Final Comprehension

Monday 1:17pm

"So...itwasn't half as bad as we expected, was it?"

"Areyou kidding?" I say, staring blankly at Enzo, who has been with meduring the entire hearing that was supposed to decide about myfurther future in the Chicago Police Force. And who voluntarily hasjust destroyed my hopes to finally get back into the field.

"It wasn't half asbad? Do you have any idea whatit feels like to sit there, bolted to a chair and having to go backthrough your worst nightmare?"

Enzogrimaces. I hate how irritating his smile can be. "You weren'treally bolted..." he starts, but I interrupt him.

"Saveyour breath. I can't believe you seriously made me do this, Enzo!"

"Doingwhat? Helping you getting back onto the saddle? Back to the job youlove so much?"

"Yes,exactly!"

"I'msorry," he replies, crossing his arms over his chest and watchingme with his usual, typical shrink look. "I thought all we did overthe past year was to get you to this exact point, Cassie."

"Andhow, exactly,did you think it would help my case if you tell everyone in therethat I wasnt stable enough yet to go back on homicide duty? Howexactly didyou think would that make Captain Warden feel about his decisionwhether to suspend me for good or not?"

Exactly365 days ago, I was kidnapped by Wyatt Baker, a psychopathic bastardwho once had been my mentor and partner on the force for more than adecade, and who – for no visible reason, – had turned into amonster without any kind of conscious. Captured inside of a dark,cold room, I had been tortured with a butcher knife and a black whipwith a rippled handle that left marks inside of your hand if you heldit too tight. I know that because when I was finally able to escape,I lost it. I overwhelmed the man who had taken the last bit ofdignity I had, tied him to a chair and let the whip come down on anypart of his body that wasn't covered until he fell unconscious.Even when the rescue team arrived, I couldn't stop swinging thewhip over and over again – they had to drag me out the room and putme into an ambulance, all the while screaming and kicking.

As aresult of this, I had been suspended and made to instantly see apsychologist – Enzo, – to help me processing the trauma and, indoing so, helping my superiors decide whether I should ever be apolice officer again or not.

Resulting in theridiculous hearing I had just attended.

"Apparently I have beenunder the wrong impression that you actually wanted to go back toyour old force," Enzo said. "Guess I'm not that much of apsychologist after all."

I stare at him for acouple of minutes, then walk over to a chair that is bolted to thefloor, close to the wall, and slump down on it. Somehow, my handsfind my head and I bury my face in them for a couple of minutes.

"They think I'm nuts,Enzo," I mutter into my sweaty palms, suddenly all drained fromrage. "They think I lost it when I whipped Wyatt dead. I know it.It's in their eyes."

I feel him coming over,carefully sinking into the chair next to me. Still, I can't look athim.

"They want me off thestreets for good. They think it's better for everyone. But I can'tdo it. I just can't."

There is a long silencebetween us. Finally, I have the courage to look up and meet mypsychologists eyes. But what I see inside of them is turning my bloodinto ice.

There's no sign ofcomprehension. The person I trust more than anyone on this planet,the person who has seen the deepest and darkest pits of my soul. Heis just like everyone else.

"Cassie," he begins,taking my hands into his. "He's dead. You can finally move on, Iknow you can do it. Just give yourself time to adjust. Give your newlife a chance. A desk job isn't that bad."

Yeah, you have noidea, I think, but keep my mouth shut. I see more and morepeople coming out of the conference room, nodding towards me incomprehension or pity. Former homicide companions who – if I'mlucky, – I will be working together with in 4 or 5 years again. Ifever again, that is.

I can't wait that long.

I pull my hands free fromEnzo's grip and feel them tighten into hard fists. I try tobreathe, but it's difficult because my teeth are gritted and I amnot able to think straight. I want to hit something. Hard.

Instead, I finally amable to exhale. I stand up abruptly, straightening my spine and lookdown onto my psychologist. Enzo is staring at me with the typicalkind of worry and curiosity. God, how I hate that expression.

"You know," I start,trying to sound more confident that I actually feel, "maybe for youand everyone else in that room it's as simple as that. Move on, geta new job, try to begin a new life. But it isn't. You haveno idea what I have been through to get to where I am today, andthere's no way in damn hell I'm going to let a psychopathic, deadex-cop take over my future with condemning me to shuffle papersbehind a desk because I made a mistake one year ago when I killedthat bastard instead of letting the law take care of him. And thesooner everyone, including you, realizes that, the better."

With that, I turn aroundand walk out down the hallway towards the exit. Just before I amthrough the door, I hear Enzo saying my name.

"Cassie."

I stop, turn around andlook at him one last time. At the person who has accompanied me forthe past year, who has seen me at my worst, who has given me tissueswhen I broke down in tears infront of him, who allowed me to screamso loud in his office that his secretary, Rhonda, had to apologize tohis neighbours more than once during my sessions. I feel a suddensympathy towards him, but a second later, I remember how he let medown during the hearing, and rage gets the better of me once again.

When he speaks, I feelnothing.

"One day, you'llunderstand."