Jack of My Heart

Homicide With My Homies

     Vincent and I get out of his car, walking hand in hand under the caution tape and into the crime scene. When we arrive at the scene, Laney is there to greet us. I can see her eyes dart from our interlocked fingers up to our faces quickly, but she doesn't say anything and neither do I.
     "You made it. The captain's waiting for you," She leads us to the center of the action, up to where Danowitz is whispering to Captain Singer who seems to be listening intently. Singer nods, whispers a direction with a flick of his fingers and claps Danowitz on the back, sending him off. Danowitz doesn't pay attention as he walks toward us, knocking into my shoulder and pushing me into Vincent.
     "Hey, watch where you're—oh, sorry, Jack. Singer's-" Danowitz starts angrily, then when he realizes it's me, softens his tone. He jerks his thumb over to the captain, but I shake my hand in front of myself.
     "I know, Laney told me."
     "How bad is it?" Vincent asks, leaning around me.
     "It's, uh..." He looks over my shoulder, looks back to me, then at Vincent with a creased brow. "It's pretty bad."
     I clap my hand over my eyes and stick an arm out.
     "I just need to see their back," I say to whoever's still listening. Two large, but gentle, hands land on my arm and lower back, give a small push, and begin guiding me forward. I stumble over my feet, but each time I'm sent forward the hands steady me, bringing me back to a balance point.
     "We're here," Vincent's voice is low in my ear and I jump at the sudden sound. I could feel his warm breathing on my neck, the trace of it still lingers. When I take my hand off my face I'm looking up at Captain Singer who stares down at me with a raised eyebrow.
     "Are you done?" He asks, rolling his eyes.
     "Not even close. Is the victim on their back?" I ask, not breaking eye contact.
     "Yes," Jennifer's voice answers from somewhere below me.
     "Great. Do you need me to figure out how they died or do you guys know?" I ask, still not letting my eyes move from Captain Singer's tired eyes. He looks like he hasn't slept a wink. Or maybe he just doesn't like me.
     "We'll need your help," The words sound as though they're coming through gritted teeth, and Captain Singer's expression would suggest that they are.
     "Alright," I maintain a placid tone, though my stomach flips. Finally, I let my eyes trail down to the earth, a huge pool of blood nearly matching the dark tones of the dirt around it. I feel sick as my wrists start to burn.
     "It's the slits. That's what did it. Wasn't suicide though," I look back up at Singer.
     "You haven't even looked at the body yet!" He throws his hands out in an exasperated gesture.
     "I don't need to," I reply, swallowing hard.
     "You should," Singer 'recommends.' I open my mouth to protest, but realize it will get me nowhere. Slowly, I allow myself to look down at the red puddle and follow the stream to a lifeless hand. The victim's dark skin has taken on an ashy tone, showing that she's only been dead for a few hours. On her back is a Q and a large diamond, but this time the killer didn't just leave an outline of the shape. I feel sick to my stomach, but know there must be something else if Captain Singer wants me to take a look. Once again, my wrists feel as though they are being torn open, right under the base of my palm. I grimace, but suppress it quickly, trying to hide my pain from Vincent.
     "Jennifer would you mind..." My voice trails off as she completes my request, turning the body back over. I crouch down by the C.S.I doctor and, after taking a pair of gloves, lift up the victim's arm. Her hands are coated in either caked or still damp blood, cracking here and there at joints. When I see what else is on her wrist I nearly drop her hand in surprise.
     An eye has been carved into each wrist, a single slit serving as the pupil. It looks as though the eyes are crying, creating the river of blood I saw earlier. But that's not it. That's not nearly it.
     "Oh, God. Come on, Captain," Vincent complains, grabbing my wrist and pulling me back from the body when I spring up. He spins me around to face him, one hand on the side of my face, not-so-subtly taking my temperature. "Do you need to take a break?"
     My fever has most definitely subsided, I was probably just tired. But, there's a pulsating, shredding pain in my stomach that nearly makes me hurl. The victim has been sliced open, and that is not a very pleasant thing to feel. Especially if you survive through it.
     "No, I'm fine. Thank you, Vincent," I smile up at him, attempting to be reassuring. I really do feel better now, and the sooner I can get this over with, the sooner I can get back to working with Vincent. He nods and releases my arm, allowing me to get back to work.
     "Her heart. He took her heart?" My own feels like it's being ripped out of my chest. "Wait... the Hanahaki victim. The woman. He took her heart, too,"
     "And Madison Brown's sister? She was the other one you said was connected, right?" Captain Singer takes a step towards me. I shake my head and dig my nails into my palm as I try to ignore the other pains.
     "She's connected, but she was an Ace. He didn't take their hearts," I inform him.
     "I'm sorry, an 'Ace?' What do you mean?" Singer looks confused. I give him the rundown of what I found out and hear Vincent chuckling behind me when I mention Jacquelline Brown.
     "I should've known you weren't going to stay on the couch," He gives me an arched eyebrow and his signature, sly grin. I ignore him and turn back to the police captain.
     "And why, pray tell, did he not take the King's heart then?" Singer looks at me expectantly.
     "I don't know, I'm not a serial killer," I shrug, but one severe look from Captain Singer and I cast my eyes to my shoes. I focus as hard as I can to remember how the King was found. "The Queen. The Queen of Hearts."
     Realization has dawned on my face, but Vincent and the Captain just look puzzled, sharing a look, then turning their eyes back on me.
     "Come on! Jennifer! You get what I'm saying? Right?" I look hopefully down at Dr. Cassidy, still crouched by the body. My eyes hit the victim's leg and go wide as I drop to the ground beside the forensic doctor. Partially from the pain of words and markings being etched into my thigh, but partially from curiosity, I find myself on my knees, examining the bloody wounds.
     "Death at most might set me free; Hearts were always trumps for me." I read aloud the words scrawled in the woman's thigh, trying to place where I had heard that before. The writing, like the carvings in the victim's backs, is extremely neat, and in cursive.
     "Well, that's not creepy at all," Laney's voice snarks from above. I look up to see her peering over my shoulder at the victim's corpse. She's toting a few drinks, handing them to the police officers and then pulling something out of the utility belt hanging at her waist. When I stand up to greet her I see that in her hands is a small, silvery sticker in the shape of a police badge with the words 'Detective-in-Training' on it. I beam with pride as I stick it on my shirt, not noticing when some of the blood I had accidentally got on my fingers gets smeared onto the white button up.
     "Oh, darling," Vincent tuts, drawing me close and attempting to rub it off.
     "What were you saying about the King?" Captain Singer pretends to ignore Vincent as I lean around his shoulders to look at the captain.
     "The Queen of Hearts was his queen, he loved her. And remember how he was posed in rigor mortis?" I ask rhetorically, knowing I'm going to end up answering. Before I can, Jennifer jumps in.
     "He was looking at her, you said he was forced to watch her die," She recalls, much to the other officers' surprise. I nod and look back to Singer.
     "So to answer your question, Captain. The killer did take his heart. Just not in the same way," I shrug, for a brief moment catching Vincent's worried gaze. He brushes off my shirt and takes a step back.
     "You'll have to wash it later. Sorry," He now avoids eye contact with me, and I can feel his rising tension from here. He's been acting weird since he gave me the files, like he's afraid that someone will jump out of the shadows and kill me where I stand. I try to tell him that I'm fine, and that we'll be fine, but he doesn't seem to receive my mental message.
     "And the Aces? What did he take from them?"
     "Other than their lives? Nothing. I think he holds them in a higher esteem than the Kings and Queens. For the Aces, he made their deaths quick. Well, tried to at least. For Jacquelline Brown, I doubt she even knew she was dying until it happened."
     "What? What makes you say that?" Captain Singer asks, but I know that he doesn't need that question answered.
     "You and I both know she was poisoned, Captain. The severing of her limbs happened a while after she died," I respond, trying to keep my tone polite.
     "Yes, I do, but how do you?" He leans forward, staring me down. I glance up at Vincent, then back down, knowing that he'll be mad at me once he hears my response.
     "You were right," I mumble, biting my lip.
     "I was... no. Please tell me you didn't-" Vincent starts, realizing my meaning almost immediately, his voice turning into a pleading whine. In all my three months of knowing him, I've never seen him like this. He looks vulnerable, scared, even hurt—a great contrast to his tough, merciless, take-no-prisoners act. I just want to hold him, to lie to him, to tell him everything's fine, but instead I just nod.
     "When I looked at the photographs, I, uh... that's how I knew she was poisoned," I clear my throat, looking past Vincent to the captain.
     "And the other man?" Laney speaks up, holding her iced coffee precariously by the lid.
     "He was shot. A near miss of the heart, come to think of it. But yes, he was shot. When the killer realized he wasn't dying quick enough, he stabbed him, too," I answer, then wave a finger in the air. "The Kings and Queens, on the other hand, suffered the longest deaths of all. I mean, just look at her. She bled out, same for the Hanahaki victims. Not to mention, she was gutted. Why they received the most drawn out deaths, I don't know. I guess I'll look back at some of his old victims. See if the pattern's the same."
     I start off, but a hand grips the back of my collar and pulls me back. Vincent pins one shoulder while Captain Singer moves swiftly in front of me.
     "You've done good work. You really have. But now it's time to let the police handle the rest of this," Singer's stare freezes me to my spot, but I still very much intend to look at the files myself.
     "But I'm a police consultant!" I joke, sharing a look with Laney, then looking back up at Captain Singer. "I'm just kidding. I completely understand. All hands on deck, you guys have the most access, it all works out."
Captain Singer nods a few times, then his head twitches slightly.
     "Wait, did you say that you were able to use your weird mojo through pictures?"
     "Yes. It's a new thing, but-" I shrug, Vincent releases his grip and slides his arm around my shoulders.
     "So your... abilities are... developing?" He asks slowly, as if unsure how to say it.
     "I suppose they are," I nod, then wiggle my fingers in front of my face, "Ooh, spooky."
He gives me a bemused look which I laugh at, then I give him a sincere smile.
     "Just call me if you guys need anything else. Really, whatever I can do to help, I'm more than happy to do it," I keep a genuine tone, because I do mean it. I want to help, to make up for my mistakes, to prevent anyone else from suffering because of my failure to recall a simple damn memory!
     "Hey, Jack, are you okay?" Vincent asks in an undertone. I guess I had let my thoughts cross my face, but I quickly cover with a small smile and a nod. I just need to remember. I give a wave to Jennifer and Laney and turn to walk out with Vincent's arm draped across my shoulders. We brush against each other as we trod along, finding our way through the woods back to the Porsche.
     "You're incredible, you know that?" Vincent squeezes my shoulder, shaking me slightly. I look up to see the wide grin on his face, and can't help but share it. His happiness is contagious, anytime he drops his serious, tough guy act, he lights up the room—no, the world.
     "Thank you. You're not so bad yourself," I bump against him, barely budging him. He chuckles and nudges me back, sending me stumbling to the right. He doesn't contain his amusement as he laughs at me and pulls out his keys. When we get in I stare at my shoes for a long time.
     "Jack-" Vincent starts, a hand hovering over my knee.
     "I could be doing more. I should be doing more. Do you think if I asked Captain Singer for the files-" I start to get out of the car, but Vincent grabs my wrist and pulls me back in, leans across me to close my door, and starts the car, taking off before I can try again. After a long hesitation I open my mouth to speak but Vincent beats me to it.
     "You're going to get yourself killed, Jack," Vincent's voice is low, but his eyes are lower, staring at the steering wheel instead of the road. Luckily there's no one coming, but I still feel uneasy.
     "Better than innocent people dying because of me," I shoot back, the words flying out of my mouth faster than I can filter or stop them. Vincent's eyes lift to me, but they're shrouded in a dark haze.
     "No, it isn't." His tone is definite, but I'm not giving in that easily.
     "I'm not going to get myself killed. I told you, I'll be careful-" I push back. Vincent scoffs.
     "Yeah, because you've been the poster child for cautiousness so far," He holds a sneer as he watches the gently curving lines of the road.
     "What's that supposed to mean?" I cross my arms, aggravation infiltrating my features.
     "Exactly what it sounds like. You've been so insouciant with your own safety that you don't realize how hard the people who care about you work to save you from yourself!" He goes off, hands flying away from the steering wheel, one striking me across the cheek, just below the eye. My hand finds its way to the reddening spot, and I slowly turn my head back to look up at him, my fingers trembling. His eyes are huge, his mouth agape, and I can feel the regret washing over him.
     "Jack, I- I'm so sorry, I... I never meant to- oh, God, Jack. I'm sorry," Vincent stumbles over his words, each more remorseful than the last, his forehead creasing with each passing second. He reaches a hand out to the mark on my cheek, stopping himself just before his fingers brush my skin, hovering there uncertainly.
     "It's okay. It was an accident, I get it. Happens to the best of us. I'll be more careful, I promise," I lean towards him, without even realizing it. He takes this to mean that I'm okay with him touching me, and he cups my cheek, rubbing his thumb over the red spot.
     "You know, I've been thinking," He begins, eyes swerving between me and the road. Oh no. Nothing good ever comes from those words. "I think maybe you should get back to helping McGregor."
     "You didn't hurt me, Vince. Really, I'm fine," I reassure him, laying my hand over his and leaning into his palm. He lets his hand slide to the back of my head, looks at me for a long time, then drops it, looking back at the highway with a grimace.
    "Even if I didn't, I think you should help him. Ever since I pulled you off his case it's been floundering, and he needs you," He says, trying to shrug the tension out.
     "But what about you? We still need to go to trial, right? You said the prosecution is mounting serious claims. We're going to need a lot more than his age to clear his name," I laugh softly, looking up at him. He's silent for a long time, staring at the road, then he finally speaks.
     "I don't need your help. I can do it on my own." He doesn't even look at me when he delivers the icy spear to my heart, then decides to twist it. "I'd be better off without you; not having to worry about you doing something reckless."
     "O-oh. If you, uh... if you really think so-"
     "I do," His voice is cold. I wince, feeling like I just got a punch to the gut, and look out the window. The rest of the ride back into the city is silent. I go over what he said and realize that he's right. If I wasn't always getting myself into trouble he wouldn't have to take off work to pull me out of it. I turn my head to apologize to him, but my voice dies in my throat.