Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The first rays of the morning sun seeped through the gap in her curtains, landing directly on Maria’s face.  She woke up to a blistering headache, last night’s choices already back to bite her in the ass.  

Something soft brushed against her cheek.  Maria reached blindly for it, eventually managing to find it located next to her head.  She held the item away from her face to get a better look, blinking groggily as she tried to get a focus on the object. The worn edges of its long ears flopped down to her wrist, and the silhouette of a bunny came into view. She immediately recognised it as the first and last stuffed animal she’d ever owned.  

Weird.  She rarely moved it from its usual spot, the cabinet in her room filled with all the trinkets from years that she’d rather not remember.  At the same time, she couldn’t bring herself to dispose of some of them.

“When did you get here?” She murmured, before hugging it carefully to her chest.  

Maria looked around her, her eyes scanning over the empty bottles, clothes and files strewn around the living room.  In recent months, it had seemed to have replaced her bedroom and the couch had gradually become her new bed.  Her gaze lingered on the half-empty whiskey bottle at the foot of the couch as the night came back to her in pieces.

She remembered locking her gun in the safe, before her arm had reached up habitually to grab the bottle of whiskey.  There was a gap in her memory after that, which she guessed was when the bunny had been taken out and ended up next to her.  It now lay tucked safely in the crook of her arm, its crookedly stitched mouth facing her.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

For a moment, she laid there holding it.  Her eyes slowly drifted to the kitchen, squinting as she attempted to read the clock on her microwave.

5:45.

Maria shut her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose with her hand.  The bunny’s ear flopped against her cheek.

“I know, I know.”  She muttered, “I’m gonna be late.”

Sighing, she sat up slowly, dark spots clouding her vision.  A wave of dizziness hit, strong enough that she had to pause midstep, her hand braced against the wall.  When the worst of it had passed, she continued her lethargic shuffle to the bathroom.

Maria gripped tightly onto the edge of the sink, taking in shallow breaths and exhaling slowly through her mouth.  Her stomach churned dangerously, to the point that it almost hurt to stand upright.  She bent over the sink in an awkward manner, her forehead resting against the cool porcelain.  When the nausea gradually subsided, she turned on the tap and cupped her hands beneath the faucet, bringing it to her mouth.  The first mouthful felt immensely refreshing going down, almost like a luxury she had been withholding herself from.  Maria drank again, before deciding that her method was too inefficient.  She lowered her head into the sink, craning her neck at an angle such that her mouth was directly under the tap now, swallowing greedily to soothe the parchedness of her throat.

When the thirst began to fade, Maria stepped back, gasping once for air.  She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and grimaced, before she peeled off her now damp shirt and dropped it into the laundry basket. Then, she stepped into the shower and let the hot water wash away the stale smell of whiskey and sweat.

Twenty minutes later, she stood in front of her bathroom mirror again, this time dressed in her uniform.  The shirt hung looser than it used to, and her duty belt had to be tightened yet another notch.  Even after that, there was still a gap left around her waist.  Maria studied her reflection, running a hand across her face.  Her hair was dry and unkempt and sticking out in ways that defied gravity.  The combination of her dark eye circles and her slightly sunken cheeks made her look older than she was.

“You’re a mess, Hill.” She scolded her reflection.  “Get your shit together.”

She opened her medicine cabinet, ignoring the neat row of orange prescription bottles sat untouched on the middle shelf.  She reached past them for the hair gel instead.  Once the stubborn strands had been held down into place neatly with copious amounts of gel, she applied a light layer of foundation, and dabbed some concealer beneath her eyes.

Taking a step back, Maria inspected her appearance once more. Ignoring the dullness of her complexion, she looked significantly more presentable now.  She contemplated applying a light layer of blush, but ultimately decided against it.  People might be suspicious if she came in with too much color in her cheeks. 

After grabbing her service pistol from the safe in her room, Maria walked back to the living room where the bottle of whiskey was waiting for her on the floor.  She picked it up, unscrewed the cap of her flask and poured enough whiskey in to get her through the day.  Maria turned around to see her bunny now lying atop a couch cushion.  She picked it up, carefully dusting off a speck on its ear before setting it upright on the arm of her couch

“Watch the place for me.” She instructed, stroking its ears one last time before leaving.

As she locked up her front door, Maria checked the time again.

“Shit.”

Maria tugged on the door handle one last time to ensure it was locked before hurrying down the stairs.  She had already crossed half the parking lot when she stopped abruptly.  

“Damn it.”

With a resigned sigh, she turned around and retraced her steps.

“Good morning, Mrs Carter.”  Maria greeted the elderly woman who resided on the second floor.

Mrs Carter, who seemed to permanently reside on her rocking chair on the balcony lifted a hand in greeting.

“Morning, Maria.”  She said warmly.  “Be safe at work, you hear me?”

Maria smiled faintly. “I’ll see you later.”

The tremors started before she reached the car.  By the time she had fished her keys out from her pocket, her fingers were trembling hard enough that the key missed the lock twice before finally finding the keyhole.

Maria climbed into the driver’s seat and closed the door, not starting the engine just yet.  Instead, she reached into her bag, unscrewed the flask, and took an estimated half-shot.  Her car sat stationary in the lot as she tapped her foot against the carpet impatiently.  The shaking gradually eased until she could wrap her fingers around the steering wheel steadily.

Thick, grey clouds hovered in the sky that day, casting a gloomy spell over her small logging town located in the Pacific Northwest region.  Blackwood had been built from their very own timber, with more than a quarter of the town working for the sawmill, and another quarter that belonged to the logging companies.  Most families had lived there for generations, having roots that ran deep into the soil.

The car radio hissed with static as Maria tried to search for a station.  She turned the knob one last time, letting the car fill with the beat of heavy metal which thumped in time to her heartbeat.  Satisfied, she leaned back in her seat and drummed her finger against the steering wheel, keeping her eyes focused on the road as logging trucks drove past her in the opposite direction.  

She reached the station with 30 seconds to spare.  Maria began a brisk-walk to her desk,  swiping her work ID card against the wall terminal on her way there, while wiping off a sheen of sweat on her brow.  As she reached, she dropped her bag on the ground and sank into her seat.  Though she had just showered not too long ago, she could practically smell the whiskey dripping from her pores.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see a familiar blond strutting towards her, hair untied and reaching down to her chest.  As she approached Maria’s desk, the woman set down a cup of coffee on it.

“You look like shit.” Bobbi remarked.

Barbara Morse was a sergeant at the Blackwood police department, and the only other female officer.  Unlike the rest of them, Bobbi was one of the rare few not born and bred in Blackwood.  Maria had taken a liking to her from the very beginning for that fact alone.

“Don’t I always.” Maria said dryly, tugging at her collar self-consciously.

“Late night?” 

“Something like that.”  

Bobbi raised a brow, but said nothing.

A commotion a few desks away caught their attention, causing them both to turn their heads.  Maria glanced up, noticing more donut boxes placed around the station than usual. A group of officers were huddled around Detective Callahan’s desk, some patting his back in passing while others lingered to chat.

Maria frowned. “What the hell is going on?” 

“Didn’t you get the memo?  Callahan’s transferring out.” Bobbi leaned against Maria’s table, half-sitting on it.  “He took the Sergeant’s exam and got offered the job in LA.  Lucky.”

“Right.” Maria exhaled sharply.  “Lucky.”

Bobbi tilted her head, watching her with such a careful expression it made her heart clench tightly in her chest.  “You could always try again.”

“No one is interested in hiring me, Bobbi.  You know that.”  Maria said tiredly.  “It’s not worth it,” she added quietly.  

Bobbi squeezed her shoulder once in response.  Maria’s eyes flicked back to Callahan’s now emptied desk, except for a stack of his files that were going to be re-distributed to the rest of them.  “As if we don’t have a manpower shortage.” She muttered.

“And you know how Callahan works too.” Bobbi agreed with a roll of her eyes.  “He closes the easy ones and everyone has to pick up on his backlog.  God bless the city of Los Angeles.”

Maria took a sip of the hazelnut latte with caramel drizzle, grimacing at its richness.  She never understood why Bobbi got the most imaginably complicated drink possible every single day, even though her order had never once strayed from black coffee.  Nevertheless, if there was caffeine in it, she would drink it.

The first swallow hit her stomach like a brick.  Cold sweat pricked the back of her neck, and she closed her eyes for half a second, having her usual dilemma between willing it down or making a mad dash to the bathroom.  As usual, the bathroom won.

She stood up abruptly, her chair sliding back noisily as she did.  “I’m gonna go to the bathroom.”  Maria mumbled, the back of her hand pressed to her mouth.  

“I’m gonna get a head start on his cases.”  Bobbi slid off the table.  “Anything you want?  Burglary? Homicide? Fraud?”

“I’ll just take what’s left.”  Maria was already backing away, two steps from the bathroom.

Maria resurfaced from the cubicle ten minutes later, a few hundred grams lighter.  She popped a mint into her mouth, splashed some water onto her face before dabbing it off carefully with a hand towel.  She looked up, some of her makeup had washed off, revealing petechiae on her cheeks.  A haggard woman stared back at her from the mirror, hollow-eyed and exhausted.

“Oh, fuck off.”

She adjusted her uniform once more before she left the bathroom.

When she returned to her desk, there was a manila file waiting for her.  A bright yellow post-it note had been stuck to the front.  ‘Had your name written all over it. xo, Morse’ 

“Asshole.” Maria snorted.

She dropped into her chair and peeled the note away before opening the file.  The first page greeted her with a single word, stamped across the top in bold red letters.

SUICIDE.

Her smile vanished.

Maria sat up straighter and pulled her chair in.  Her eyes drifted to the top of the page.  

June 7th, 2016.  

That’s more than 2 weeks ago, why is this case still open? Maria thought.

She continued reading the report.

Maria remembered the Elena Garcia case. She hadn’t been the lead detective, but in a small town like Blackwood, unusual deaths had a way of becoming everyone’s case. There weren’t enough tragedies that occurred there, such that the death of a little girl would be so easily forgotten.

It had turned out to be a freak accident. No one’s fault, really. Just a young girl with a creative imagination who wanted to explore the forest, who had unfortunately explored too far into the deep ends of the lake. The lead detective at the time had resigned soon after this case. Apparently, he had been there when they’d fished her body out of water.

Maria returned her attention to the case at present. If this was an open and shut case, why wasn’t this file in the archives with all the others?

She frowned and flipped to the next page.

Another suicide.

Maria leaned back in her chair, tapping her pen on the corner of her table as she re-read the file.

With a population of approximately 7000 people, the Blackwood police department received a suicide case maybe once or twice a year.  2 in a month was practically unheard of, rare enough to form a topic of gossip amongst the townspeople, maybe even have a conspiracy theory or two.  But was it rare enough to justify keeping two supposedly closed cases on her desk?

“Callahan.”  Maria walked over to the coffee station, file in her hand.

Detective– No, Sergeant Callahan, raised his mug as she approached.  “Come to send me off, Hill?”

Maria held up the file.  “Why haven’t these been archived?”

Callahan sighed, taking the file from her hands.  He flipped through the reports, skimming through it briefly before he snapped the file shut and handed it back to her.  “Tell that to Fury.  I closed the Garcia case, and Brooks’ would’ve been too if he hadn’t reopened both of them yesterday.”

Maria frowned. “He reopened them?”

“Yep.” Callahan shrugged. “No idea.  Not my problem anymore.”

Maria let out a quiet sigh through her nose.  “I guess it’s mine, then,” she muttered, turning to leave.

“Hill.”  He called out, forcing her to turn back around.  “Forgetting something?” He grinned widely, turning his mug around to reveal the words ‘I’m outta here, bitches’ printed on it.

Maria rolled her eyes.  “Mazel.  Tov.”

“Don’t go all crazy again without me, you hear?”  She was halfway back to her desk while he continued.  “If you do, at least invite me back to watch.  I’ll bring popcorn.”

The bullpen erupted into laughter.  

When Maria returned to her desk, she reached down to grab her bag, the file now tucked under her arm.  She grabbed the drink from her desk and walked out of the station.

Her cruiser took a minute to start up.  Maria adjusted the AC vents towards her, letting the cool air blow at her face as she leaned back in her seat.  She took another sip of coffee and grimaced, uncapping it and setting it in the cup holder .  Rummaging through her bag, she took out the flask, unscrewing the lid before carefully pouring half of its contents into the plastic cup.  She swirled the cup around several times, before taking another sip.

Much better.

The fine mist in the air turned to a drizzle by the time Maria reached Evergreen Residences, an old but newly renovated 7-story apartment complex that came with a pool at the back.  Fresh paint covered the old concrete, enough to satisfy the elderly with degenerating eyesight who dominated this residence.

She headed up the stairs to the fifth floor which took her longer than it should have.  Maria leaned against the corridor wall, taking a few seconds to catch her breath.  She listened for footsteps, relieved when none came.

Apartment 5C had remnants of sticky residue from the police tape stuck to the doorframe.  She pushed down on the handle, letting herself into the vacated apartment.  The Brooks’ furniture were left mostly untouched, leaving behind evidence of their life.  Maria swept through the apartment quickly, through the framed photographs that rested on an old piano, and a knitted blanket on the arm of the sofa.  There was even a bronze trophy from a bowling tournament from the 1950s proudly displayed next to their TV.  

She tried not to think about how nearly 80 years of life could end in an instant like that.  People liked to say that memories were the thing that kept someone alive. As much as Maria had liked the idea behind the saying, she found it unrealistic. Because what happened when someone like Helen Brooks, who didn’t have anyone to carry her memories, passed? Sure, she had neighbours, maybe friends, but they were all well in their 70s.  Soon, they would share her fate. There would be no one left to remember the story behind a bowling trophy or the missed stitch in the blanket. 

Maria reached the balcony, peering down carefully from where Mrs Brooks had supposedly fallen from.  A wave of dizziness hit her, and she gripped the railing tightly, straightening herself up immediately.  

Well, she couldn’t completely rule it out as an accident now, could she?

Old people were prone to getting dizzy and losing their balance all the time.

Maria dabbed her forehead with her sleeve, wiping off some perspiration.  She now smelt like a combination of whiskey and hazelnut, with a faint touch of mint.

She walked back into the corridor, taking one final look at the room before shutting the door.  Soon, the sofa would probably find its way into a thrift shop.  Their antique oak dresser would be spray painted into a minimalistic white.  Someone would find the painstakingly  knitted blanket, scoff at the errors, and unwind the yarn to use for another project.

It sucked.  Everything sucked.  

Maria took a swig out of her flask, tucking it into her back pocket before knocking on the door of Apartment 5B.  She waited patiently as she heard the slow shuffling of footsteps approaching the door, tugging at her uniform once in a piss poor attempt to look more put together.

The door eventually swung open.  A man who looked well into his 60s stepped out, his greying hair neatly combed.

“Good afternoon, sir.” Maria greeted him politely.  “I’m Detective Maria Hill from the BWPD, and I wanted to ask you some questions regarding the incident that occurred a little more than a week ago?”

“Charles,” he grunted, looking her up and down, unimpressed. “And i already answered questions.  Twice.”  He replied grumpily.  “Helen killed herself.  What’s left to ask?”

“I’d like to know a little more about Helen herself.”

Charles narrowed his eyes, realization setting in his expression.  “Hang on, aren’t you that cop who–”

“Whatever you’ve heard about me is probably true, Sir.”  Maria interrupted.  “It is also irrelevant to the case.”  She took a breath to steady herself before continuing, “I’m just trying to understand the kind of person she was.”

HIs shoulders eased, and he leaned against the door frame.  He glanced once to his left, where the Brooks’ apartment was.

“She was a good woman.” He said.  “I’ve known her and Thomas for about 30 years now.  She was shy, never really dared to interact with other people when he wasn’t around.  So when he died a few months ago…” he trailed off.  “She mostly kept to herself.  My wife, Linda, tried to get in touch a few times.  Y’know, leave casseroles out her apartment and all that.  Invited her over for dinner once or twice.  Helen never really came out much after the whole thing.”

Maria nodded.

“It’s tragic, really.  They’ve been together for over 50 years.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Maria added quietly.

He looked at her, surprised.  “My loss?  I wasn’t… not really.  I wasn’t family or anything.” He let out a sharp laugh.

“You were neighbours for 30 years.” Maria said.  “That has to count for something.”

He looked down the corridor towards Helen’s apartment again.  “...yeah,” he murmured, his gaze softer now, “I suppose it does.”

“I’ll leave you be.  If there’s anything you can think of, it would be greatly appreciated.” Maria handed him her card.  “You can call me anytime.”

He rubbed the back of her neck, taking her card and glancing at it. Maria was ready to leave.

“Wait.” 

Maria raised a brow. “Yes, sir?”

“There was one thing.”  Charles shifted his weight uneasily.  “ I didn’t mention it to the other officer.  I didn’t think it mattered, or maybe I wanted her final memory to be protected.  It’s not good to speak ill of the dead, you know?”

“I understand.” Maria nodded, taking out her notepad from her front pocket and flipping it open to an empty page.  

Charles glanced both ways in the corridor, beckoning Maria to step in closer. “The week before she died…I heard her talking.”

Maria frowned, her pen stopping on the top right corner of the page.

“Talking to who?”

“That’s just it, detective.” He replied.  “Nobody.”

Maria waited as he reached down to rub his ankle.

“I’d be taking my trash out, or sitting on the balcony in the mornings, having breakfast with my Linda, and I’d hear her.” He gave a shrug.  “I couldn’t make the most out of it.  I remembered her laughing, and I remembered it because it was the first time I’d heard her laugh since Tom passed.

Something tightened in her chest.  “Did you ask her about it?”

“Linda wanted to.” Charles almost looked guilty now.  “I just thought that grief makes people do strange things.”

“And that’s why you didn’t mention it.” 

He looked relieved that she’d seemed to understand.  “It didn’t seem right.  Especially since the detective that came seemed like he just wanted to call it a day.  Didn’t seem interested in what we had to say once he realised she’d lost Thomas a while back.” 

Maria closed her eyes for a brief second, suppressing a sigh.  An elderly widow talking to herself after losing her husband wasn’t exactly the sort of information that would reopen a case.

“Anyways, that’s all I have.” Charles shrugged. “I’m sorry if it’s nothing.”

“Oh, no, Sir.  It was everything.” Maria reassured him.  

He seemed pleased at that, shifting his weight back to his original foot.

“I won’t keep you standing any longer.” Maria said, nodding to his feet.  “Some ice and elevation of your feet might make you feel better.”

Charles blinked. “Yeah.  Okay.”

“Thank you, again.” Maria gave him a small smile.

“It was nice to meet you, Detective Hill.”

“Take care, Charles.”

She made her way back down the corridor, replaying their conversation in her head.  The report had depicted Helen Brooks as a lonely widow who had lost everything and had therefore turned to suicide as a final resort.  Charles had painted another picture.  Helen had been laughing a week before her death.  That changed things.  Maria was almost itching to return to the station to start another report.

But first, she had one last stop to make.

The neon ‘OPEN’ sign stood out even through the fog.  Maria parked her cruiser into one of the empty lots outside the petrol station on the east side of town.  She sat in her cruiser for another minute, blinking groggily to recall her purpose for going there.  Her temples throbbed once as a reminder.

“Right.” She murmured to herself.  “Ibuprofen.”

She closed her eyes, resting her forehead on the wheel. The headache throbbed harder, causing her eyes to water.

“Thirty seconds,” she whispered to herself, her voice muffled.  

A sharp knock on the passenger window made her flinch.  She sat up, turning her head to see a group of teenagers next to her cruiser, jackets pulled over their heads in the rain.

One of them cupped his hands around his mouth, inching so close to her window that his breath fogged up the glass.

“Oi! D.D.!”  He turned back to his friends.  “D.D.’s here, guys!”

The other teenagers burst into laughter, before they proceeded to run away.  

“See you around D.D.!”

Their laughter faded as they jogged across the road, splashing through the puddles that had formed in the uneven ground.

Maria rolled her eyes at the nickname she’d inherited from the town, pinching the bridge of her nose as yet another throb pulsed through her head.

“...Brats.” She muttered under her breath.

As she entered the store, the cashier looked up from her phone, noticed her uniform and gave her a nod.  Maria returned it, before she headed straight for the medicine aisle, locating the box easily.  She plucked a packet from the shelf, and as she turned toward the counter, movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention.

There was a teenage boy, Maria estimated him to be around 14 or 15, sporting an oversized jacket that had a few holes around the armpit area.  He glanced toward the cashier, then slipped a bag of barbecue chips beneath his jacket.

Maria sighed, walking towards him as if heading for the refrigerators.  When she passed, she caught his wrist, not hard enough to hurt but firm enough that he wouldn’t squirm away.

He froze, looking up slowly as recognition spread across his face.  “D.D.” He shook his head once, then corrected himself. “Detective Hill.”

Maria kept her voice low as she spoke, “Take it out.”

“I–”

“Take it out,” she repeated, slower this time.

His shoulders sagged as he obeyed, begrudgingly pulling out the crumpled bag from his jacket.

Maria released his wrist, dug around in her pockets and slipped a folded fifty-dollar note into his palm.  

“Pay for it.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.  “And don’t make a habit of this.  If I catch you doing this again...” Her voice trailed off.

“I won’t.” He whispered, shaking his head profusely.

“Won’t what?”

“I won’t steal again, Ma’am.”

Maria let go of his hand.

“The community center on Alder Road gives out food on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.  No questions asked.” She added as an afterthought.  “Also, not a ma’am.” 

The boy swallowed, nodding one more time.

He stood there rooted to the spot, his attention still to the bill in his hands.  Maria tried not to focus on how one of his shoes was held together with duct tape.  She continued to the checkout, placing the Ibuprofen on the counter

“Will that be all, Detective?”

Maria’s gaze wandered to the row of sandwiches seated in the fridge.  Her stomach twisted sharply, and the thought of swallowing sent another wave of nausea through her. 

“Just these,” she slid the painkillers across the counter.

The warmth of the station washed over her as she stepped through the doors.  She hung her damp police jacket on the back of her chair, before sinking into it, exhausted.

A cup of coffee set down in front of her, fully black this time.  Maria looked up to see Bobbi had materialised next to her somehow. 

“You’re a lifesaver.”  Maria groaned.

“So?” The blonde leaned against the desk.  “How’s the case going?”

Maria rubbed the back of her neck.  “I don’t know,” she admitted.  

“Bad vibes?”

A tired laugh escaped her lips.  “You could call it that.”

“Okay,” Bobbi nodded once. “What happened?”

Maria flipped open her notebook, the words now smudged because of the rain.  She twirled around in her chair once.  Then twice.  And during the third time, Bobbi reached out and stopped it with one hand.  “Helen was talking to herself,” she read quietly.  “The neighbour said Helen spent the week before she died having conversations with someone.  Except that someone was no one.”

“Grief will do that.”

“Right.” Maria snapped the notebook shut.  “I hate this,” she admitted, reaching up with the intention of raking a hand through her hair before remembering her hair was currently trapped under several layers of gel.  She put her hand down, settling on picking at her fingers.  “At first I thought Fury was sending me on this wild goose chase out of paranoia.  Because he does that, sometimes.”

“Except his instincts are always right.” Bobbi rolled her eyes.  Then, she looked at Maria with the same careful expression as she had in the morning.  “But so are yours.” she added in a quieter voice.  “What does your gut say?”

Maria wanted to laugh it off.  Crack a lame joke about how her gut was fueled by caffeine.  At the same time, she knew better.  Bobbi hated it when she made herself the punchline.  Every self-deprecating joke was met with the same disappointed look.  

For once, she swallowed down the joke, glancing at her notepad again.

“I think…” she began.

Before Maria could answer, her walkie crackled before the dispatcher’s voice came through.

“Dispatch to all available units.  Officers requested to respond to a possible suicide at 148 Cedar Lane.  Caller reports an adult female found unresponsive.  An EMS is en route.”

Maria’s head snapped up, her walkie already in her hands as she clicked the talk button.  

“I’ll go with you.” Bobbi insisted.

Maria hesitated for a fraction of a second as she nodded, before responding, “Detective Hill and Sergeant Morse here.  Show us responding.  ETA 10 minutes.”  

An ambulance was parked outside the house when they arrived.  A patrol officer stood near the front gate, keeping curious neighbours and passers-by behind the police tape.  Maria flashed her badge to the officer guarding the entrance, before she and Bobbi ducked beneath the police tape to pass through.

“What have we got?” Bobbi asked, already snapping on gloves.

Maria did the same, half-listening to the paramedic while her gaze drifted into the living room.

“Female.  Early to mid thirties,” the officer replied.  “Caller was a worried neighbour who hadn’t seen her in a while.  Apparently the victim had a medical condition, so she called the EMTs.  The cause of death appears to be hanging.”

Maria stepped into the house, catching onto the nylon rope attached securely to the ceiling fan.  Her gaze followed it downward to the noose that it formed.   The victim’s body still hung there where she’d been found, her back partially turned towards the living room.  An overturned chair lay underneath her bare feet.

Maria took another step in, closer to one of the forensic photographers who was snapping away meticulously at the crime scene. The body rotated slowly and gently, just enough for Maria to see who it was.  Coming face to face with the body, she felt all the blood drain from her face.

I know her. 

Another officer approached them, holding up a leather wallet sealed inside an evidence bag.  “I found identification,” she announced, opening it and taking out an ID card.  “The victim’s name was–”

“Hannah Lee Williams.” Maria finished the sentence for her, her voice weak.  She hadn’t even realised she had spoken until everyone’s gaze was now at her.

“You know her?” Bobbi asked quietly.

Maria nodded, swallowing hard as she rubbed a hand across the back of her neck.  The room tipped sideways as she shifted her weight so she settled for leaning against the kitchen table, arms folded in front of her.

“Hannah was a senior when I was a freshman.” Maria replied.  “She was the star soccer player.  She had a younger sister, Emily, who left to join the military right out of school.”

“Were you close?” Bobbi frowned.

Maria shook her head.  “Everyone knows everything about everyone in Blackwood.”  She shrugged, picking up a picture frame of the two of them carefully. In the picture, Emily was dressed in her uniform, Hannah’s arm wrapped around her shoulders proudly.  “Emily died on her third tour in Afghanistan.”

“Jesus.” Bobbi muttered under her breath.

The forensic team continued processing the scene.  When Hannah’s body was taken down eventually, Bobbi checked for any signs of struggle or other possible causes of death.  Maria continued standing where she was at, looking around the room while half-reminiscing about the past.

“Hill.” Bobbi called out from where she was.  “Wanna make yourself useful?” She gestured vaguely to the rest of the house.

Maria frowned, but not at what Bobbi had said.  Something about this house and the Brooks’ apartment had been bothering her.  There was almost… nothing for her to investigate.

“Something’s wrong.” Maria muttered under her breath.  

“What is it?” Bobbi frowned.

“It’s too quiet.”  Maria continued, pushing herself away from the kitchen island and beginning to pace slowly through the living room.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see Bobbi glance furtively to the body, then back to Maria, before eventually looking around the room.  Maria knew exactly what she was thinking.  It was Bobbi’s ‘she’s a little out of her mind but we are friends and therefore I put up with this’ face.

“There are 7 people in here, Hill.”  Bobbi finally said.  “Not to mention, a ton of people waiting outside.”

Maria shook her head once.  “No, that’s not what I was…” She closed her eyes for a brief second.  “It was quiet at the Brooks residence too.” She suddenly recalled.  

“Because she didn’t have any family.”  Bobbi stated the obvious. 

“No, not that kind of–” Maria trailed off, stopping herself when a sense of deja vu washed over her.

A torrent of memories broke through the mental barrier she had spent years constructing.  White rooms.  Locked doors.  Restraints.  Concerned faces. Her chest heaved as she sucked in a breath, feeling her nose sour.  Maria looked away, blinking back tears that had stubbornly formed against her will.

Why can’t you ever just keep your mouth shut, Hill?

“I guess you’re right.” Maria nodded, letting out a small laugh.  “Sorry.  Nevermind.”

Bobbi squeezed her shoulder once as she passed.  “Come on,” she said quietly.  “Let’s take another look.”

Bobbi drifted back towards the body, crouching beside one of the medical examiners.  Maria remained where she was, her gaze fixed on the hardwood floor.

A soft thump snapped her out of her thoughts.  Her gaze drifted to where the sound had come from. 

A black cat slipped out from underneath the dining table, moving cautiously across the room until it neared her.  It paused at Maria’s foot, its green eyes gazing at her with curiosity.

“Oh.”  Maria whispered, bending down to let it sniff her hands.  “There you are.”  The cat rubbed its face against her palm, purring softly.  Maria scratched the area between its ears, before bending down to pick it up and checking it over once quickly.

“You’re a boy, huh?”  She murmured, “Can you tell me what happened?”  It meowed loudly in her arms, his paw reaching out to swat at her cheeks  “Yeah, I know.  She’s gone, buddy.”

Bobbi cleared her throat.

Maria looked up. “What?”

“ME’s almost finished.” Bobbi said, her attention lingered on Maria for a moment before flicking to the cat.  “They’re getting ready to transport the body.  Forensics is bagging up the last of the evide—what are you doing?”

There was a moment of silence.

“I’m gonna find his carrier,” Maria decided.

“And?”

“No one’s here, Bobbi.”  Maria held up the cat higher, and it meowed again, this time directed to the blonde.  “I’m not leaving it.” 

Bobbi blinked in disbelief, opening her mouth before shutting it again.  She walked towards the door.  “Suit yourself, Hill.”

Maria stood in the middle of Fury’s office, the cat carrier in one hand while she held the file in the other.  

Fury took one long look at the cat, sighing heavily.  “Have I ever told you how much of a cat person I’m not?”

Maria held back a smile as she tilted her head to look at the cat who was now sitting quietly in its carrier, when it had meowed noisily the entire way back from the Williams’ house. 

“With all due respect, sir, it was a much larger cat that took your eye.”

He sighed again, giving the cat a glare before looking up at her.  “What’s the verdict on the suicides?”

“Three apparent suicides in month, in a town with a population of 7000 people.  I don’t believe that’s a coincidence.”

“Three in a month, huh?” 

“Yes, Sir.”  Maria waited for another beat.  

“Is there anything connecting them?”

“Just that all three of them suffered a significant personal loss before they died.  But that’s not unusual in suicide cases.”

“Could it be foul play?”

Maria hesitated,  “Mrs Brooks’ neighbour revealed something that wasn’t in the original report.  He heard her talking to someone before she died.   But he never heard another voice, she assumed she was talking to herself. It might’ve just been grief, or…”

“There might have been someone.”  Fury finished her sentence.  “And the other two?”

“There were no witnesses where Garcia died.  For Williams, there was no sign of a struggle, but we’re still waiting for the autopsy results.”   Maria summarised.  “Right now, I don’t have enough information to come to a conclusion as to whether this is foul play, or just a horrible month.”

The room was quiet for a moment.

“Tell me, detective.” Fury sat up straighter in his chair, looking her in the eyes.  “Do you know what the protocol is when three unexplained deaths occur within the same jurisdiction in a month?”

Maria’s jaw clenched.  “We request for outside assistance…from the FBI.”

Fury nodded.

“With all due respect, sir,” Maria shifted the file tucked under her arm.  “I’m not sure that will be what’s best for the town.”

“Why not?”

“With a town of this size, word spreads fast. The minute people hear the FBI’s involved, they’ll see every death as a murder.”  She paused.  “People are already frightened, and we’re certainly not equipped to handle a case of mass hysteria.”

Fury barked out a laugh.  “And if the suicides don’t stop, Hill?”  He folded his hands on the desk.  “You’re right.  People will panic.  But if these deaths are connected, they deserve the truth more than comfort.”

Maria looked away, hating that he had a point.

“I’ll call them tonight.  See if they can spare a couple of agents.  I’ll ask for people who know how to keep a low profile.”

“With the FBI, sir?” Maria snorted at that. “Good luck with that.”

Fury smiled faintly at that.  “Go home, Hill.  And get some sleep, for goodness sake.  I can’t have my best detective showing up sleep deprived tomorrow morning to meet the FBI.”

Her lips twitched up at that.

“Go.  Home.” He repeated, pointing to the door.  “And don’t be bringing any stray animals into my office ever again.”

By the time Maria pulled out of the car park, the rain had stopped and the fog had lifted.  She wound down the windows for some fresh air, letting the radio play softly in the background.  Blackwood was settling in for the night.  The hardware stores had closed, leaving only the light from diners and grocery stores..  A logging truck passed her, this time driving back to where it had departed from this morning.

Next to her, the cat sat obediently in its carrier, curled up into a ball.  She would have to find time to bring him to a vet, before dropping him off at the shelter.  He purred softly as Maria stopped at a light.

That could wait.

She soon arrived back at her apartment complex.  Maria slung her bag over one shoulder and held the carrier with her other hand.  She heard the familiar clink of her car lock engaging, tugging on her handle one last time for her peace of mind.

“Good evening, Mrs Carter.”  Maria greeted the woman who was still at the balcony.

“Looks like you got back in one piece.”

“Told ya I’d see you later,” A huff escaped her lips.

In the carrier, the car meowed loudly, scratching against the sides.

From the balcony, Mrs Carter tilted her chin downwards, holding her spectacles down her nose to peer curiously at the cat.  “We both know ‘see you later’ doesn’t always mean what it means.”

Maria smiled back but said nothing.  The cat meowed loudly one more time, almost indignantly.

“Don’t be rude,” Maria scolded.

“This your new roommate?” 

“Temporary.”

Mrs Carter let out a hearty laugh, throwing her head back.  “Temporary.” She shook her head smiling.  “You really do like picking up strays.”

“Not by choice.” Maria said. “Good night, Mrs Carter.  See you tomorrow?”

“I’ll be here.” She said surely, sounding a bit resigned, “You know that.”

Maria gave her one final nod, before heading up the stairs to her apartment.  She inserted her key into the door and nudged it open with her shoulder.  In her frenzy to leave the apartment in the morning, she had somehow remembered to turn off the lights.

“Good job, Hill,” she muttered to no one in particular. 

She sat the carrier on the ground, unlatching it and letting him out.  He uncurled from the ball he was in, striding out confidently like he owned the place. When he reached the couch, he backpedaled a few steps, aiming carefully before launching himself onto the cushions

Maria’s gaze drifted to the floor.  Her bunny now laid on its side in the middle of the living room.  She frowned, walking over to it.

“I thought I told you to guard the place.” Maria muttered, picking it up and dusting off its ears with her thumb.  “Did you leave the apartment?” 

A slight breeze slipped through the gap between the sliding doors that led to her balcony.  The lightbulb overhead flickered once.

“Just for a while.”

The voice was soft.

Maria looked toward the kitchen where the voice had come from. 

A little girl sat on the kitchen island, absentmindedly swinging her legs.  The overhead light flickered again, and for a moment the light passed through her, revealing the cupboards behind her through the faint outline of her body before she settled back into focus.

“Mr Jenkins moved on today,” she continued, “I wanted to say goodbye.”