Judge, Jury, and Executioner - [Jopper]

01. We Can't Go Back

Time had hardened her. The soft and welcoming shell she recognized from the reflection in the mirror had taken a backseat in the constant state of her personality. Of course, her children still received the unconditional love and comfort from her, but the rest of the world wasn't so lucky. Time had left her viewing only damage in that same reflection, most commonly after the steam of her morning shower had fogged the glass, showing the true image of the bags beneath her exhausted eyes. Scars on her body, just a shade lighter than her skin tone had gained such a quantity that she couldn't remember where half of them had come from. The same scars she had watched her blood run from too many times, swirling in crimson down the drain along with another shred of hope and peace.

Time hadn't been the only culprit for the change. The new life she had adapted to; built from the ground up, that had played a large part in the transformation. The gun that remained rightfully attached at her hip. The hard-earned golden badge that had been pinned to her uniform. The job required this new lifestyle. The harsh and detached nature of her words, the thicker skin that doubled as kevlar for the horrors of the world that she had seen. Cigarettes and cups of coffee that had been brought to her lips were no longer meant for the stress from the demons taking residence under her bed. Now, they were utilized to clear her head enough during the sleepless nights of active cases and working overtime. 

Detective Byers — that always did have a nice ring to it.

She was good at her job. Damn good, thank you very much. She had been given a new life, and even under the awful circumstances that had warranted that, she knew to do better than her last life. Retail and sales wouldn't feed three hungry mouths at the table, not including herself. She had made the decision to enroll in the Police Academy not long after the move. Maybe it was for change, or maybe it was to torture herself with exposure therapy to what she was most afraid of — which, for a while, was everything. After more time had passed and she had broken in the uniform, she had grown to love the job. It made her feel stronger, putting away the thoughts in her head that convinced her that she was weak. All of which were usually residuals from Lonnie's vocal stabs. Anyone who had the gall to say she was weak was someone who clearly hadn't seen the things she had seen. She wasn't weak. She knew it took a hell of a lot more balls to become a better version of herself than to chase the ghosts of her old life.