Page 2 of Her Only Hero

Solemnly, I pressed my lips together.

He lowered his head and sighed. “All right, June Harber. I get the hint. I’m usually not this thick, but I finally get the message.”

“I’m sorry.” I wanted to explain, but there was no point. It would sound lame and trite if I told him I’d been hurt too deeply to trust again. I had to stand by my decision to not let a man touch me again, physically or emotionally.

“I guess I’ll see you around.” He gave me a last glance before leaving. I returned to the rack of samples and heard the door close. This was for the best. I knew I was messed up letting a guy like that walk out without giving him a chance. But I had to keep the pieces of my heart together. The glue hadn’t set yet, and I didn’t know if it ever would.

I put the specimens in the fridge for the next workday, hung my lab coat on a wall hook, and washed my hands. I unclipped my ID badge from my collar and slipped it into the back pocket of my scrubs. With my purse and drink in hand, I headed out, ensuring the steel door locked behind me. The occasional squeakof my rubber-soled shoes was the only sound as I walked down the deserted hallway to the exit.

Without a sweater, the drop in temperature gave me a shiver. Fall seemed to be coming in with a vengeance. I stepped onto the sidewalk as my bus sped by. I waved and ran after it but only succeeded in being doused with gritty exhaust.

“You’re early,” I muttered in frustration. In the evenings, buses only ran once every hour. I dug into my purse for my cell phone to call a taxi, but the darn thing wouldn’t power on.

What next?

I turned to go back to the bus stop, and in the parking lot I noticed Patrick leaning against a squad car, looking in my direction. He didn’t wave or gesture for me to come over—I had made my resistive stance perfectly clear. He stood immobile with his arms crossed over his chest.

An empty stomach hindered my better judgement. I walked toward him, and his expression lightened. He opened the passenger door. He didn’t gloat or smirk, he just said, “Hi.”

“Hi,” I said and got in. I’d never sat in a police car before and had to admit it was kind of cool. The dashboard glowed like an amusement park at night.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Not really,” I said, even though my stomach threatened to rumble.

“All right then.” He turned on the ignition, shifted into gear, and drove out of the lot.

“You didn’t ask me where I live,” I said.

He glanced at me as he changed lanes. “No, I didn’t. Where do you live? The west end?” he asked, pretending he didn’t already know.

I giggled. “Good guess, Officer.” I clutched the handles of my purse. I enjoyed Patrick’s company and casual banter, so why was I nervous?

A woman’s voice from dispatch squawked on the loudspeaker. “Attention sectors 45-43, 45-42. Possible disturbance at 109 Landry Road. May be an animal.”

Patrick glimpsed at his watch. “I’m off duty in a few minutes, but Landry Road is only a couple of blocks away. Would you mind if we swung by?”

“Sure.” I think I managed to keep a calm, casual demeanor, but my insides felt like they were dislodged by a roller coaster.

Patrick responded via speakerphone. “Affirmative, 45-43 en route.” He turned on the flashing red and blue lights, and the engine roared with acceleration.

My heart thumped harder, and I tightened my seat belt. It surprised me how he hadn’t pulled over to drop me off at a roadside. “Are you sure I’m allowed to tag along?”

“You are a civilian member of the police force. It shouldn’t be an issue.” He made a right and then a quick left and stopped in front of a one-story home. Along the right side of the property, a hedge lined an alleyway. Patrick parked and stared at the house.

“Stay in the car, June.” I recognized the same authoritative cop tone from the infamous night we first met. Before I had worked at the forensic unit, he had responded to a call at my house. At the time, he hadn’t been very nice. All the more reason it amazed me how we were here together today.

“Yes, Officer sir,” I said and noticed the corner of his mouth turn up before he shut the door. He scaled the wooden porch steps and knocked. No one answered. He looked in the front window and then walked to the side of the house, disappearing from view.

I tapped my fingertips on my thigh as I watched the house. No lights were on. About twenty feet away, a square blue dumpster sat near the alley entrance. Empty plastic bottles and other trash littered the ground. And then I noticed something distinctively out of place. Something brown and white, or was itred and white? The sun was setting. Was I seeing what I thought I was seeing?

Patrick still hadn’t emerged from around the house. I opened the car door, stepped out, and looked around. Everything seemed okay. An occasional car drove by, and a dog barked in the distance. Whatever disturbance had happened was probably over. Not sensing any imminent danger, I approached the dumpster. The object in question became clear, and I stared at it in disbelief. It looked like a wad of paper towels soaked with blood. I’d analyzed specimens such as this, but I’d never found or collected them, until perhaps now. Of course, my speculation could have no significance at all, and this could end up being acrylic paint from a sloppy painter.

A racoon darted out in front of me. I jumped and let out a scream as it scampered into the hedge. When assured it was gone, I bent down to pick up a corner of the towel.

Like a battering ram, something, or someone, propelled me forward. My knees landed hard on the concrete, and my head thudded against the metal dumpster. Spears of pain shot through my skull, and my knees and palms burned. Dazed, I caught a glimpse of a guy running down the alley before disappearing into overgrown shrubbery.

“June!” Patrick bolted from the side of the house. “Fuck! Are you all right?”

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