Renegade

by Jeanne McDonald

  I chuckled at the flashy tie Liam wore in the clip and could only imagine the argument between him and Elizabeth over him wearing such a thing at a rally. He was always one for the dramatics.

  Mika commented on her belief that Liam might run for the upcoming presidential election. I smiled and sipped my coffee. I certainly hoped he would. I’d vote for him, at least.

  As the show moved to a commercial break, I glanced up at the photo of my mom. She was pretty, with flowing black hair and close set, brown eyes that were nearly charcoal in color. Even in the aged photo, her skin appeared smooth as silk. Everyone told me I looked just like her, and I couldn’t think of a greater compliment. I only wish I’d had a chance to know her.

  My mother, Penelope Diamond, whom everyone called Penny, passed away in a car accident when I was only two. Since she’d been artificially inseminated, and her parents had passed before her, I was placed in foster care. The system was all I knew and was one of the biggest reasons why I went into law enforcement.

  It was either be a criminal, like Neil Hoff had become, or catch them. The latter sounded like a better option to me. Michael had hoped I would become an attorney like him, but he was extremely proud of me for my choices. It was safe to say, had I not met the Baxters, I probably would have ended up like Neil Hoff. That thought alone made me shudder.

  I gulped down the last drop of coffee in my mug and shut off the television as Joe began to rant over what the president had done in the last twenty-four hours. American politics. I would leave that for my cousins. Catching bad guys was where my heart lied.

  And if I didn’t get my ass in gear, I wouldn’t be able to do that anymore.

  No way was I going to stay on desk duty any longer than necessary.

  After placing my cup in the sink, I grabbed my belongings and headed out the door.

  My next stop ─ the office of Dr. James Blackbird.

  Sitting on the sofa inside the doctor’s office, I couldn’t help but feel as if the stark white walls were closing in around me. I looked into the dark eyes of Dr. Blackbird who sat opposite me. With his long legs crossed and a yellow legal pad resting on his knee, he maintained a stoic expression on his face as I pleaded my case. “You don’t understand. I need to be okay. I need to be back at work. The desk is driving me insane.” I snapped my mouth shut, realizing what I’d said to a shrink. “Scratch that. I’m not insane. I’m perfectly sane.”

  “I’ve never once thought otherwise, Lucy.”

  “Good. Because I’m not.”

  “I agree, but I do feel like you’re holding back.”

  “I’m not!” I slapped my palm against the leather of the sofa.

  “A man died by your hand and you lost your partner all in a matter of minutes. I think it’s safe to say this has brought up issues that you haven’t dealt with.” He maintained his calm, even tone.

  I blew out a puff of air, my cheeks deflating. “You’re wrong. What I need is to get back to work.”

  Dr. Blackbird drummed his fingers against the notepad. “Lucy, let’s take a step back. How about we talk about the shooting.”

  “But we have. That’s all we talk about. I told you, I’m okay,” I whined, then straightened up in my seat, attempting to not come across as the petulant child I knew I was portraying at the moment.

  “Indulge me for a moment.”

  I nodded, not that I had a choice, and reached over to the knick-knack sitting on the table beside me and picked it up. Just having something in my hand comforted me. “Fine.”

  “Thank you,” Dr. Blackbird replied. “We’ve talked about the moments both before and after the shooting, but what about during?”

  I wrapped my fingers around the wooden figure, focusing on the knots in the wood. “What about it?”

  “How did you feel when you shot the gun? What crossed your mind?”

  My fingers moved over the surface of the figurine, tracing each line and facet. Vivid memories of my dream from the night before rushed back in. “I don’t know,” I mumbled.

  “I think you do.”

  I returned the figure to its rightful position on the table and leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. The thick black belt around my waist dug into my abdomen. “No, I mean, I really don’t know.” I exhaled through my nose, closing my eyes to relive my nightmare.

  I described each detail, from the smell of the gunpowder, to the raspiness of George’s voice when he told me to check on the others. I could see everything inside my mind with complete clarity, yet it also felt like a blur. I finished my recount with, “I failed him.”

  “You failed whom?”

  I picked at the cuticle around my thumbnail, causing it to bleed. “Um,” I paused, taking in a deep breath.

  I looked up into his dark eyes. He made no move. Patience exuded from him. This was about me and he would allow me to tell him as much or as little as I wanted in my own time. That frightened me. For so long I’d held this deep in my heart that it felt as if I didn’t know where the pain ended and I began. Who was I without this agony in my chest?

  I worried the inside of my cheek, the words, the pain bubbling inside of me. As though a dam were breaking, the words tumbled from my mouth. “I failed George. I failed…I failed…”

  The words hung in the balance. I couldn’t say them. I couldn’t face my true terror.

  “You failed who, Lucy?” A gentle lilt to his voice coaxed my fear from my throat. Dr. Blackbird watched me as I pushed through the pain to the truth. I rubbed my hands over my crown, mindful of the bun at the back of my neck. “Go on, Lucy. You can do this,” he encouraged me. “Who are you afraid of disappointing?”

  “My mother!” The words were out of my mouth before I knew I was even saying them. I clapped my hand over my mouth; a volcano erupted in my stomach.

  Dr. Blackbird leaned forward; his brow furrowed. He tilted his head slightly as if carefully choosing his words. “You told me you don’t remember her.”

  “I don’t.”

  “I see.” He nodded once. “And what makes you think you failed your mother?”

  “Two men are dead because of me. One by my hand and the other because I wasn’t quick enough to save him. George’s son has to grow up without his father because of me.”

  “Lucy, the report says there was nothing you could’ve done different.”

  “Maybe, but when he laughed at me, I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I’d failed them all. Especially her.”

  Dr. Blackbird set his tablet aside and scooted to the edge of his seat. “You’ve never mentioned him laughing before.”

  “I keep hearing it in my sleep,” I admitted in a soft whisper, as I swallowed down the bile forming in my throat. I never wanted to admit any of this. My tears alone showed weakness. A weakness I couldn’t afford. “I can feel it.” I pounded against my chest. “Here.” And tapped my temple. “But most of all here.” I dropped my hands to the cushions and dug my nails into the pliable leather. “And all I hear in his laugh is that I’m no different than any of the other kids I knew in the system. I’m no different than Neil Hoff. I killed him as he would’ve killed me. As he did kill George.”

  “Normally I wouldn’t say this, but you’re wrong. You are different. You’ve chosen a greater path and what you did was an act of courage. What Mr. Hoff did was an act of cowardice.” Dr. Blackbird crossed his leg over his knee, placed his hands in his lap, and linked his fingers together. “I fear you’ve somehow attached yourself to Mr. Hoff because of you both being motherless. While you know nothing about your mother, aside from her name and an old photograph you have, you suddenly feel you’ve failed her because of your encounter with this man. And if we consider the other person you feel you’ve failed – your partner – it seems to me that what you really fear isn’t failure but abandonment. They both left you.”

  Ouch! That one hit me between the eyes. I winced at the truth in his words.

  For a moment nothing was said. I stared down at my hands
, fighting against the tears in my eyes. I refused to let the dam break. After a while, the silence grew so loud, I couldn’t take it any longer. “You’re not going to release me, are you?”

  “Do you think I should?” Dr. Blackbird asked, his pitch even and smooth.

  “I wouldn’t if I were you. It’s pretty obvious I’m fucked up.”

  For all his stoicism, Dr. Blackbird laughed. “On the contrary, I think you’re quite sound of mind. You do have many issues you need to resolve, but that’s not uncommon for someone who’s lived your life. It also doesn’t mean you’re mentally unstable. We all have issues that mold and shape who we are.”

  “I guess.”

  Dr. Blackbird grabbed his notepad and jotted something down. “I’ll notify the captain that you’re free to return to work.”

  “Really?” I was in shock. After all I’d told him, I was certain he’d suggest placing me on suspension.

  “Yes. On one condition.”

  Of course. Nothing was ever that easy.

  “You must see me once a week.”

  “For how long?”

  “Until we decide you no longer need to see me.”

  “That’s it?”

  Dr. Blackbird nodded, a small smile tugging the corners of his mouth.

  “I can do that.”

  “Good.”

  Relieved, I lifted from my seat and gazed into those dark eyes that I’d resented all these weeks. Those eyes that had held me from doing what I felt I was meant to do. Now, there was no resentment, though I still felt the ache in my chest. The tightness and anger hadn’t gone away. But maybe I was on the right road to change that now.

  I glanced down at my watch. This session had gone over an hour without so much as a “time’s up.” Though, now I was forced to face my next challenge – George’s funeral. That might be even worse than what I’d just endured.

  “No comment,” I snarled, pushing myself through a sea of bodies blocking the path to the graveside at Arlington Memorial cemetery.

  Stupid media.

  I hated each and every single one of them. Since George’s death they were everywhere. All the time. I could barely leave the house without finding one of those vultures perched outside my door, wanting intricate details about the death of the DC Metro cop who died while on duty.

  They didn’t care about George. Not really. All they cared about was their ratings and what piece of juicy gossip they could uncover. It didn’t matter to them what they were supposedly reporting regarding the lives of two men, one of which left a wife and child behind. All that mattered to them was the story that could make or break their careers.

  And the way they swarmed around poor Michelle and Peter was disgusting. That poor little boy and his mother had enough to deal with in losing George; they didn’t need these sick people investigating every aspect of their lives in hopes to find something that could taint George’s good name.

  Anger swelled up inside of me as one reporter thrust her phone in front of my face instead of allowing me to pass.

  I gritted my teeth and shoved her hand away. “Do you have no decency?”

  “It’s my job to share with the world what’s happening here today.”

  I shook my head, my bottom lip trembling. “A good man died and today we’re burying him. That’s all you need to know.”

  The reporter practically rolled her eyes. “What I need to know is why you shot Neil Hoff.”

  Almost like being hit in the stomach with a bowling ball, I gasped for air but found none. This wasn’t the first time I’d been asked that same question by a reporter, and I’d thus far given the same response, but to be asked this question with George’s body only yards away was more than I could bear.

  “Listen here,” I snapped, tugging at my collar. The heat of the sun blaring down already had me sweating profusely. The rage I felt only added fuel to the flame.

  The expression on the reporter’s face was almost unrecognizable through the scope of my anger. Was it fear? Or satisfaction?

  Not that it mattered. This woman was about to pay for her inability to show respect for the dead. Even if only through my words.

  Before I could give the vulture a piece of my mind, a hand gripped my shoulder, halting my verbal assault. I glanced up to a tall blonde staring down at me, her pale green eyes silently warning me to hold my tongue.

  She turned her focus to the reporter and with the smoothest of tones, stated, “The death of Officer George Martin is a tragedy. A good man and great police officer, who not only served the DC metro area with dignity and humility but also his country with two tours to Iraq, deserves to rest in peace today with those who loved him most present. Please respect that request.”

  The reporter’s face dropped. She stepped back, dropping her phone to her side. “May I quote you, Officer…”

  “Canady. Detective Sarah Canady.”

  The reporter jotted the name down on a notepad then gasped. “You were to be Officer Martin’s new partner.”

  Sarah sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, a steely look hardening her expression. “I was, and no, I will not give you anything more at this time.”

  Sarah wrapped her arm around my shoulder and turned us toward the graveside. So many people stood and sat, in what appeared to be uncomfortable chairs, around what was to be George’s final place of rest.

  There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky and the sun hung high, shining its bright light down on all of us. This didn’t feel right. It should’ve been storming to match what I felt inside of me. This was a day for a barbeque, not a funeral.

  “Thank you,” I finally whispered, trying my best to hold back any tears that might show my weakness.

  Sarah squeezed my shoulder. “No problem. It’s what George would’ve done.”

  I nodded. “You’re right. He was always the one who pulled my ass out of a sling.”

  “Mine, too,” Sarah admitted.

  I glanced up at her to see a single tear roll down her cheek. She swiftly swiped it away. Sarah stood a good four inches taller than me, maybe more. Her face was beautiful but hard, as though she’d seen things in her life that no human being should ever endure. I figured she was around George’s age, maybe a year or two younger, but if I were to go by her face, the lines, the way she held her jaw, I would’ve said she was much older. That didn’t take away from her beauty, however. She was stunning, her dress blues stood out against her lightly tanned skin and short blonde hair.

  “How’d you know George? Aside from him about to become your partner?”

  The corner of Sarah’s mouth tilted into an awkward smile and her nose flared with a silent laugh. “I was with him during his last tour in Iraq. He saved my life. It’s why I wanted him as my partner. I knew I could trust him.” Sarah nodded toward the graveside. “Let’s take our places. The service is about to start.”

  I followed the detective to our designated seats, staring at the coffin covered with an American flag. At the front stood Michelle and Peter, both dressed in black. Peter, so young, didn’t seem to understand what was going on around him. Michelle was the ever-vigilant cop’s wife, standing strong in the face of despair. My heart ached for them both.

  The tears I fought against from the moment I arrived at the cemetery burst forth, uncontrollable. There was no bringing George back. The casket was evidential proof that he was gone. In a few short moments, he would be lowered into the ground, there would be a twenty-one-gun salute, and he would become a mere memory.

  I wanted nothing more than to shout out that this couldn’t be happening. But it was. I glanced around, noticing everyone becoming still and quiet as the minister came forward to stand beside George’s coffin.

  I wiped my face and forced back my tears. I’d be strong. If not for myself, then for George. He deserved that. His family deserved that. And, no matter what, I would do all I could to make him proud.

  Hours later, I found myself inside George’s house. A place I’d been to a million
and one times. I knew his home almost as well as I knew my own. The way the kitchen was set off into the back, behind the staircase, and the dining room angled to the side. The extremely wide living room we were all congregated within, expressing our deepest condolences to the family.

  Everyone was there. The chief. Sarah. Half the force. All of George’s family and friends. People I’d never seen before and probably would never see again. We all stood around, sharing our memories of George, while Michelle bustled around ensuring everyone was comfortable. Many of us tried to get her to sit down, to relax, but she wouldn’t. Or possibly she couldn’t. Because if she stopped, she would have to face the loss of her husband.

  I pressed my back to the wall and sipped on my sweet tea with lemonade. It was the perfect refreshment for such a horribly hot day, and the only thing keeping me from fleeing. I needed to be there. For Peter. For Michelle. For George. For me.

  In the recesses of my mind, I imagined something like this might’ve been held for my mother. That maybe her friends gathered around to talk about the amazing person she’d been.

  Penny Lane Diamond was a beautiful soul. Full of hope, love, and compassion. Though she’s no longer with us, she will always be a part of us.

  If only I could remember her.

  And now, little Peter would say the exact same thing one day. I vowed I would never let him suffer as I had. I would make sure he knew the amazing person his dad was.

  I sucked in some air, suddenly feeling as if the walls of the house were about to collapse upon me.

  Even though the sun still shone bright outside, I felt like darkness was settling upon me. My limbs tingled with anxiety. Dr. Blackbird and I might’ve made a breakthrough today, but at the present moment I felt worse than I’d ever felt.