The police station was a flurry of activity, police officers buzzing back and forth through the halls like bees, the din of cell-phone ringing and police officer's discussions filling the air in the background.
Sean sat alone, slumped, on the long wooden bench in the locker room. He still wore his vest and tactical gear.
Malloy appeared at the open door, leaning up against the frame, one of the cheap break room coffees in his hand. "How you doing?"
Sean scoffed. "Not good."
"Yeah." Malloy took a deep breath. "Yeah, I can imagine."
The bullet had missed.
Whether by the hand of God or Sean's bad aim, the bullet had missed.
He had missed.
By sheer luck.
His head dropped into his hands. "Jesus Christ, Pete. I almost killed her. I almost killed my own sister."
Malloy didn't say anything. He slowly walked over to Sean and sat down on the bench next to him.
"But you didn't, son. She's alive... and safe. There's no point questioning it—there's no answer. No rational reason. A miracle. Sometimes you just get lucky in life... but mostly you don't."
Sean didn't respond.
Malloy cleared his throat, which only resulted in his voice being even more grizzled. "Anyways... suspect is completely non-co-op—he's down in SEG-3. Disoriented and confused. Mental Health Crisis Unit will be here any minute."
"It's not my concern anymore." Sean's voice was soft, barely a whisper.
Malloy turned to him, his voice suddenly pleading. "I wish you'd reconsider, son. The department needs people like you."
"I can't, Pete," Sean said, his tear-brimmed eyes meeting Malloy's. "I can't. I can't handle it. I'm too weak."
"You're just scared, son. There's never anything wrong with being scared."
"That kid didn't even have anything, Pete. What if I killed someone else by accident? What if I kill someone else's sister? Or brother? Or Father? No, Pete. No. I can't do that."
A tear slowly rolled down his cheek, dropping to the floor from his chin. "I failed. All I ever wanted was to make my father proud."
Malloy slowly reached out to rest his hand on Sean's shoulder.
"You did, son," Malloy said quietly, squeezing it gently. "You did."
"Officer Malloy?"
Their heads shot up in sync, their bodies quickly sliding apart to either end of the long bench. Sophia Adler from the Digital Forensics Unit stood at the locker-room entrance in her white lab coat, a paper folder in her hand.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," she said, "but you said to get this to you right away, no matter what you—"
"Yes, yes, thank you Adler," Malloy said, clearing his throat and standing up. "Give it to Mather."
Sean stood up and followed Malloy to Adler. "But Pete, you know I—"
Malloy slapped the folder against Sean's chest. "Remember what I said this morning about making peace with yourself? Besides... you start something, you finish it—then you can quit. And go check in with Ava. She's in the Sergeant's office." Malloy started for the exit.
"Yes sir. And Pete?"
Malloy stopped, looking back over his shoulder. "Yeah, son?"
"Thanks."
Malloy's shot out his fist in a thumbs-up. "One to remember for retirement."
Then he was gone.
Sophia suddenly spoke, her voice low and somber. "Officer Mather, I'm so sorry about what happened. If there's anything—"
"Thank you very much, but I'll be okay." He cleared his throat. "What do you got?"
"Well..." Sophia trailed off. "That's the thing. Nothing really. Officer Malloy wanted all the surveillance camera footage off Henry Avenue, as well as any witness video. But all the digital data I've gathered are like the one from this morning. Corrupted."
She opened the folder. Her fingernails were painted black... and for some odd and crazy reason, Sean randomly wondered if her toes were painted the same color.
It's just shock. An intrusive thought. Ignore it.
Yeah, right. Sure it is.
"Let's walk and talk," Sean said, trying to clear his head. They started off through the cubicle farm towards the Sergeant's office—cops hurried back and forth, to and fro, criss-crossing in front of them, around them, and behind them as the pair strode next to each other.
The printed screenshots in the folder were just pixelated, garbled garbage.
"Not a single shot?" Sean said dejectedly.
"Not one. Every device they've brought in—cameras, cell phones. Nothing salvageable. All the same as this morning."
A cop crossed quickly in front of them, his arms full—he cradled a tablet and cell phone in one arm, with another squeezed between his ear and shoulder. In his other hand he held a glass-bottled iced mocha. As he passed by another police officer, he shot his hand out, hooking the cap of the bottle into the passing cop's key-ring on his waist—he gave the bottle a quick twist and the cap popped off. The officer kicked his foot up behind him as he passed the falling cap, flicking it up in an arc through the air like a hacky-sack.
It landed in the waste can next to the water cooler.
Sean stopped outside the Sergeant's office. "You can't just re-construct it like you did with the footage from this morning?"
"No." Sophia shook her head; she had taken her ponytail out, and her long red hair now brushed freely around her shoulders and back.
"This was way worse than before. It's like—it's like it's stronger," she said. "There's something else, too."
Sean's hand stopped mid-reach for the doorknob. "What?"
"There's a... signature. A digital artifact left from whatever corrupted the video encoding. Conventional electromagnetic weapons wouldn't leave this kind of marker in the data architecture. It's almost like... digital molecular DNA."
"What the hell does that mean?"
She reached out to gently rest her hand on his bare forearm—her skin was soft and warm, yet it was still almost like a shock; the hairs on his neck stood up; tingling. Sean almost shivered.
"It means go easy on her," Sophia said. "And yourself, too."
Ava was behind the Sergeant's chair massive desk, sitting in his giant leather chair and idly spinning around in it. Singing softly to herself. Of course.
Like she always did.
It could get really annoying at times.
Yeah, and just yesterday could have been the last time you ever heard her sing again. I'll gladly listen to it all day.
Sean almost broke down, feeling so confused, relieved, and broken at the same time.
You almost killed her.
"Sean!" Ava said, jumping out of the chair to run to him and throw her arms around him. Sean gave her a big squeeze, then grabbed her shoulders, giving her a light shake.
"Ava, what the hell were you thinking? How could you do that? Don't you know how stupid that was? I almost killed you!"
Ava shrugged his hands off her, her voice loud.
"What the hell are you doing, Sean? You almost killed me! Why didn't you listen to me? Henry is harmless!"
"Ava, you don't understand. He's the prime suspect in a—"
"Where's Jorge? Fury?"
"Who?"
"Fury. The dog."
"Oh. He's here." It certainly wasn't SOP, but... Sean shrugged. "Animal Control is on the way."
Wasn't SOP was right. The truth of the matter was the dog had sat so quietly and patiently, not moving, during the clean-up scene, that quite honestly...
Everyone forgot about him.
Until Officer Reed got into his cruiser and found him sitting patiently in the passenger seat.
"Ava, listen to me," Sean said. "Your friend is involved in a homicide investigation—a brutal one. As well as a possible terrorist attack."
"It's not true, Sean," Ava said, shaking her head. "It's not him. There's some kind of thing in that alleyway... it's like, a cloud... sometimes? Except when it's not? Look, I don't know how to explain it—but that's what it is! Didn't you see the Civic? That's not from a goddamn fender-bender!"
Her fists were clenched, her face red and set in a squinted-eyed, furrowed brow particular expression...
That expression.
His mind flashed back to the Super-Soaker gun fights they would have as kids (where she always lost and got drenched), playing video games together for hours (where she always came in last). The face when it was his turn to pick the movie the family watched.
A happier time.
"The Civic is in the station garage being gone over by the technicians," Sean said. "But listen to yourself, Ava! How can any of that even be remotely possible?"
"I don't know, Sean. But it is. I swear to you." Her face had softened, and now there a light sheen of wetness reflecting off her eyes. "You know I wouldn't make all this up."
Sean sighed heavily. "I know. But look—I'm sure there's an explanation. Maybe you were just hallucinating, or—"
The lights suddenly began to flicker.
Sean looked up at the twitching, flashing fluorescent lights. "What in the—"
"Oh, no," Ava whispered.
A low rumble began to permeate through the building; a low vibration that Sean could feel in his body. The large glass windows of the office began to rattle.
A high pitch whine began to build, rising in pitch and piercing Sean's ears.
Ava said something.
"What?" Sean shouted over the noise. The glass was vibrating so hard that it slammed back and forth in the wooden frames, miraculously not breaking. Sean tried to read her lips—the wind was suddenly roaring. Ava's face was as pale as a ghost, her eyes wide open in stark terror, her lips mouthing wordlessly.
The noise suddenly faded away.
The glass came to a shuddering instant stop. The rumbling instantly disappeared.
There was complete silence.
"Here," Ava whispered. "It's here."