Phobia

27. Athazagoraphobia

"Are we lost or chasing rainbows? Or is there more to what meets the eye?

In the air, pretending to be angels.
Make believin' we can fly." Jimmy Nevis

They had found the kids.

Jon should have been relieved. In truth, he was anything but. Noah was dead, Kayla was catatonic, Savannah and Aaron were traumatised beyond belief, and Ryder was looking at possible jail time for the accidental killing of Poppy and Noah.

So, yes they had found them, but they had been too late and that failure would haunt him for the rest of his life.

He was still trying to come to terms with the rage he felt towards Ryder. In his heart, he knew that it had been an accident, and that Ryder had suffered enough at the hands of Anna Baker. He also knew that Ryder would most likely be convicted, despite the fancy lawyer Maria Mansfield had hired.

But that didn't stop him from hating the kid. Ryder had taken away Jon's child, accident or not. He had kept it a secret instead of coming forward. Jon had spent many nights awake in bed, imagining what he would do when he found the person that had killed Poppy. He had pictured a drunk driver, an adult. Not a teenager who was almost young enough to be his own child.

This case had always felt too personal to him, but now it had become even more so. He couldn't continue with it. Because for some reason, he didn't believe it was truly over. Something didn't feel quite right.

The grass crunched beneath his feet, desperately in need of water. He walked steadily to his destination, the thoughts whirling around his head.

Jon stopped and gazed down at the freshly turned earth.

No one had cared enough to write a proper inscription on her gravestone. No funeral had been planned. Anna Baker had been lowered into the earth with no fanfare, no one to mourn her passing. Just her name, birth and death dates carved into a stone over a mound of dirt.

Good riddance.

And yet here he was, staring at her grave as if searching for answers. He couldn't explain why he had come here. Had he been hoping that by seeing where she was buried he would finally feel closure?

He didn't think he ever would. The kids were trapped by their own demons, and in this way, Anna Baker had gotten her wish. She didn't die a nobody. She would be remembered by those teenagers for the rest of her life.

Athazagoraphobia. The fear of being forgotten.

Jon had done his research and was convinced that Anna Baker had suffered from it. Perhaps finding her mother's dead body had traumatised her to the point of developing the phobia He was no shrink, but he was confident in this diagnosis.

It made sense now, why she had written the letter. He had never truly understood it. But if she had wanted to be known, wanted to be remembered then putting it all down on paper was her way of doing so. The last words she ever spoke floated through his mind.

I will be remembered.

She was right. There was no doubt about it.

"I thought I might find you here." a voice murmured and he felt a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Jon didn't question how his partner had found him. Sometimes it seemed as though Isaiah knew him better than he knew himself. They had always operated on the same wave length; it was why they worked so well together.

"I keep thinking. What would have happened if we had found them sooner?"

"We did the best that we could Jon. We can't dwell on the 'what ifs'. If we do that we'll drive ourselves crazy. The important thing is that we did find them, before anything worse could happen."

He's right. All of them could have died. Although their futures are looking pretty bleak at the moment.

Jon stuffed his hands in the pockets of his slacks, staring hard at the dirt in front of him. "I have to remove myself from the case, Isaiah."

His partner of many years looked at him, the shock clear on his face. "We haven't found the benefactor. Or the person who leaked the letter to the newspaper. What about Bartholomew James?"

"I can't do this anymore. It's too personal. One of those kids killed Poppy. That's a conflict of interest."

"You're reaching Jon. That just means you wouldn't be able to be involved in Ryder's trial. Not everything else."

Isaiah's words made sense, Jon knew that they weren't finished, knew that he was being a coward. But he had already made up his mind. Maybe this was what he needed to feel closure. Maybe he needed to walk away from this to move on with his life.

"I'm handing in my resignation tomorrow, Isaiah. I'm sorry, I truly am. It's been a pleasure working with you."

Isaiah searched Jon's face, seeing the determination there. "I'm not sure if I can solve this without you."

"You can always bring in McCoy." Jon laughed as he named a Detective that both he and Isaiah disliked. "I'm sure he'd be more than willing to help."

Isaiah ignored Jon's attempt at a joke, his eyes turning to Anna's grave in front of them. "At least she is gone now. We will never have to worry about her or that serum ever again."

The serum.

Too many thoughts came rushing at once and suddenly it made sense why Jon had never felt any closure from this case. They hadn't seen any other vials of serum when they searched the place. Now that he thought about it; that seemed very strange.

What kind of scientist only made one batch?

What if there was more? What if the benefactor had some? What if they kept the vials? What if this wasn't the last they had seen of Phobia?

What if it's still out there?

And just like that, Jon felt himself being pulled straight back in.

The End.