shadow [h.s.]

e i g h t h

"Come on, skinny love, just last the year.

Pour a little salt, we were never here."

I slapped the radio dial off as I made my way between the kitchen and my bedroom. I had had no sleep last night, drowning myself in ice cream and reruns of Reba that made my head feel like a hangover and my body feel like a slug, but I didn't care.

My feelings were all over the place.

I stepped into the shower and relaxed as the warm water hit my nervous skin. I examined my ring in the pale light of the bathroom, noting how it glimmered and shimmered when I moved it around. It seemed so odd, so out of place. I kept thinking, did I seriously get engaged last night?

This would take getting used to.

There was a long debate between myself and, well, myself as I was getting dressed, ("Does an engaged woman wear a skirt that's above her knees, Ms. Jacobs?" "I'm not entirely sure, Ms. Jacobs."), but I did finally agree on the usual skirt and solid purple blouse that was at least over $100 altogether.

There was another debate as I was pulling through Timmie's drive thru to get my coffee and doughnut, and another debate as I was listening to the Oilers beat the Flames on the radio, and yet another as I was trying to find a parking spot (because did engaged women park beside the department's socially awkward freak named Jimmy who looked down women's shirts on purpose?).

Being engaged was so hard.

I huffed and puffed as I walked up the stairs to my office, because the freaking elevator was overloaded with staff on their last minute run to the loos, and of course no one was willing to give up their spot for a lady in six inch heels. This day was not going well. Wasn't the day after your engagment supposed to have flowers and ribbons and birds singing? The only bird encounter I had had today was the one that had pooped on my car.

I came into my office with half my head inside my purse, searching for my stupid phone-- please don't tell me I left it at home- and walked straight into Harry. I raised my head- "Oh, hey,"- and continued my search for the phone.

"Hey." he said flatly.

"Ohmygosh, you will never guess what happened last night," I exclaimed after I had finally found the stupid thing. "Okay. Guess."

Harry gave a light chuckle. "You found out your mother is a vampire."

"No. Better than that."

"You got unlimited free food at Chick-Fil-A."

"No, although that would be amazing."

Harry threw up his hands in the air. "I give up, Jacobs. You tell me."

"Okay." I said, taking in a deep breath. "I got engaged!"

I wish I could say I really paid attention to how Harry responded to that line, but I didn't. If I had been paying attention, I would've noticed the way his eyes fell. I would've seen the way his shoulders drooped, would've noted how his mouth got turned upside down for just a few moments. I would've noticed, maybe, if I had been paying attention enough, how his eyes got a little glassy.

But Harry was just as good of an actor as I was.

"Congratulations, Skyler!" he said enthusiastically. "It was to Leighton, right?"

I rolled my eyes. "Who else, Styles."

"Well, personally, I was rooting for Leonardo DiCaprio in that instance, but."

Giggling, I set my coffee down. "Okay. Although I would love to chat all day about the fact that I actually freaking got engaged, we need to talk."

Harry sat down in his seat, watching me carefully. "Yeah, we probably should. That's what these sessions are for, anyway."

I sighed. "Listen, Harry, you've been everything but co-operative concerning this case. Can't you just answer my questions?"

Harry furrowed his brow and leaned forward, raking a hand through his curls. "I can't, Sky," he started, pleading with me.

My eyes darted between him and the desk. "No, Harry, you can and you will. This is my case, and you've got to answer these questions!"

Harry swore, taking me a bit off guard before he continued, "No, you don't understand-"

"Yeah, you're right, Harry," I said snappishly. "I don't. You're innocent, I know you are, why won't you let me prove that to everyone else?"

The silence in the room was deafening. Harry looked at me, mouth open, eyes locked into mine. His jaw moved, seemingly trying to say something but he can't.

I exhaled, shoulders dropping. When I spoke my voice was raspy and dry. "I can't prove this to everyone else if you won't answer my questions, Harry," I admitted. "Just go." I pickde up my purple jacket from the desk and shrugged it on; absolutely defeated.

He looked heartbroken; devastated. But he nodded and rose to his feet, shuffling towards the door. He looked over his shoulder once, and our gazes locked. I wanted to say something; say anything, but I was engaged now, and this was simply a work project that I would have to figure out on my own.

His eyes dropped to the floor before he said slowly, "Purple looks good on you."

And then he left.

I examined myself in the mirrors after lunch. Purple wasn't my strongest colour, I decided, but it made me look happier and more romantic. It was hard to believe Harry thought it looked good on me- Leighton commented on it at lunch, saying, "You look like a cow that had it's hair dyed the wrong colour."

And it hurt, but I pushed it off, because I was engaged and I was happy with my life.

Right?

I shook my head and blinked my eyes several times. It was 2:00 and I needed to focus on Case 1145 before I went home. I turned on some music and heaved the file folder from out of the drawer.

The first page was on Harry Edward Styles. I glanced over it, noting where he had lived and where he had worked. Hmm. He grew up close to where I did.

Next was my dad, the first victim of Case 1145. Obviously the address was my growing up house. I bit my lip, flipping to the next paper. Marilyn Gaunt. Movie actress, small, one-hit wonder. But her address was in the very same neighbourhood I had grown up in- River Heights.

My foot started bouncing up and down, blood boiling. I was on to something. Jennifer Hellespont- writer, teacher. Owned more than a few cats. My memory trickled back to the crazy lady at the end of the street. Mum had filed a complaint about her cats in 2003- just one year before her murder. It was the same lady,the Jennifer Hellespont was this crazy woman who had lived in my neighbourhood.

Fingers dashing through the paperwork, I skipped to the next paper. Kelly Marshall. Address: 109 River Heights Complex. I nodded. So. The murderer was on a killing spree that involved River Heights.

But why?

I dialed Mr. Denton. "Whadya want, Jacobs," he muttered into the receiver.

"Just one thing," I confessed. "Where did Kelly Jones live?"

There was papers rustling in the background before Charles mumbled, "Around the area where you used to live. Why?"

I nodded, a smile stretching across my features. "Because I'm finally making some headway on Case 1145."

just for anyone who forgot, Kelly Jones was the woman murdered at the library.

also, get ready for major feels in the next chapter mwahaha. :)

-beth