didactic (adjective): conveying information or moral instruction
Noelle's POV
I stare blankly at the roof above my head, the soft cushioned couch comforting my back as a lanky blanket falls just under my shoulders. It smells of a strong cologne and I can't help but effortlessly continue to smell the unnatural scent.
The balcony glass doors across the room are closed, but a subtle hint of moonlight creates a drawn out shine on the floor. I can't help but wonder how many nights this has happened and no one has realized its beauty.
Although this officer's apartment is very comfortable and homely, it still feels vacantly empty of any emotional connections like a house is supposed to uphold. There aren't any picture frames hung on the walls with family portraits - neither is there any nick-knacks lining the tops of furniture.
The empty remain of a broken home on clear display to my eyes.
A large puff of air falls from my lips, the dry skin cracking in the most uncomfortable way possible. It leads me to decipher out my activities; how is everyone around me acting toward the news of my attempted kidnap? I haven't fully gotten over reality either and it is times like this when I need someone to take my mind off of over-thinking situations and letting my stress get the better of me.
Insomnia seems to be my only acquaintance as I continue to think about college. I was lucky enough to get accepted with a full scholarship, for my family was never rich enough to afford a high-class school in the city.
People expect everyone in New York to live the life of luxury--and in a way--they are right, but there is also so much that they don't think of when they picture the beautiful city at night. My mother is a workaholic; always trying to ensure more hours and would always come home at nearly midnight with plans for more hours only a few hours away.
I blame this on my father; though we were a happy family, the broken remains of us scatter around us like a shattered mirror, reflecting our unique bond but also emphasizing just how baleful we truly were. My father is re-married; a woman who was few years younger than my mother catching his eyes remotely quick after finalizing the divorce.
My brother lives with him even though he is older than myself, and I haven't had contact with any of them since weeks before my incident. When the divorce happened, I was only ten, and at that time, we were still happily remote.
The judge let my parents decide on who got custody and the only agreement they could come up with was to each take a child, parting our family in half right down the center fold.
I was placed into the arms of my mother while she was waving goodbye to my only friend at the time. My father only smiled and waved, no regret on his face as I remember watching his future wife walk up beside him and pat his shoulder affectionately.
The sight burns holes in my eyes; not rendering a sorrowful flicker of hurt, but now a spiteful one.
I remember the relief and hurt and depression that my mother went to instead of me. On top of being stressed about the divorce, she told me that we needed a new start. Therefor, we moved deeper into the city and left the remains of the family behind in our past.
She works hard--I'll give her that--and she really does care and love me, but that has been buried under years of stress and worries that have now overcome us to our chins. I feel our connection slipping through my fingertips as I get older and the empty void for love and affection remains hollow.
The taste of blood in my mouth tells me that I have been gnawing on my bottom lip. Instincts kick in and I rub the faint blood away, causing a trail to mark on my fingers and most likely my chin. Deciding I needed to branch out a little anyway, I stand to my feet and lightly toss the blanket over the shoulder of the couch.
My feet slide over the floor as I approach the bathroom, faint moans making my motions freeze momentarily. The noise continues on, multiplying in volume as I squint my eyebrows and disregard my trip to the bathroom to walk farther down the hall and closer to the noise.
I lean forward and press my ear to the cold door, rustling sheets and light thumps causing me to wonder beyond the stars. What is he doing? A large part of me wants to tell myself to stay put and walk away, but the other--and more nosy part--yells at me from the inside to reach forward and figure out what is happening.
Pushing all thoughts of violating his privacy away, my fingers grasp the knob and quickly turn. The sight in front of me the moment I open the door stalls an unknown emotion, his body thrashing harshly under the constricting sheets and his eyebrows tightly clamped together in the darkness.
The closer I approach, the more I notice the anxiety in his facial expressions. His lips open and close, low moans falling between the rims of his heart-shaped lips, and tight scowls are brought up and dropped.
"Officer,'' I reach forward and my hand grabs the bulk parts of his shoulders, squeezing in untimely motions to try and restore reality into his system. "Hey, wake up!" I finally speak louder, his arms hitting my sides in his fight against his demons.
A cough erupts from my throat as his fist slams into my gut, the soar bruising on my ribs likely to triple in size at the new blow. The force I push against his strong arms doesn't seem to faze him; even in his sleep he can overcompensate my strength to the maximum.
How the hell am I supposed to wake him up?
I continue to shake him and call out many different names--all not his actual name which I am still in the dark about--and deciding that this tact isn't working, I quickly run out of the room and down the hall to the kitchen.
My eyes dart around the room and it takes multiple tries before I find the glass cabinet.
Quickly filling the cup to the brim, I scoot back down the hall and enter the room to see his body more worked up than before. Now the sheet that was wrapped around his hips is tossed to the side along with many pillows that were by his head previously.
I set the glass on the nightstand, the darkness in his room giving me little to work with as I trap his wrists in my hands and pin them down using all my strength. My knees press to the mattress on either side of him, ankles wrapping around his shins and forcing them to the softness of his bed.
The gasps turn into light screaming as I reach over and barely grab the full glass. I splash it onto his face and the sputtering of his lips turns into coughs, my body jumping slightly at the sight of him pushing himself to sit up.
My breath hitches in my throat as we come inches apart, his lips only mere centimeters from mine. I quickly start sitting up, his confused and panting body still trying to process what just happened. The water that was thrown onto his face soaks his shirt, the material clinging to his body and just barely getting my own wet.
His breathing is the only thing besides the ceiling fan that radiates through the room, my eyes tuned to hear the sharp intakes and exhales of air pouring through his body. I finally step to my one foot, surprise slashing me in the face as a hand grabs my forearm and tugs me back down onto the bed.
Strong arms are pressed around my kneeling body, the wetness of his shirt soaking my own as his hot breath hits my neck. It takes a few moments to process, but my arms hesitantly wrap around his lanky torso, squeezing at a remotely equal tightness.
Minutes pass by that we remain like this, the officer's breathing becoming normal and regulated as the light puffs of air fan onto my shoulder. He's the first to move, unwrapping his limbs from my own and sitting back against the head board.
I take a seat beside him on the bed and weakly wait for him to break the silence.
The jejune air is broken by a cough from his lips, the water coating his face - giving a shiny-looking glaze. I almost smile at how unruly his hair is at this hour: nearly four in the morning. A small smirk forms onto my lips as my insecurities pile into my lap.
Should I have come in?
Will he be mad at me later on tomorrow?
My thoughts are pushed to the side as he slumps awkwardly, the expanse of his hands covering his face in a swift motion as they rub down the whole platform of his face slowly. I notice tattoos peaking from his shirt on his collarbones that I hadn't seen and when I look up, his barren eyes are glaring pervasively on my own.
"Thank you,'' he mutters, voice barely audible yet full of sleepiness and stress. I barely make out his features although his eyes remain so see-in-the-dark, but I know he is forcing a small smile.
"For what?" I confusedly speak, questioning what I did in order to be thanked. It seems like I caused more mess than benefit seeing as though his whole bed sheet and comforter is soaked from the waist up.
"For saving me,'' he speaks, eyes trailing off to the corner of the room as I see an emotion flicker in his gaze. It stays longer now than ever before and I am able to catch it as it occupies his features some-what sluggishly.
"I never made it to the end,'' he speaks again, my head nodding at this new discovery. "That is always the worst part; the end."
I let silence speak for itself for a few minutes, my lips faulting with the right words to speak to a man who hides himself so well. All four walls that built his house crumbled to the floor and were caught under his boots, leaving the illusion of his strong-willed personality to falter momentarily.
"What do you dream about?" I ask, hesitantly.
"More like nightmare,'' his throat vibrates in a small chuckle. The thumb and forefinger on his left hand stretch over his eyebrows, the tense line residing back once the digits fall to the side of his lap with a thud.
"Nightmare..." I fix my previous statement, hoping to still get an answer in this darkness. "I've never seen someone so distraught by one before, it must be pretty traumatizing."
"I'm not weak,'' he quickly defends, sitting up abruptly with a scowl on his face.
"I know you're not, I never said you were."
"Good,'' he sits back again, stress dissolving rapidly.
I watch the thoughts fly behind his eyes, questions hitting at my throat that I want to ask but never giving permission to actually be spoken. "Does it happen a lot?"
"Yeah,'' he confirms, a frown creasing on my lips immediately. "They are pretty inveterate, if you ask me."
"I'm sorry,'' I comment, his face looking up from his lap. I watch the redness in his lips and how they are pulled tightly to a small pucker, raking chills down my spine.
"Don't be,'' his voice sounds. "Never be upset about something that you can't control. It eats you alive if you let it. I know that more than anyone else around here."
The once flat air is now consisted with tension, my body uncomfortably sitting on edge as he reprimands me. I see the facade piece back together on his features as he quickly stands from the bed and turns the light on all in one swift motion.
I am rendered speechless in his chaste at tossing all the covers into a nearby laundry basket. The sheets are disregarded and he comes back in, stumble in his step from the previous sleepiness, and aches seeming to torture his body as he rolls his shoulders begrudgingly.
His words from earlier bother me deeply.
What happened to him that caused his outlook on life to be so dark?
I saw a small glimpse of the man behind the mirror just moments ago and now he is walking around as if it never bothered him to even care. The movements of his shoulders work quick as he stalks around the room, taking up time cleaning up the pillows he threw onto the floor in his earlier state.
I suppose this is what he does every time a nightmare plagues him: he cleans.
After watching him intently, I stand up and lean against the doorway of his room.
"Are you really okay?"
His head turns to me sharply, dark green eyes hitting mine as his shoulders carelessly shrug. "I have to be,'' he speaks, dismissing my gaze and un-folding a new blanket he pulled from the closet. His arms out-stretch as he tosses the blanket onto his bed, "Now go get some sleep. We are gathering your things tomorrow."
-
My eyes carry along the familiar car park, the slamming of the officer's car door bringing me from my thoughts as I clamp one hand on the passenger side door and push it shut. The wind catches my hair very quick and twirls it into my vision; the scent of musty smoke and pollution corrupting my lungs.
We haven't spoken much since the occurrence last night, neither of us really interested in bringing back such a large emotional turmoil when unecessary. There are many, many questions that I could ask, but seeing as though his mind was set to drop the subject completely and he is my only chance at helping find this sick fucker, I drop all thoughts of asking him about his nightmares.
"Follow me,'' he nods, gesturing me to follow him into the Police Station.
I comply with a slight hum, my body lingering in his shadows as we walk from the parking garage to the office's entrance. I never noticed the large, open window-like holes that the parking garage had; most likely because the only time I actually have been in this area was last night when I wasn't necessarily paying attention.
This morning, I was informed briefly about some rules that I have to abide by while sticking to his side. My first instinct was to roll my eyes and claim that I don't need someone to look after me, but then I realized that I do, in fact, need just that. And more.
The first of many rules consisted of watching out for myself. Not only was this a common-knowledge for me, but he added many extras to the cast - including to not talk to anyone outside the apartment, to always carry my cell phone, never go anywhere alone, be smart about my decisions, always stick near his side and to not allow others to intimidate me.
The last rule had me shaken up because, frankly, confidence has only shone brightly on me when it comes to intelligence. I take full pride in the long hours I've spent studying and learning through books what I couldn't afford on my own.
The half-empty side of me, though, reminds me of all my flaws that consist of anything from pasty pigment to chubby thighs; like any other girl, I falter with being comfortable in my own skin.
"We had your mother sign out a sheet while you were still unconscious in the hospital,'' he starts, "And we have had your apartment under extreme surveillance since the incident. No one suspicious has entered or exited over the past few days nor four weeks before your kidnapping. On the bright side, we should be safe to go over while they are still scoping the place."
My eyebrows scrunch, ''Should? And what do you mean by scoping?"
His arm darts out to open the entrance for me, my head nodding politely at his kind gesture before waiting for his lanky body to walk in and guide me through the crammed station. Workers all in uniforms or business attire scurry around the room; the scent of coffee beans and fax paper making a large indent in my system.
"Scoping as in - checking for anything that could have possibly connected you to any of the other victims. In most cases, serial killers go for people of either the same look, hobbies, attitude - etcetera. I have speculations of him coming after you because of the other girls gone missing throughout your school. Not only is your college thriving, but very large. It must have taken a lot of thought and planning to accumulate a plan consisting of discharging all campus security cameras on point."
"So, what you're saying is that my apartment has been a free-for-all the past five days and I haven't even known?" I rhetorically speak to myself, groaning. "Great."
"As long as you have nothing to hide,'' he turns to look over his shoulder at me. A small smirk spreads across his lips, flirtatiousness something I have never seen look so mesmerizing before, "Then you have nothing to worry about."
"Right..." I drag out, crossing my arms and rolling my eyes as we enter the staircase and start our trek to what I am assuming to be the third floor - where most of the interesting stuff happens.
Our feet patter against the cement stairs, my breath straining slightly by the time we have climbed two flights. I never was physically fit enough to obtain a sport and now that it comes to this, I wish I would have taken aerobics more seriously.
"Before we take the car to your old apartment, there is something I want to show you,'' he says, speaking in a serious tone and leaving no trace of the playful banter we had going so smoothly moments ago.
I sigh out at the turn of tides and nod, agreeing with whatever he has in mind.
"Estelle,'' his commanding voice calls through the third floor main area. Not nearly as many people occupy this room, leaving me to believe that this floor is for restricted officers only and not open to everyone working here.
"Down here,'' a woman's head pops up from behind the desk, her foot slamming shut a drawer and cascading along the floor as she lightly spins in her chair. I notice the light blue in her eyes and the middle-aged skin coating her face.
A light smile is given to me when she sees that I have taken an interest in her appearance, feeling some-what nervous that she is extremely attractive and I am just a plain Jane. I smile back nonetheless and shift my gaze to the wall, letting my ears render their conversation.
"Have you finished the green screen tape set?" He asks, propping his elbows on the counter with a light thud. A cup of coffee is sat next to the woman named Estelle and I fiddle with my thumbs absentmindedly.
"I have,'' she triumphantly speaks, quick to stand on her heels and wave her hand for us to follow as she talks. "I had Royce help me with some of the digital effects and I think you will be astonished to see that even with his help, there lays no trace of a clue to the human eye."
Her sarcastic remark makes me grimace, the cleverness in her tone off-putting to me yet he finds it amusing. I roll my eyes as I follow behind the two who talk about things I don't understand, grimacing every time she makes him laugh and hating being the third wheel.
As we approach closer down the end of a hall, I realize just how large this whole building is. It gives off an extremely indignant illusion that the three-story building is compacted and tightly-crammed, but in reality, the complex has wide rooms and long corridor-like hallways.
We arrive at a door off to the side and she smiles at us both before nudging her shoulder harshly against the metal door to open it. A loud thump echos through the hall as she does so, my eyes squinting together as I am the last of us to enter fully into the unknown room.
The first thing I see is a large green screen hung up on the whole dispersed wall, a projector facing it and to the left of that, a large file cabinet with the key hole in the shape of some 'T' on crack.
I grimace at it before redirecting my attention back to Estelle as she pulls a square-shaped tape box from her bulky pants and cracks open the case.
"What is this place?" I speak up, un-crossing my arms and dragging my fingers along the file cabinet. The large case is covered in dust and stowed away to the side of the room, my suspicions rising as I question if this room has been touched in weeks.
"It used to be a janitor's closet, but we found better use. Isn't that right, Harry?" Estelle speaks, my ears tuning to the knowledge of this officer's name: Harry. It fits his persona, the name giving off a weird vibe but also a smooth aura.
My glance meets.. Harry's, and he shakes his head away, noticing my new discovery of the thing I should have learned first while entering into this situation.
"How so?" I ponder aloud.
Estelle laughs, ''This room has been deserted and empty since 1996, leaving all possibilities of what to do with it endless. We came up with the idea of a green screen room that could compensate as a visual reminder of a crime scene. This way, if our memory fades and we need a clearer picture, we have a last resort."
"So, no one knows about this room but you two?" I hesitantly question, an anxious burn in my stomach at the finding out of this knowledge.
"And a few other people,'' she shrugs, pushing the tape into the projector and dusting off her hands, the clapping sound the only noise before an odd ticking.
The light suddenly shuts off in the room, my instincts flaring sharply until I see Harry walk back over to us in front of the large screen to give me a small but comforting nod. I weakly smile back, my eyes darting to the pictures flashing in front of us.
With a hazy feeling in my stomach, I gulp at the pictures.
Hello everyone! I'll update when this chapter hits 20 votes and 15 comments! Thank you all for reading, and share this book if you are feeling it!
- Dani xx