Last Seen Alive

Chapter Two

Ten minutes before the 7.30 am shift began, Kelsey raced through the door, a blur of dark brown skin, curly hair, and colourful clothes. She tossed apologies over her shoulder when she pushed past some uniformed officers coming off the night shift, but didn't slow down until she'd reached her destination.

Skidding to a stop outside Michael's door, she straightened her red sweater and the black backpack on her shoulders, then ran her hands through her curly hair hoping it didn't look as unruly as it felt. She briefly considered using the head-wrap she had in her bag but she was late enough already so she knocked and fidgeted with her hair again, waiting for a response.

"Come in," Michael called out in a tone that made her want to turn right back around and go hide under her bed, but with one last deep breath, she opened the door and entered his office.

"Good morning, Chief," she said in as steady a voice as she could manage.

Michael nodded in response, eyes still focused on the pile of papers in front of him.

Unsure what to do, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, looking around the office. Her eyes landed on pictures of some of Michael's predecessors. Their stern expressions and well-groomed appearances made them look like they belonged in a museum. It was quite a contrast compared to Michael who was dressed in a black short-sleeve shirt, with his badge hanging from a chain around his neck. She barely remembered ever seeing him in uniform.

"Take a seat, Harris," he said, snapping her back to the present. He continued writing in silence once she'd sat down and against her better judgement, she decided to fill in the silence.

"Did you have a good night?" she asked. "I mean other than the whole dead body thing," she added hastily, already regretting opening her mouth.

Michael arched a brow at her rambling but still didn't respond or look up from his papers.

"Am I fired? Is that why you're giving me the silent treatment? Those are my termination papers, aren't they? Don't I get a second chance or a written warning first or—"

"Would it kill you to sit quietly for 5 minutes?" Michael interrupted her rant, finally glancing up at her.

"Sorry. I'm just really nervous and I usually talk a lot to ease my nerves, so I hope you—"

He gave her a stern look that immediately shut her up. "Can you tell me what a criminal profiler does?" he finally asked, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded over his chest. 

She stared at him a while, surprised at the question until he repeated it. "A criminal profiler works with law enforcement during investigations of crimes and works out a profile based on evidence from the crime scene, witness statements, and victims' testimonies," she eventually replied, feeling like she'd just walked into a trap.

Michael let the silence stretch between them until she started fidgeting in her seat, then he slid a paper over to her.

Dreading the contents, she picked it up and scanned quickly through what was written.
"Well, I'm glad it's not a termination notice or something," she said, eyes still glued to the paper. "Wait, what is this?"

"Are you trying to tell me you're illiterate as well?"

She glared at him but his face remained unexpressive. "Training Program?" she read off the paper and looked back at him.

He nodded. "That's your training schedule and if you don't stick to it to the letter, you can find another police department to work with."

"But...but there are hours of taking calls with Dispatch—"