Jennifer Lynne is a homicide detective working on one of the most horrific serial killing cases New York has seen in the last decade. When she and her partner get a lead on the suspect, they catch him with his seventh victim. But things go south and...
My fingertip traces over his signature. Love you too, Dad. If only he could know how much this is helping me right now.
Before he died, before things got bad, he gave me his bible. He didn't always practice the word of God, but he kept this by his side whenever he was home. And when I was struggling in my first years on the job, he gave it to me. And what surprised me the most about his gift was the bookmark inside.
Dad put his beloved rosary inside the Bible as a bookmark. At first, I thought he made a mistake but he reassured me that he wanted me to have it. Sometimes I wonder if he knew that he was headed down a rough path, cause I know neither my mother or Clayton would've let me have it.
I lift the rosary out of the book and hold it by the chain. I carefully place the Bible back into the box. I stare at the rosary, too afraid to look away. The little crucifix dangles, but nothing happens. My eyes shift along the room, part of me expecting to see a sign. But there's nothing.
My lips form into a smile as I laugh a bit to myself. My palms begin to sweat, so I adjust my grip so I don't drop it. I grab the crucifix, holding it in my hand. I really look at it closely for the first time. I never really got the conception of how a little mass-produced necklace could be so spiritual —
Sharp, deep-burning presses in my palm. I gasp, yelping in pain. My hand flexes and the rosary slips, clattering to the floor. My hand burns as if I had touched an open flame. Cradling my hand, I see the shape of a cross burned red into my skin.
What...the fuck? My eyes snap down to the floor where the rosary lies. With my other hand, I crouch and nervously reach out with my pointer finger. I tap it gently and quickly, pulling my hand back as soon as I can. But it isn't hot, or even warm.
How did it burn me?
Fuck. I didn't prove myself wrong. I just proved Jackson right.
On the coffee table, a harsh vibration buzzes against the glass. I walk about five feet, and when I pick up my new phone, I'm out of breath.
"Lynne," Captain Stringer says in his usual tone. "We need you down here. What are you doing?"
I glance over at the boxes and the fallen rosary. "Some spring cleaning,"
"Well, it can wait. Get down here now."
He hangs up before I can ask for more information or try to get out of it. Maybe it will be a good distraction. I don't know if I want to touch the damned thing even to put it away.
I guess it will have to sit there for a while.
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When I arrive in the pen, there's already a commotion. Officers stand near the board, eager to hear what the Captain has to say. He's talking when I walk in.
"Now, we don't know if these are related to the DLK case, which we believe are solved, but..."
When he mentions the Devil Lake Killer, I feel myself start to zone out. I don't want to hear about Aaron Jackson anymore. I want to move on from that man, but he keeps following me.
