The Hex Files

6

July 13th, 8:12 PM

New York's #1 Supernatural Detective Agency

Somebody was crying on the other side of the door.

When he had come to, the mysterious interloper had locked herself in Val's office. He pushed his glasses up to rub his nose, which was still smarting. Running through his list of options.

Calling the police was out- they'd only want to know what he was doing here in the middle of the night. And their previous encounter had made it clear that removing her from the office was out of the question.

Why did he feel as though he'd seen her someplace before?

It came back to him in a rush. A photograph on Val's desk, taken in the old days- back when she was still on the force. Saluting in uniform next to a little girl.

Her little sister.

It went out of him, all at once, like a deflating balloon. The catch in Sergeant Walker's voice- the look on the Detective's face- the girl, here. She had meant so much to so many people. And he'd been so focused on what why he had needed her. 

"I'm so sorry," he said quietly. "...I can't even imagine how you must be feeling."

A snuffle.

For a moment, he heard nothing- fabric rasping against the wood as somebody shifted. 

"...Thanks."

He heard the lock click.

Sol stood up in time for the door to swing open, and his mysterious assailant to reveal herself.

She was younger than he'd first realized- only about sixteen or seventeen, certainly not old enough to be out of high school. A kid. She was smaller than Val, twiggy and springy, in a ratty old baseball cap and hoodie and a pair of hightop sneakers that he saw all the kids wearing these days. Her hair was precisely the same shade of chestnut as Val's had been, and her eyes were red from crying.

"You a cop?" she said.

"No. I'm-" he started. "Well. I was- her secretary."

He had been about to say friend, but somehow, right now that seemed too presumptuous.

She was giving him a once over. 

"You don't really look like a secretary. No offense."

"And you don't look like a boxer," he said. "But here we are."

He vaguely remembered something about Val's younger sister living with an aunt and uncle in Los Angeles.

"How did you get here?"

"Took a bus." 

She said it with a shrug, as travelling cross-county on public transit was the sort of thing minors did all the time.

"You ran away from home?"

She shrugged again.

Sol wiped a hand down his face, biting back the lecture he could feel coming on. Wonderful. The last thing he needed was social services breathing down his neck.

"Can I ask you something?" she said suddenly.

"...Like what?"

"How did it happen?"

He pursed his lips.

"Gas leak."

She stared at him for a second, blinking twice- like it wasn't sinking in.

"No way." She bit her lip, gripping at the edges of her hoodie. "Not her. Not Val."

"I said the same."

She bent over, knuckles going white, and he did her the courtesy of looking away until she could regain her composure.

"I'm going to find whoever did this." he said quietly. The nebulous blur of feeling within him had suddenly consolidated into this- the only thing he could still do. "And once I do, I'm going to make them pay."

"Sounds like a good plan."

They stood there, in the doorway, just the two of them. Her voice sounded tight and her breathing was shallow- he had the sense she was waiting to gain enough composure to speak.

"Um... sorry about your nose."

He looked up. She was avoiding his gaze, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand.

"For future reference- do you make a habit of hitting people you've just met?"

"Nah. Not usually."

"So I'm one of the lucky ones."

For the first time since he'd met her, she appeared to crack a smile.

 "Got a name, mister secretary?"

"Solomon," he said, extending a hand. "Solomon Lovelace."

She took it. The back of her palm was still slick from wiping her eyes. On any either night, with any other person, it might have bothered him- but somehow, here and now, he didn't seem to mind.

"Casey Ortega," said the girl as she gave his hand a vigorous shake. "Pleased to meetcha."