Holding Grudges

File XII

Returning to the parking lot, my attention was immediately drawn to the bizarre spectacle unfolding near our cruiser. A woman—if she could still be called that, rather than a ghost of something long lost—stood half-perched against the vehicle, her skeletal frame swathed in a pink lace dress so tight it looked like her bones might tear right through the fabric. The sight was unsettling, her entire form teetering atop impossibly high heels that made every step a gamble. Thick, gaudy jewelry weighed down her neck, catching the dim light like cheap trinkets from a forgotten time. But it was her face—caked in garish makeup, smeared blush painting her sunken cheeks—that really set my nerves on edge. It was as if she were trying to hold on to some past version of herself, a desperate illusion slipping through her fingers.

An oversized brown jacket hung from her shoulders, an obvious attempt at concealment, though it did little to mask the unsettling picture she painted. Her hair, slick with oil, clung to her scalp in a way that suggested she hadn't bathed in weeks. And as she turned her head slightly, I caught a glimpse of her eyes—dilated pupils, glassy and vacant, like she was drifting between this world and whatever nightmare held her captive. A single, wet sniffle confirmed what I already knew. She was strung out on something potent, something that had been eating her alive from the inside out.

I didn't need to ask what she was doing here. This part of town had a reputation, and she fit right into it like a missing puzzle piece. Maybe she was looking for a quick score, maybe she had seen our cruiser and figured she could swipe something small to pawn off later. But what really made my skin crawl was the way she didn't run. Most people in her position—caught hovering around a cop car—would take off the moment they spotted us. But not her.

Instead, she straightened her back against the cruiser, her cracked lips pulling into an unnervingly wide grin. Yellowed, rotting teeth flashed beneath the dim glow of the streetlights, a haunting contrast to the almost eerie calm in her expression. She wasn't afraid. No, she wanted us to notice her. Wanted our attention for some godforsaken reason I couldn't yet place.

"Howdy, Evan, honey." Her voice slithered through the air, syrupy sweet and tainted with something unspoken. As we neared the car, her lips stretched into a slow, knowing smile—one that only she could wear so effortlessly, like it had been painted on and left to crack with time.

"Candy," Detective Thompson acknowledged, his tone careful but laced with something just shy of exhaustion.

Her head tilted slightly, eyes flicking over to me with an unsettling kind of curiosity, pupils wide and searching. "And who's your friend here, Evan baby?" she purred, her words dragging out in a strange, almost playful moan, like she was savoring each syllable.

"He's not for you, settle down, Candy," Evan said, his voice firm but laced with an edge of amusement, as if they'd played this game before. There was something peculiar in the way they spoke, an unspoken rhythm to their exchanges, like an old song neither wanted to admit they knew the lyrics to.

She smirked, licking her lips as if savoring some unseen victory. "At least introduce us, you stud."

Thompson wasn't playing along. His stance shifted, weight rolling onto one foot, signaling his waning patience. "What are you doing here, Candy? Thought Willy banned you from this joint for skipping out on your tab." His tone was casual, but I could see the steel in his expression—he wasn't thrilled about this encounter.

Candy let out a dramatic sigh, rolling her eyes as she crossed her arms. "Yeah, well, his loss, that damn bastard. But that's not why I'm here, sugar." Her voice softened, taking on an almost childlike lilt. "Saw your pretty little squad car parked out here, figured I'd wait around for you, Evan baby." Her lips curled into a pout as she leaned in just slightly. "Thought maybe you could spot me a few bucks, just like old times, honey. You know you owe me."