shadow [h.s.]

f o u r t h

After the encounter with Harry this morning, my day had been absolute trash.

It started with Leighton phoning to remind me that he wouldn't be coming to our date tomorrow evening, ("I've got research at the library to do, remember, babe?") and that hadn't really bothered me. It was the subtle selfishness Leighton always exhibited. The put-me-first attitude that got my teeth on edge.

But all relationships had problems, right?

Then, Mr. Denton phoned me for my weekly debriefing and proceeded to talk my ear off about the outrageous prices of corn dogs these days ("Have you seen what they're like in Central? Four dollars and fifty-) and he would've sworn, too, but I am a firm believer in no swearing on the telephone- after all, we are the police- so I hung up.

It got worse as I headed home. The radio wasn't working, and my inverter wasn't either- which meant I had no music or talk shows to listen to on the hour drive home. Through New York's horrible traffic to my posh little apartment on the West Side.

I wished, for a moment, that I had someone to greet me as I walked through the doors to my complex. Full length windows greeted the view of New York's illuminated skyline; the counters were clean and the loft that led to my bedroom was spotless. Maria- the housemaid- had done her job well, as usual.

I plugged my phone in and opened my voicemail. The first read, "Good morning Ms. Jacobs, this is Bo Ellis. Um, my boyfriend got in a fight last weekend and I was wondering if you could-" Beep. I didn't need hormonal teenagers clogging up my already busy lifestyle.

"Hey Sky, this is Mom," my mum said while chewing. "Call me when you've got a chance. The Canadiens lost to the Oilers again, looks like I owe you twenty bucks. Love you."

I smiled as I got out pots and pans to make a quick dinner. Mum and I had always betted on hockey teams- it was tradition. The best part was, mine always won.

The last message shocked me, to say the least. I barely heard the first part, as I ran the water into a frying pan. I shut it off as soon as a muffled screech came through, and then the British voice of a man I had only met once.

"Ms. Jacobs? It's Harry." He groaned into the phone and my maternal, feministic instincts kicked in. Something was wrong. "I- I got into a fight... They said I could call someone to come help me, y'know... get cleaned up?" Another groan. "I'd appreciate it if you could come- I have no one else and-"

Harry's beautifully tragic message was cut short by a guard shouting, "Hey, kid! Time's up, get off the phone!" and then the line beep, signalling that Harry had hung up.

I didn't think twice. I grabbed my phone, my purse and my briefcase and raced down to my car. Maybe, I thought to myself. Just maybe, if I am kind enough to Harry, he'll answer more questions.

I knew the way to Bentley by heart; I had visited there so many times to see one client or the other. I flashed my ID at a guard and waltzed my way into the prison without so much as a backwards glance.

The smell was awful, it smelled like something was rotting to death alive. It smelled like Bentley, I realized. There wasn't any other smell like it. I walked past countless cells- half dead men, it seemed, weeping in a corner or shaking. A few shouted curses at me and my red heels as I walked past, but none were overly crazy.

What made them deserve to belong here? Sure, they belonged in prison- but not in hell.

I glanced at Harry's file, which I held in my hand. Cell 145. I smiled. The last three digits of Harry's cell were the last three digits of his case.

I approached Cell 145 and rapped on the bars. "Harry?" I called through the dimly lit cell. "It's Sky."

A figure approached me, looking bloody and broken. "Ms. Jacobs," Harry breathed, resting back down on his bed. A nearby guard unlocked the cell for me at my motioning. I stepped into the cell and walked towards Harry.

I caught sight of a few belongings here and there- a journal, a pillow, an old teddy bear, and a picture frame. The person in the frame was obscured from my view.

Harry stared at me as I dabbed some peroxide onto his wounds. "Who did this to you?"

Harry fluttered his long and beautiful eyelashes. "What makes you think I didn't start it?"

"Did you?"

"No."

"Told you."

"How'd you know anyway?" He hissed as I pressed a little too hard. I apologetically smiled and raised an eyebrow.

"I am a detective, you forget."

He was silent.

I pressed on. "Why did you call me?" I asked, putting a band-aid onto his forehead.

He bit his lip. "I-I don't have anyone else." He admitted, seeminly ashamed.

"No parents?"

"Dead."

"Siblings?"

"Only kid."

"Girlfriend?"

His gaze suddenly snapped to the photograph, his eyes watering a bit. "N-no, ma'am."

I was tempted to look at the photograph but decided not to. "Get some rest, Harry. You need it for tomorrow."

I tucked him like a child would do to a mother, frowning when I saw how thin his blanket was. No wonder he was feeling ill. "I'll bring you a better blanket."

"You'll be back?" He asked hopefully.

I grinned. "Maybe."

It was then I saw the writing, illuminated in moonlight, to the left of Harry's bed, on the wall. Written in blood, the words proclaimed- Hell was better than this.

"You write that?" I asked drily.

Harry followed my gaze and laughed. "Naw. The last guy in here died. Wrote it with his own blood, too."

Before I could make myself any more sick, I nodded to Harry and waved childishly. "See you tomorrow, Harry," I called.

I walked away from cell 145 feeling much better about my day than I had an hour ago. Even though I hadn't known Harry for very long, I was already beginning to like him- as a friend, of course.

I climbed into my car and drove back my apartment in New York, humming You and I by Ingrid Michaelson.

Little did I know, I was being followed.

Anonymous' POV

I followed her little black car through the pouring rain at a safe distance, making sure I noted where she turned and where she lived. I should know after all this time, but I had forgotten the address at home.

I scratched it down on a pad of paper and smiled to myself as I watched her get out of the car. She may like Harry, but not for long.

if anyone got the Dark reference could we just be friends.

-beth