shadow [h.s.]

f i r s t

The thing about shadows, my dear, is that you won't have any if you're not living in the light.

That was what my father had always told me. He, along with my mother, were the type of sacrilegous do-gooders in our little community of Greenford, New York. He was a preacher; my mother the Sunday School teacher, the kitchen head chef, the janitor, the secretary and even the part time Associate if Reverend Barker couldn't make it. And i had been okay with it; I mean, it wasn't bad.

It just wasn't me.

At seventeen, I graduated my high school top of my class. I went on to Harvard, then different schools around the USA and Europe. In 2010, I finally acheived my dream: the dream of having a placard on my door that read, "Detective Skyler Jacobs."

Or Private Eye. But, whatever.

Five years later, I was still 'top of my class'. At the New York Police Department, I worked my tail off every day for the type of job I knew I had wanted since third grade. I worked for the promotions, for the newspaper articles, but most importantly? Most importantly, I worked for the feeling I got when I placed a case in to my 'Finished' folder.

Until, that is, Case 1145.

Case 1145 was a case unlike any other. It was the case that messed my life up, the case that got me almost killed. The case that brought me closer and farther away from love than I every imagined possible.

The first time I ran into Case 1145 was on December 8th, 2015. It was the same as any other day. Carrie Underwood woke me up, Beyonce pounded a headache into my skull on the way to work. My pencil skirt and blouse were perfectly fitted, tight, but not revealing. My Starbucks was right on time; my hair and makeup without a flaw. My boyfriend, Leighton Harrison, laughed when I made a mistake. "You're too perfect, babe," he said. "Live a little."

But I had to be perfect.

Because when you solve murders, there is no inbetween. Only black and white. Only straight and crooked.

Only imperfect and perfect.

So on December 10th, I was perfect. I had my life set in front of me; my goals laid out before me. Little did I know how much it would change as I stormed into my office that dark day.

"What's this?" I asked my boyfriend, who had conveniently been in my office at the time.

"It's a new murder case," he called over his shoulder whilst stuffing his mouth with food.

I rolled my eyes. "Well, duh." I sighed and flipped through it. "Why do they want me to take it?"

Leighton swallowed and bit his lip. "Page 5. Top, right hand corner."

I flipped mindlessly through the folder and found the page. Gasping, I dropped the file on my desk and back away like it was fire. "They want... me?" A million thoughts were racing through my mind. "And they found him?"

Leighton shrugged. "Guess so," he mumbled through a pumpkin muffin that I had bought that morning. I grabbed the wrapper and shooed him playfully out the door, shutting it behind him and praying he wouldn't come back in.

A knock sounded on the door. "Babe?" Leighton called through the door. "I hate to bug you, but do you wanna go for lunch? I'm hungry and I don't wanna go alone."

I snatched up my coat and joined Leighton on the other side. "Sure." I responded, admiring his blue pea coat. "That's a nice color for your eyes," I added as we strolled to the elevator.

"Thanks," he responded smoothly. "Mom got it for me."

"Your mom has good taste."

"Like you do."

I blushed at the compliment and followed Leighton to his car. Miley Cyrus filled the Audi, but he switched it off as he pulled onto the freeway. "Did the file say when his first questioning was?"

Questioning. The session where the suspect and I got together for heated discussions that turned out to be more like wrestling matches in my office. They were the dreaded accomplishment of most P.I's. "Yeah, 9:30 every morning."

Leighton nodded, sticking his bottom lip out. "Not bad."

"Yeah," I sighed. "I just, I mean... Dad died almost 20 years ago, and they wait until now to try his killer?"

"They didn't know who he was before, right?"

I huffed in exasperation. "No. 'No evidence,' they said," I sneered. "I mean, come on. 20 years have gone by and boom! now they've got evidence?"

Leighton shrugged again as he pulled in Pablo's parking lot. "Who knows. Maybe this dude did more stuff that really dug a grave, right?"

I nodded and mulled over Case 1145 in my head as we hate. Leighton and I talked about pretty much anything and everything over lunch; his new ranch in Texas, my heating problems at the apartment, his vacation with his relatives to Hawaii coming up, my overwhelming schedule at the moment. It wasn't until we were almost done our pasta that we started talking relationship.

"Just so you know," he said through a mouthful of alfredo fettucini, "I'm not gonna be able to come to our date on Friday." He swallowed and guzzled some water. "I gotta go do some research for a case at the library."

I nodded. It wasn't a rare recurrence, this skipping out of dates with Leighton. But it was us, and i had never known any other way. Why fix something that isn't broken, right?

Leighton dropped me off at the office before heading home himself. I'd go home, too, just as soon as I snuck another quick peek at the case, lying on my desk.

Sure enough, in ink, it clearly said, "Charged of murdering Kenneth Jacobs via means of stabbing on July 23rd, 1994." My eyes fluttered closed as the memories came flooding back in. It was a hot summers day, beautiful. I had gone to a friend's house. Mama's was at her sisters, and Jack, my older brother, out playing baseball with some friends.

I had just come to check on Dad. Just brought him some leftover birthday cake from Jack's party from the week before.

I hadn't ever expected to find him, lying on the bedroom floor, with a knife sticking out his back. Looking at him, dead on the floor, I knew then I had to solve murders when I grew up. And this case- this case 1145 was no different, I decided. I'd solve it like I had every other case.

WIth determined eyes I scanned the page. Time of court date.... Weapons... Prison cell number... Prison facilitator.... Suspect's name.

My eyes read the name once. Twice. Then I finally comprehended it. This man's name was the name of a murderer- one who had killed three other women and my father.

His name?

"Harry Edward Styles."

A/N: Dedicated to Rae because she's the absolute bomb.