Jack of My Heart

Hanahaki

"Captain Singer, would you like for me to hire better security for you?" I ask to get his attention. Singer jumps a foot in the air and presses his palm against his forehead in exasperation.
"Someone ought to get a bell for you, Langdon," He remarks while moving around his desk. I give a chuckle and he looks at me expectantly. "What do you need?"
"A knife. Maybe a gun, I don't think you have it, though," I tell him, watching him as he comes to the front of his desk.
"Is someone after you?" He raises an eyebrow.
"No! No, sir. You have a knife in your evidence locker that could prove the innocence of my client. If you could just let me see it-" I start, but I'm cut off by Singer's laughter.
"No. No way. You're not an attorney, remember?"
"Yes, I remember. But I saw-" I begin passionately.
"You saw another body? Where?" Captain Singer grows worried.
"In a morgue. Vincent's client is being charged with murder in the first degree and he had me look at the victim to see if there was any evidence to show that he's innocent," I fill him in, deciding to be as truthful as possible to win his favor.
"He made you look at another body? That hypocrite," Singer grumbles to himself, gripping the desk.
"If you don't mind my asking, sir, why don't you like him?" I question, trying to get him to meet my gaze.
"I do mind your asking. Now, you're telling me that it actually worked again?"
"Yes, sir. The knife?" I rock on the balls of my feet hopefully. Singer looks at me for a long time, then sighs.
"Fine. But you have to do something for me in return." Singer points a steady finger at me. I nod and he gestures to the door, indicating for me to walk out of it. I do, and he begins to lead me to the evidence locker. While we walk I try as hard as I can to remember the face that I saw, but all I'm able to picture is Vincent's. Try harder. I command myself. I try again, but the face just looks like television static. With a grimace I shake the image out of my mind.
"Captain Singer! Do you want me to call—oh, Jack. That's terrifying," Laney blinks when she catches up to us. She looks at Captain Singer and adds, "Do you want me to-"
"I already have," He replies, not even looking at her. I whip my head between the two, morbidly confused.
We arrive at the evidence locker, and the captain opens the door for me, holding it until Laney passes through.
"What are you looking for?" She follows me with her sharp eyes, watching my movements.
"A knife," I murmur absentmindedly, flipping through the bags.
"Very specific. The vic's name?" She crosses her arms.
"Carl Fenkman. Died two days ago,"
"Oh, I know where that is. Follow me," Laney instructs me. I follow her and find the knife, gripping the handle over the plastic. She gives me a warning look, and I let it go. I already found what I need.
Vincent and I are going to have a long talk tonight.
"Thank you. What do you need from me?" I look between them.
"What do you think?" Laney raises an eyebrow. I give a tight-lipped smile and nod.
"I thought so. Going to cuff me again?" I hold out my wrists with a sarcastic expression. They roll their eyes and Singer beckons me to follow him.
"You know, when I said earlier that they were going to test you, I didn't mean they'd make you look at a body," Laney hisses.
"Oh, I'm okay-" I begin with a scoff.
"No, what they told me they'd do is much worse," She cuts me off. This takes me by surprise and I stop a moment.
"What did they say they'd do? Is that where we're going?" I ask, eyes wide and fearful.
"No, that's not where we're going. You're a police consultant now. Congratulations," Laney deadpans. I break into a grin, bouncing up and down as we walk.
"Do I get a badge?" I ask, hands clasped together.
"What? No," She frowns as she shakes her head.
"Do I get a sticker?" I pout, hands behind my back.
"Yeah, sure. I'll get you a sticker," She rolls her eyes. My smile grows wider and we exit the precinct, heading to the cars in the parking lot. Are you kidding me? I ask the heavens, squeezing my hands open and shut while I get in the car. We take off down the street, heading God knows where.
When we arrive, Captain Singer gets out, not waiting for Laney and I to follow. The space is luxurious. Dark walls, crystal chandeliers, maroon carpeted floors. I glance around and notice something unsettling: the carpet isn't maroon.
"Oh, God," I murmur, looking at the two bodies, lying on the ground beneath me.