I sit on Banks’ front porch while Sam tells Beth about Derek’s murder in great detail. I can’t bear to listen to it, to hear their screams of heartbreak or see the agony smeared across their faces, but I do, and I hate the fact that I do nothing about it.
Surprisingly, there’s no sound from inside the house apart from Sam’s sympathy coos. I understand why, Beth’s been preparing her family for this event for donkey’s years, and now it’s come. Derek purposely distanced himself from his own children and wife because he knew how high-risk his position was, and it’s paid off.
From the slits between the screen doors, I see Beth sitting on the killer couch with her arms around Nathalia and Shoshana. The girls are teary eyed but Beth commands them to stay strong, they listen to her, they want to be like their mother and elder sister the ‘super cop’―they want to be strong.
Banks stands behind her mother and rubs her shoulders in a comforting gesture, I should be in there but I can’t bring myself to stand.
I shuffle my knees close to my chest and rest my chin on my slacks. The cool sprinkle of rain greets me to calm my burning nerves, a storm’s coming, a big one. Grey clouds cover the stars of the night sky, casting a deeper darkness throughout Manhattan; I just hope I’m prepared for it.
I have faith in you Akira, we’ll be okay.
Nevertheless, that isn’t a promise Derek can keep, his faith isn’t enough to save his family from the grief that will surely follow. Once his coffin is lowered into the earth, the realisation will set in and everything will spiral. I shake my head, I can’t be here for the Banks Family, I mentally can’t bear the thought of it.
I get up from my position on the steps and start walking in the soft rain down the sidewalk. It’s nine at night and Derek’s been dead for about ten hours. I put my hands in the pockets of my slacks and drag my heels past Sam’s parked SUV on in front of the house.
The screen door of the Banks household slams shut and I hear the pitter-patter of footsteps against the sidewalk. The rain is warm against my bear arms and I stand beneath the street lamp, I don’t make a sound as Shoshana and Nathalia hug me around the waist. Nathalia only reaches my hip whereas her sister comes up to my chest. They’re murmuring thankyous to me but it doesn’t compute, why are they thanking me? What have I done to be thankful for?
“Don’t go Stevens,” whispers Nathalia.
I want to tell her that I have to go, that there’s no point sticking around to feel their wrath, but my lips don’t move, they simply quiver. I’m silent; I’m taking the coward’s way out. I’m running from my demons, just like how I continue to run from my own mother.
“I’m sorry for drawing wieners on your arms, I promise you can draw on my face if that will make you stay!” Nathalia continues in an over-dramatized tone and buries her face into the small of my back.
“Way to kill the mood, idiot,” Shoshana tugs harshly on Nathalia’s pineapple ponytail and I can’t help but smile. Shoshana hugs my front while Nathalia’s arms are around my back. I smooth down Shoshana’s hair, it’s like the water bounces off her curls. “Hey Stevens, it’ll be cool if you stick around,” she goes onto her tippy toes to stroke my cheek with her long fingers.
“You saved our big sis today; you’re the new Super Cop!” Nathalia hoots enthusiastically.
My chest tightens, am I a ‘Super Cop’? I don’t feel like it, not even in the slightest. I try to put on a brave face for Shoshana and Nathalia but it wavers the instant I see the tears in their eyes, I caused those tears. Shoshana doesn’t drop her hand and Nathalia squeezes my hips that extra bit tighter to know that she’s still here too.
“Stevens the Super Cop,” Shoshana nods in agreement.
“Cap’n Cop,” Nathalia giggles.
Despite their cheerful laughs, their tears remain, mixed in with the pouring rain. I still keep my vow of silence, my arms sway limply at my sides. I desperately need a cigarette or a bullet, some form of relief to ease the taut muscles between my shoulders. As if hearing my silent plea, Banks comes up behind me, making sure not to squish Nathalia, and starts to rub between my shoulders.
“Don’t shut me out Top Cop,” Banks says with a short laugh. “Akira get out of the rain and come inside, it’s cold and I can see your orange bra through your shirt. Sucks shit to be wearing white, huh?”
I’m not sure if I snort, or choke. My arms move from my sides to fold over my chest to hide the orange bra I’m wearing. I was in too much of a fluster this morning to find my white or black one and I grabbed whatever I could so I could get to the press conference on time. A smirk twitches up my lips and I pat Shoshana and Nathalia on the head again, they give me some space to breathe and I punch Banks hard in the shoulder.
“My non-existent balls are rolling in their grave thanks to you,” I quickly fold my arms because Sam’s standing under the cover of the porch with his left hand in his pocket, his right’s in a navy blue sling. He’s staring at the little hoard of people with a curious expression―like he’s trying to figure us out.
“Without me, your balls would just be dead, I can still haunt them even in the afterlife,” Banks puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. Her brown eyes are alive, not glassy dull orbs, but vibrant. She gives me a warm smile and pulls me into a spine crushing hug, it takes five seconds for her to realise that I’m still bruised from Nikita’s abuse. “Shit, right sorry I forget that you’re not made of steel like you try to lead people on.”
I smirk slightly and grip my side, wincing at the dull throb my muscles give off beneath my fingertips. Shoshana and Nathalia don’t notice, they hang of one side of my body cheering that I’m staying, while Banks puts her hand between my shoulders and pushes me forward so my legs don’t give out again like the many times during the ten hours of torture I’ve dealt with.
The girls squeal when the rain pelts against us harder and they breeze past me and Banks towards the cover of their porch. Beth’s there, murmuring to Sam, he nods and mutters things back but keeps his gaze on me and Banks, his curious expression doesn’t waver once.
I lean into Banks and whisper, “Is my bra really that noticeable?”
Banks cackles and shoves me forward, “Duh, why else do you think Mr Vanilla Latte is licking his chops at you? Hell I think he got the biggest stiffy when you had your legs around him, you sly fox Top Cop.”
I just blink at her.
“Your non-existent balls are screaming,” Banks comments in my ear when we trudge up the steps, dripping and shivering. She regards Sam with close scrutiny and smirks, “You staying?”
“Well, I―” Sam’s cut off.
“Yes, stay with us for the night. You can be Mr Super Cop!” Nathalia grabs Sam’s unslung hand and tugs on it, pulling him off balance slightly. Nathalia has a gift, she can make anyone smile no matter what situation, nothing seems to phase her, she makes Sam’s nerves ease.
“I―” Sam’s silenced again.
“Yeah, you can make sure that Super Cop and Stevens don’t go for each other’s throats again like last time when they found out you had a PA. I mean seriously, they need a man to keep them in check so they don’t stalk your Facebook,” Shoshana says nonchalantly, accompanied with a one-shoulder shrug.
Banks and I share a look, our mouths open but we can’t form coherent sentences. Did that really just come out of Shoshana Banks’ mouth? Did I hear that properly? I think Banks and I need to keep our mock-fights to a minimal and censor our language around the younger Banks sisters. Shoshana’s turning into a mini cop herself, her powers of deduction is exemplary. It’s frighting that Shoshana knew that me and Banks (mainly Banks, it’s all her) were on Facebook looking at Amanda Jane Who Does Not Know Who The Stones Are.
Sam raises an eyebrow in our direction.
“A’ight that’s enough from you two, go inside or you’ll catch a cold,” Beth shoos her children back into the warmth of the house.
Her hair is tied into a loose bun and she sighs, there’s no sadness in her tone―Beth is too strong for her own good to allow her children to see her cry, but she knew what she was getting into when she married Derek. I respect her.
Beth smiles warmly at Sam but I see it dim around the edges, “It would be a pleasure for you to stay, I believe that grieving should be done with trusted friends and I thank you for trying to help my husband, he never liked FBI, but you’re different―if my daughter and her best friend can put up with you, then you must be unlike any other FBI they’ve come across.”
“I’m just sorry that nothing else could be done,” Sam rubs his sling, “I would be happy to stay but I don’t want to cause any inconveniences, you’re grieving.”
“Samuel, by now you should realise that the inconveniences are over there,” Beth points at me and Banks. “I insist, please come inside, I’ve grieved enough in my lifetime. Derek and I knew this would happen, but that doesn’t stop the hurt, it just lessens the blow.”
Donovan:
where r u its getting late.
still getting Italian?
Me:
Chief Banks is dead. Consoling family.
Won’t be back for a while. Sorry.
Donovan:
fuk, shud i come over to see makita?
is everything ok?
Me:
No. I don’t think she wants you here.
I have to go, got business to attend to.
I leave my phone face down on the kitchen counter; I took the brief moment between pauses in Beth’s stories about her husband, so I could tell Blake where I was. She’s been talking for hours, not really getting to a point, but her voice entertains and keeps the light air around us―there’s no grief, only remembrance and respect.
Banks and I sit against her closed bedroom door and listen to Beth speak her tale of love and how she fell for Derek. Nathalia’s lying on the couch asleep with her head in Shoshana’s lap. The elder of the two is getting drowsy and the slow stroking motion of her hand against Nathalia’s pineapple hair slows and she too drifts off to sleep. Sam on the other hand, is wide awake and heeds considerately, his face a blank mask. Does he regret staying the night?
“I guess I should put the kids to bed,” Beth pauses and for the first time all night, her voice wavers as her inner anguish surfaces. Beth full bottom lip quivers and she has to cover her mouth with a trembling hand. Banks and I make our moves.
“Ma, me and Top Cop will get the rascals ready,” Banks pats Shoshana on the shoulder and her sister drowsily hums and takes her hand while I scoop Nathalia up in my arms, the little girl loops her arms around my neck and continues to snore softly.
“I’ll put on the kettle and make us a cuppa,” I offer.
“No, it’s fine,” Beth says quickly but I can tell she’s hurting more than anyone in the world. The tears finally break their barrier and slide down her flawless cheeks. I press Nathalia to my body with my left hand and dip towards the coffee table to pry three tissues from the Kleenex box. I hand them out to Beth and she gratefully takes them and blows her nose.
“Take the weight off your feet Beth,” I pause to coo in Nathalia’s ear when she stirs in my arms. I reach down to unclip my belt and I place it with a clatter on the coffee table, I know how Beth doesn’t want the girls near my gun. “Don’t worry, I’ll explain things over tea.”
“Akira,” Beth’s voice stops me.
I turn around to look at the shattered woman who continuously opens her home to me. I feel guilty, she doesn’t want any police influences on her children’s lives but here I am, walking around with a gun and try to run away from the sorrow Beth’s trying to keep out of her home, to keep away from herself. I hum in acknowledgment so I wouldn’t wake Nathalia.
“You’re a good person; please stop walking these halls thinking that this is your fault. I don’t want you living your life with Derek’s death resting on your shoulders, I’m grateful that it was you that tried to help,” she then clears her throat and looks at Sam. “You too, Samuel, my husband would be proud of you both.”
I don’t respond to her because Sam starts to make small talk again and I know I’m not needed. I drag my heels to the girls’ rooms and see Banks flick of Shoshana’s light. She presses her knuckles against my cheek and gives a wink, but I don’t return it. I just go to the room next door and see the bedside lamp is already on.
I peel back the covers and lower her down. Her right leg slides from the mattress and I have to gingerly place it back beneath the quilt. Nathalia’s still in her jam-clad overalls but I think she’s too tired to realise, Beth talked for hours and it’s worn the little girl out. I move a strand of her ponytail fuzz from her forehead and tuck her in.
“Super Cop,” Nathalia murmurs when I reach to turn off the lamp.
“Hm?” I pause.
“Why aren’t you happy?” she asks softly.
“Because,” I cringe, “I screwed up today.”
“Daddy always used to tell us, when he’d come home from the big police office, that one day he won’t come home. Mummy even has his stuff in boxes, they both knew this would happen. Daddy’s not coming home and that’s okay, Super Cop it’s okay,” Nathalia says.
“Go to sleep,” I say.
“Only if you stop being sad,” Nathalia bargains.
“Is that a threat, missy?” I poke her forehead.
“Yeah, me and your Mr Super Cop will cuff you and put you in jail if you don’t smile!” Nathalia tries to giggle but it turns into a yawn.
I shake my head at her and turn off the light. She protests quietly but I don’t want to say anything else to her, Nathalia just needs to sleep. What breaks my heart is that she knew Derek wasn’t coming home, they all did. Then why does the lead keep falling on top of me? I shake my head, I need to stop dwelling on it, Beth doesn’t hate me and that’s all that matters.
“Banks,” I say when I get back into the living room. She raises a brow at me in acknowledgment, “Do you still have my Criminal Minds box set?”
“Yeah you left it here when you collected your crap,” Banks’ lips turn downward remembering our fight the other day. “Are you finally going to tell me what the fuck is going on with everything?”
“Stevens,” Sam shakes his head slightly at me.
“They need to know,” I argue.
“That’s not your decision to make,” he challenges.
“If you have a problem, arrest me,” I narrow my eyes.
Sam’s eyes widen slightly, he’s conflicted as to whether he should put me under arrest or let me spill the secrets of Angel Blue. We both glare at each other and he places his left hand diagonally across himself to reach his holster. Okay, so we’ve gone from uncertainty to ‘I will silence you with a bullet’. Sam thinks for a moment before clenching his jaw and backs off completely.
“Akira what’s all this about?” Banks comes back out of her room toting the box set. Between the series episodes is the Angel Blue file I smuggled from Dad’s office all those months ago.
“This,” I say while retrieving the file and opening it, “is Angel Blue. This is what got Derek killed.”
• • •
I sit between the two metal slabs that contain Derek’s and Jax’s cadavers. I’ve been in the morgue for about two hours, simply sitting and not looking at anything in particular. Banks had to drive me and Sam here since his lack of mobility in his right arm―at least I know it’s only sprained and is nothing that’ll take more than a couple of weeks to heal.
Thanks to me revealing the truth of Angel Blue to Banks, there’s no other option but to include her in our investigation. She has a right to, ever since the beginning she’s been entitled to find out what Derek was doing with his late nights and purposely distancing himself from the people he loved most in the world. Banks didn’t ask me questions; all she had to do was read the file three times over and absorb the information.
“So,” Banks drawls, she’s sitting next to her father’s body and his stroking his knuckles. She’s careful not to touch the ligature marks left by his restraints. Banks’ voice is soft but she looks up to glance at Sam and Snag, “You three are creatures too?”
“Not exactly,” Snag says, “we’re completely human but were born with a mutated strand of DNA that opens the neural pathways. In simple terms, we’re the metal detectors of the monsters in Manhattan. This gene allows us to see and hear them.”
“Right,” Banks murmurs. “So when Akira goes on her little mission from God or whatever, this gene kicks in and takes over?”
“We have control over it,” Snag continues cautiously. “It just depends on certain degrees of capability depending on the strength of someone’s mind as to how the Diablo gene works. For example, I can only hear the creatures whereas Akira can hear and see them, which is very extraordinary.”
I push my chair back and it makes a metallic scrape across the concrete of the morgue. I keep my glare fixated on my boots as I start to pace to the glass doors and then back to the coolers and back again, it’s a continuous cycle and it relaxes me a little―but not much.
“Why did Dad want to keep this from me?” Banks asks.
“To protect you, everyone in this project understands that every breath they take could be their last. It’s a price we have to pay if Angel Blue is to ever go ahead,” Sam says.
“But you said these things have treaties with the precincts, they’re not doing anything wrong, only a sick bastard is killing these people. Seriously Mr Vanilla Latte, if you had a choice to go against orders, would you back out of this?” Banks probes.
I remove the mandatory report from Snag’s examination table and flip through it just to keep my hands from shaking. After I showed Beth and Banks the truth about Angel Blue, Banks thought it would be a good idea if we got out of the house―much to my protest since I didn’t think Beth should be left alone, but she insisted so I went.
Unsub takes cab in downtown area at 9:30 A.M. to intercept Chief Banks before conference while two perps capture Officer Banks on her route to work. Unsub threatens to kill daughter if Chief Banks doesn’t comply.
Upon reaching destination, suspect orders Chief Banks to continue on walking at gun point into abandoned warehouse where he then perpetrates robbery and takes Chief Banks’ phone and walkie-talkie.
In one case victim was shot in head at contact. The weapon was Smiths & Wesson Model 15-4 in .38 Special.
“I don’t understand the purpose of your question,” Sam replies evenly.
“If you could, would you drop this case and get someone else to do it?” Banks rephrases it, she’s tight lipped.
“It depends on the circumstances, say if my partner was killed then yes I would excuse myself from the investigation but I’m not making that repeated mistake again,” Sam says.
I ignore them still and put on a pair of rubber gloves. On the table beneath the lamp is the note from Jax’s pocket and I compare it with the photo of the first riddle found in Dianne Hemming’s throat―the writing is a match and so is the ink and paper density but something is off.
My eyes flick between the letter and the photos of the other riddles and then it all clicks, it’s the ego. The killer always starts the letters or riddles with presumption and control ‘how’, means he’s asking the questions, he’s calling the shots―he wants complete dominance over the NYPD and Derek’s death is to prove that.
Then why Jax Sinclair? Perhaps he was the weapon of opportunity, an unlucky victim. However, it could’ve been premeditated on Q’s part because having someone from the #7 precinct assassinate the Chief of Police would mean a scandal―conspiracies, leading the public not to believe the fabricated lies we will most certainly feed them.
This wasn’t a killing of opportunity; this was an opportunity to kill.
“Stevens?” Sam’s brow creases.
“Shut up,” I reach for the short coroner’s report and start to pace again. The scuff from my heels echoed around the morgue but nobody tried to speak to me, by now, they realise that I’ll only tell them to shut up.
DIAGNOSIS: Gunshot wound of skin and subcutaneous tissue, wound of the head.
CAUSE OF DEATH:Gunshot wound of the brain.
In my mind, the killer, Q or Nikita (whoever is pulling the strings) is trying to send an encrypted message through the letter in Jax’s pocket. I take a seat in the chair and lean back slightly, templing my fingers as I narrow my eyes at the letter. Out of the words that haven’t been put in odd capitals are: how, feel, that, dropped, are, in, mr. This corresponds to those that were only in capitals: DETECTIVE, DOES, OF, YOU, YOURS, HEAD.
The first word set aside from my title and name is ‘how’, that’s an interrogative noun. I could take it all figuratively but this is a clue―Q wants me to understand this in a literal sense. What do Detectives do? We interrogate, and we always ask how.
I rummage around the desk for a moment and grab Snag’s notepad and two pens. My mind is working twice as hard so I use both of my hands to write, which is a feat that I’ve never been yet to accomplish. I write all words in lowercase down the page and then the ones in capitals beneath.
“Akira you never use both hands,” Banks sounds more amused than concerned.
“No time like the present,” I keep my eyes trailed on the paper as I frantically try to piece this together.
If this is a message meant for me, Q would put my title first so I write DETECTIVE at the start of my sentence. The second word wouldn’t be ‘how’ because that’ll be too obvious and Q wouldn’t be sloppy enough to repeat himself twice. I contemplate ‘are’ but doubt it the only match after that would be ‘you’ and then I’d run out of words. Words. An idea comes to mind, I can make words from those I don’t need.
I formulate the first three words of the sentence using DOES and YOUR, the next word is pretty self-explanatory so I write HEAD―I then use the h from ‘how’, u from ‘YOU’, r from ‘dropped’ and t from ‘that’ to make: hurt. I replicate the process at create yet from the left over letters in both columns.
DETECTIVE, DOES YOUR HEAD hurt yet.
I run a finger around the collar of my white button-up and give a light cough. Oh no, this isn’t happening again. The cold sweats, fever, unfocussed vision―Q wants me to purposely have a seizure. I pat down my breast pocket and my hips for the tic-tac container Sam gave me with the pills but they’re not here.
I left them at the crime scene.
“No, no, no, no,” I mutter under my breath as I pull off Sam’s tie and undo the first two buttons on my shirt. “No, I didn’t sign up for this shit.”
Snag notices before Sam, he drops the file he’s holding and gets to me as soon as my muscles go taut. This seizure is different from the one I had earlier, it’s severe, paralysing. My hips buck and I claw at my throat, it feels like I’ve swallowed a cricket ball―I can’t breathe, all I can hear is the tune of ‘ring-a-ring-a-rosie’ and Q’s distorted laughter. My nails dig into the abrasions on my neck and I grunt.
“W–what’s going on?” Banks is on her knees next to Sam, blinking with her confused brown eyes. I haven’t told her about my seizures, she probably still believed Jax caused my other one when Derek was shot.
“Akira’s been injected with the same blood found in Jax Sinclair’s body, except since Akira’s Diablo gene is so advanced, the blood is trying to mould with hers. This has happened twice before when she exerts herself too much,” Snag nods at Sam and it happens all over again. The embarrassment, the defeat, all of the lead is falling down upon my head and I don’t want to wake up, I just want to lose consciousness.
“She left the medication at the warehouse,” Sam explains as he removes my gun from my left side and reaches for his own. He tries to avoid my convulsing arms since he’s down one appendage for a while. Banks helps and tries to keep my hands still over my chest while Sam keeps my hair out of my face.
“What medication?” Snag presses the timer on his watch and they’re silent, the only noise is from my gurgling throat as I try to fight against Nikita’s blood but the taunting laughter of Q still remains―it’s driving me crazy.
“Joseph came to the precinct and gave me this bottle of pills for Stevens, he said he isolated the blood sample and that it’ll stop the rigorousness of the seizures,” Sam winces when I lash out and nudge his slung arm. “Stevens had one earlier today and I gave her a pill, she still went into physical shock but it wore off in a few minutes.”
Snag sits back for a moment. His white-wash eyes spark to life with the Diablo gene and turn lavender, he rests his back against the table leg and rests his wrist on his pulled-up knees. Snag’s stubbly mouth is pressed into a thin line as his eyes sweep over me, as if giving me an MRI scan. He allows Banks to keep soothing me with calm words while Sam stares at him.
“I never deemed medication to be given, especially some magical medical cooked up in the lab. You know damn well what medication does to our gene, it delays it, corrupts it, turns it to rot,” Snag looks down at his watch when my legs kick out.
“So? Stevens can’t live like this!” Sam shouts. “The medication mightn’t have stopped the seizures but it made it bearable, she wasn’t afraid!”
“No Ping-Pong,” Snag’s lip curls back. “She wasn’t afraid, you were.”