isabella [h.s.]

forty six

HARRY

Time seems to slow down to a tortuous pace, the rest of the evening feeling like it's going to drag on forever, with no end in sight, no light at the end of this darkness. With the positive identification of Tina's body, I'm given paperwork to complete and phone calls to answer, but I can't even concentrate because I'm far too focused on Isabella. Luckily, the Chief is rather understanding when I speak to him quickly, apologetic and empathetic, telling me to take Isabella home and stay with her, assuring me he'll get some other people from the precinct to work on the case so progress isn't stalled. I pointed out that we don't even know that Tina's death is related to my case, that it could be completely unrelated, but he reminded me that we still need to explore every possibility.

The car ride back passes in a blur, heavy with silence and grief. Even when we return to the apartment, I don't know what to do. Isabella's crying has ceased, the wet tear stains slowly drying on her cheeks, and now she's just silent and still, almost catatonic. I know she's in shock, I've been around enough family and friends of victims to know the general patterns of behaviour. But being close to somebody grieving is a different experience entirely. I want to be there for her, but I've never felt so helpless, so utterly useless.

Isabella remains in her place on the couch, staring into space, while I struggle to decide what to do. I offer her something to eat, something to drink, and when she refuses everything by ignoring me, or with small shakes of her head, I stand in the corner of the room, biting my lip. My thoughts are running so fast I can hardly keep up with them, questions and worries and decisions that I can't think of the answers to swirling around in my head, all of them about Isabella. I debate calling someone, anyone, but I don't even know whose name I'd choose now, because in any other situation like this, if Isabella needed someone, I'd call Tina. And the realisation that I can't hits me like a punch in the gut.

I pretty much jump out of my skin when Isabella suddenly moves, pulling herself up from the couch. I immediately step forwards as if to help her with something, but she just blinks steadily for a few moments before murmuring 'I need to sleep' and then heading off to her room without looking back, the door clicking shut behind her. I listen carefully to the sounds of her moving around as she gets ready for bed, the light turning off, the bed creaking as she climbs in. Usually when Isabella goes to bed, I use the time to work on some cases, spreading my files out across the apartment. But I can't do that tonight. I feel numb, drained, completely hollowed out. Instead, all I can do is sit on the couch in front of the TV, aimlessly flicking through the channels without paying any attention to what's on the screen.

Eventually, after tidying up the kitchen and the living room, even though it's spotless seeing as we haven't been here for weeks, I decide I should probably go to bed too. But just as I'm passing by Isabella's room on the way back from the bathroom, I suddenly stop, my ear at the door, listening to the sound of quiet sobs drifting through the wood. My heart immediately clenches, my hand hovering above the door handle. For a few seconds I consider walking away, thinking that maybe she needs to be by herself right now, to process, to begin to heal. But then I think of her in there, her shaking body curled up under the covers, crying into her pillow, all alone, and I can't stand the thought of it.

I push open the door slowly, the sounds of Isabella's sobs growing louder as I step into the dark and make my way over to her bed. Her eyes flicker up at the sound of my soft footsteps, her wet lashes glinting in the low light from all of her tears. Wordlessly, she shifts her body to the side to allow space for me, and I slide into bed beside her, pulling her shuddering body into me as she sobs into my chest.