyone standing on the pathway in a mere manner of minutes.

I nodded to Mr. Denton and followed the man with his guards to the elevator. He was pushed into the elevator rather rudely by his guards. I frowned. I knew the guards at the local prisons weren't exactly preferable, but I didn't even think they were abusive.

I stepped into the elevator, watching with shock as one of the guards cursed as he hit the floor number. They never even asked me which floor I had to go to, even though it was the same one. What sort of world was this?

And I would've been forced to accept that dishonorable act had the villain- the one with the boring green eyes and chocolate curls- asked, "Which floor do you need to go to?"

The guards looked shocked. One had the decency to mutter a half apology towards me. I smiled towards him genuinely. The boy with the chocolate curls awaited my answer. "The same floor," I explained and relief washed over the guards face. The other grunted and rolled his eyes.

The elevator got up to our floor- 13- and then we all stepped off. I heard one of the guards say, "Skyler Jacobs' office is where he has to go." The other responded with, "Skyler Jacobs? She's solved like 300 cases. Her name's on the damn newspaper every week."

I smiled to myself. I decided to play with them a bit and not follow them directly. They'd deposit the boy with the curls in my office, chains on of course, and go out for coffee until our hour of questioning was done. I grabbed a quick coffee and passed Leighton in the hallway on the way to my office. He gave a low whistle. "Looking great, baby," he complimented as I moved on.

I swung open the door to my office and saw the boy with the chocolate curls sitting on the awaiting chair already, twiddling his fingers. He turned and looked at me, straight in the eyes. Our gazes locked, and something flashed inside me. A hidden memory, an answered prayer. I wasn't sure.

He did not have the appearance of a murderer. He had green eyes, dimples. Strong eyebrows. A clean shaven face. His cheekbones were prominent, and I saw tattoos dotting his arms, hands and chest. He looked like a normal teenager.

"Harry," I acknowledged his prescence, "it's lovely to meet you. My name is Skyler Jacobs, and you killed my father."

way to go Sky. that's the way to introduce yourself.

dedication to an amazing reader, @bookwormstagram, for having a freaking amazing username and being perfect.

thanks to everyone for commenting and being absolutely perfect!!