Harrington 4

Somebody Got Murdered

I don't get a wink of sleep, tossing and turning and trying to convince myself that maybe I'm just paranoid. Maybe it's all some big mistake and my drunken mind is playing tricks on me.

But when seven o'clock comes around, and a hoard of sirens fly by me, I know that I was right. I know that something has gone wrong again. I look around, seeing a kid leaning his bike against the side of the gas station across the road. I look both ways before jogging across the street, snatching the vehicle, and jumping on.

"Let this be a lesson, kid!" I call over my shoulder as the boy barges back out the door and yells after me.

I follow the sound of sirens, cycling as fast as my legs can go. Some part of me is still hoping that I've gone crazy, that maybe the alcohol has finally gone to my brain.

I eventually ride into a trailer park, a faded sign reading Forest Hills and police cars screeching in and towards one of the mobile homes. An officer is already working on putting up tape to block out the scene, and I see Powell and Callahan entering through the front door, though I can't see inside. I kick my foot back up and silently circle around the trailer, where the police haven't yet taped off. Against my better judgement, and with my heart rapidly beating, I lean the bike against the wall and climb onto the seat, peering in through the back window. I see a living room, lit by the daylight, and on the floor—

I stagger backwards off of the bike, and it slams into the trailer before crashing to the ground. I swear at the noise, but can't yet make the move to run, as the imprint of what was on the floor of that living room is engraved into my eyelids.

"Hey!" An officer rounds the corner, and I stumble to my feet, but he's already grabbed my arm. "Oh, you're in big trouble now."

He begins to drag me back to the front of the home, and I don't bother fighting.

"You know, I'm not loving this developing trend," I mutter, and the officer shoves me slightly.

"Can it." We walk under the police tape and approach the front door as Powell and Callahan walk back out with solemn expressions. When they notice us, they stop. "Hey, Sheriff. Caught this one looking in through the back — think we should take her in."

I glance at Powell, hoping maybe he won't recognize me from all the times I was around the station. Like when I crashed a cruiser into a tree. Or when I ran into an active crime scene yelling that the body was fake. He eyes my appearance, and my hair, then his eyes connect to mine, and his expression shifts. Damn it. He sighs.

"Let her go — she's not our guy."

"But—"

"Look, whoever did this is — is sick." Powell cuts off the man holding me, his eyes continuing to shift to mine. "It's not her. Let her go."

The officer reluctantly releases my arm, and I shrug my jacket back straight, my eyes staying on Powell's as he nods to me.

"Get lost, Harrington."

He holds the tape up for me, and I stare at him.

"It's not a who you're looking for," I say as I duck under and out of the crime scene, "it's a what."

I leave them with my words, and look straight on before my feet falter to a stop. Ten feet in front of me, dressed in nothing but an oversized shirt and socks, is Max. I frown, wondering what she's doing here, when I see her mother standing at the threshold of the trailer behind her. My mind connects the dots in a second; her stepdad left them after Billy's death. They were forced to move here. I don't show my surprise on my face. Instead, I walk right at her, grabbing her shoulder and spinning her around so she's walking back to her trailer with me. She looks back over her shoulder at the crime scene, her eyes terrified.