Stolen Shadows

11 - Hit and Run

Sophie kept a radio in the beat up, 2008 Sonata with exactly two working windows and a broken stereo system that she called a car. She had been sitting there for half an hour, staring into the darkness, imagining over and over again the moment the vigilante pulled her close and kissed her. On the cheek—but still. There was so much wrong with it, and yet, Sophie couldn't stop herself from wanting more. She didn't understand.

But she was more sure than ever that the vigilante was a woman. They had been so close, bodies pressed together, and Sophie's hands had felt the curves of a woman's hips, the shape of a woman's chest. And then that sweet, vanilla and rose smell that lingered with her even now, whether it was real or in her memory. And finally, the kiss. Sophie had kissed her fair share of people, and there were some ways to tell them apart. For starters, the vigilante had no facial hair. Their skin was smooth and clean, and their lips softer than any man's she'd ever kissed. And, she considered, if it was a man, he probably would've gone in for a real kiss instead of one on the cheek—they were always more forward, more sure that's what she wanted (even if it wasn't).

And, the question she was trying her best to avoid—had she wanted it? She knew she shouldn't, but that wasn't an answer. Now, it was easy to say no, she didn't. But in the moment, with her hands on the vigilante and theirs on her waist, their lips soft against her skin, their words sending shivers down her spine—she wanted more, so much more than a stolen kiss in a dark alleyway.

The radio interrupted her spiraling thoughts. She leaned forward, fine tuning the station.

We've got a jumper—no, someone's falling—

Are you seeing this?!

We need backup here, call Spencer—

Sophie jolted upright in her seat. Chief Spencer? What was happening? It took another moment until the address came through the radio, and then she took off. She sped through traffic, thankful for the time of night and the less crowded streets. She was on the same side of town as the call and arrived in a few short minutes.

She pulled up on what she thought was a crime scene. There were four squad cars with at least six officers standing around. Barricades were set up to keep people away from a building. And there were a lot of people, all with flashlights and phones and cameras that were rolling. She got out of the car and shoved through the crowd, flashing her badge and stepping around the barricade.

"What's happening?" she asked the nearest officer, but it wasn't hard to figure out.

A man was dangling from the roof, and someone was trying to pull him up. It was the vigilante.

The officer relayed as much to her. "They came out of nowhere, and then the man went over. The guy in the hood caught him."

Sophie focused on the vigilante. They were trying to save him. Why? she asked. From what the officers told her, they had been fighting moments ago. Now they were saving him?

She scanned the rooftop and saw another person moving towards the vigilante. Another person with a gun. Sophie opened her mouth to scream something—Addison—but didn't know what to say.

The next moment seemed to happen in slow motion. The man behind the vigilante fired, and she could tell it hit them in the shoulder. The vigilante jolted, and the man hanging from the edge let go. She heard him scream but closed her eyes as he hit the ground. She could hear it, though. The crash, the thud, his bones breaking and his head cracking and the abrupt end to his scream.

When she opened her eyes, the man was dead. The vigilante was laying on the roof, and the third person was gone. The crowd, which had been loud and shouting a moment before, was near silent. All eyes and cameras were trained on either the roof or the body. Sophie stared at the vigilante, willing them to get up.