"Drop the weapon! Hands up so I can see ‘em Olivia." Someone yelled. Who said that? It couldn’t have been me. Was my mind playing tricks on me? I opened my eyes and turned toward the voice. My eyes took a moment to focus, then I saw Detective Stephens with his gun pointed at Olivia.
"Wh-wh-what are you doing here?" Olivia asked, her jaw open and her eyes wide. “How did you find us?”
"It wasn’t an accident." Stephens said, looking at me. I pulled open my shirt pocket and showed Olivia the tiny microphone the detective gave me. Hidden in a tube of lip balm.
Stephens heard everything. I recorded as soon as I walked into the old building, hoping anyone listening would have enough time to come inside and stop her from killing me. Stephens made it to Valentine Hall faster than I thought he would.
"Ok, Olivia. It’s over. Drop the weapon." Stephens barked. Olivia lowered her gun, but kept it her hand so tightly her knuckles shook. I shuffled away as Olivia I traded places, her back to the corner. Mine, to the stairs. I walked backwards down the stairs as slowly as I could.
I hoped Olivia would hand the gun to the detective, knowing she had no choice. She looked at me and I nodded. Olivia glanced over at the detective, and then at me. She flashed a smile, not the twisted crooked one from a few moments ago, but a real one. The same one I remembered from back in the day. The one that meant ‘watch this’.
"I don’t think so." Olivia said, raising the gun back at me so fast I only saw a glint of metal.
"Stop!" I screamed, my voice bouncing along the walls of the empty stairwell. I closed my eyes.
BANG BANG! Two gunshots fired. The sound ripped through me and I covered my ears.
I opened my eyes to see Olivia's body on the floor Stephen’s gun stayed on Olivia as the detective climbed the last few stairs to join me at the landing. I wasn’t sure if the sound I heard was the echoing gunshot or my heart beating in my chest.
"You OK?" He asked me as he put his gun back in its holster.
“I hope I will be,” I answered.
“You’ll be fine,” Stephens said. “This is rough. As rough as it gets. But you’ll be fine.”
I didn’t plan for it to end that way. It wasn’t supposed to, I mean. I wanted to clear my name. That’s all. But then… the truth came out. And while truth is beautiful, even when it’s ugly... the truth can be hard to see.
I sat crying on the curb outside Valentine Hall; the lights on Detective Stephen’s police car making the night look red. I made a mistake. What would have happened if I invited her to come with me? Or kept in touch with her? Or if I hadn’t left my gun in our old apartment? Maybe none of this would have happened. Or maybe it would. I didn’t know.
I didn’t want to be so afraid of losing someone I avoided the people who tried to get close. I didn’t want to close myself off anymore.
"You need a ride, Lazarus?" I looked over and saw Stephens walking toward his car. I nodded but said nothing. I didn't think I could talk without crying.
"So. Ah. Um,” Stephens began. He cleared his throat and tried again. “This is tough, Lazarus. I knew Olivia through Dannon. He’s gonna be real torn up about all of this, too. I want you to know you aren't alone in this. This caught all of us off guard."
I closed my eyes and tried clear my head. I wanted to erase what happened from my memory. I couldn’t do it. My brain kept circling back to the same thought: Olivia was dead and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.
"I...um...wanted to talk to you. This isn't the best moment to talk about this, and I’m sorry about that,” Stephens said. "I’d like to offer you a job."
“Huh? A job?” I sputtered. "I don’t think I could do what you did...in there...to Olivia."
"Nah. Not a police officer. A consultant. You were great, Lazarus. Don’t get bashful. You were the one who broke this case, not us," Stephens said, bending down to sit on the curb next to me. "The trap you used to find the killer with was your idea. Even though it didn't work, you could put together some excellent theories.
"And this thing here in Valentine Hall was the best police work I’ve ever seen. As soon as I heard you over the speakers, I knew you’d found something good. I knew you wouldn’t broadcast unless you wanted us to have some important information."
"You wouldn't be on the police force. You would consult; to our department and others around the country. You wouldn’t carry a badge and you could live wherever you wanted. We’d call you whenever we needed you." Stephens looked at me to see my reaction.
I saw how my skill at reading people would be useful to the police. I didn’t know about fingerprints and DNA. But I know how people think. I knew how personalities fit together, and how people act when they think no one is looking.
I thought about it for a moment, the police lights still flashing in front of me.
The criminal system was a world apart from the world of makeup and drag. In drag I dealt with oversized personalities and with egos, not with murder and deception.
I sighed, rocking my feet back and forth on the pavement.
If it doesn't work out, you stop taking cases, no problem, I thought. Wait, you're afraid of is that it will work out. That you will become friendly with them, trust them, respect them, look up to them, and maybe even love some of them. Then one day, you must say a goodbye to someone you weren’t ready to leave. You’ll end up sitting a curb that looks like the one you’re sitting on now. You’ll try to forget, but you won’t.
I stood up to stretch; Stephens got up, too.
“So? What do you think?” Stephens asked.
Stop thinking about everyone else and take a chance, Lazarus, I said to myself. Stop taking yourself out of the competition before you even start.
I could change my life and maybe help people. Maybe I could help them in a way I couldn’t help Olivia. Could I do it?
I wouldn’t know until I tried.
"I’ll do it. But call me Lala."
THE END
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About the Author
Erica Gerald Mason tells the truth, even when it’s disguised as fiction. She loves writing strong women with soft hearts, unlikely heroes, and conversations where silences are just as important as booming declarations. Her books include poetry, young adult, paranormal, thriller, literary fiction, and flash fiction. She lives in an Atlanta suburb with a husband, kids, a cowardly yorkiepoo named Hero, and a fluffy bunny named Pickles.
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