Page 6 of Sullied Saints

Chapter two

Aweekpasses,andI hear nothing. The media frenzy has reinvigorated since the panel. Theories abound, the few questions I answered coming under all varieties of scrutiny. My presence was supposed to be beneficial. I can’t see how. The grainy picture of me outside the station has shown that I’m back. Anyone can probably guess whose case I’m on. It’s too juicy for them not to harass me every chance they get. Every time I leave, the press are there, waiting for me to say something foolish or admit to some rumour. The issue is most of them are true.

So I wait, antsy every time the phone rings. Why hasn’t Tawill called me back to the precinct? Is she doing away with what Needler can tell us about Cassandra after all? Perhaps he's talking to them now, and they don’t need me. Maybe people are requesting that I don't come back, my presence somehow disturbing to them.

Nothing entertains me for long. I'm strongly considering just showing up at Tawill’s office and demanding that she either give me my damned job back or cut me loose entirely. The only thing stopping me is the high chance of her choosing the latter.

I busy myself at home with getting rid of everything that was Olivia's—now Cassandra's—purging her from the apartment we shared for longer than I care to think about. The problem is that most of the furniture is hers, and without being able to go out and replace it, I have to hold back. Even with the smaller things; pictures, knick-knacks and decorations, I seem to dispose of a bucket of them, and the next time I open a cupboard or clean a shelf, there's more. I can't get her out of my life. As my housemate or as Cocooner.

It’s another morning, another long day of nothing. I know if I touch alcohol and fight through that initial wave of disquiet, I'll be done for good. I need to hang onto the disgust, even if it means thinking of that night. There is a bottle sitting there, above the fridge. The smarter thing would probably be to pour it down the toilet, but somehow having it close keeps that sick back-of-throat feeling alive.

I know all too well how easy it would be to slide into that oblivion and stay there.

I've opened the door before I've even registered who I just saw through the peephole. The smile on my lips is tremulous, fading fast as Dirk lifts his head and stares back at me.

His black hair brushes his collar, looking unkempt, like he hasn't run a brush through it in a few days, or at the very least before coming here. His eyes are guarded. I step back from the door, and he enters without a word.

“How… how are you?” I ask softly, searching his expression and the very way he moves for that thing to reassure myself with. I’ve tried calling him, but he’s either not seen the calls or has been ignoring me. I’m not optimistic enough to believe it might be the former. "You weren't at the station last week…"

"I only came here to tell you." He cuts me off, and I can tell this isn't a social visit. As if it could be between us now. After Cocooner nearly murdered him, after what I accused him of. I notice now the rough, unshaven layer of stubble on his jaw. It seems to deepen the shadows under his eyes.

My heart sinks as I stand by my open door. "Tell me what?"

"I'm transferring. Up town."

"But…" I drop my gaze, knowing the hope I'd had. That somehow things could go back to normal. That I could come back to work and he’d be my partner again, and the past would be a thing that never happened. "Why?" is all I can think to ask.

For the first time since appearing outside my door, Dirk looks directly at me, some hint of the wryness that is uniquely his in his voice. "Seriously?"

Okay, that was a dumb question. I shake my head. "I just…" I'll never see him, just in passing, just someone I used to know, someone I almost died with, who almost died for me. "I know I screwed up, Dirk."

He doesn't want to hear it; I knew that much before I opened my mouth. There’s a temporariness about him, like he'll step out and transfer uptown any moment, transfer out of my life. As he moves to do exactly that, stepping back towards the door, I put myself in his way, pulling the door with me. He comes up short an inch before running into me and tries again. This time, I push the door closed behind my back, barring him in. I'm not brave enough to touch him, and my words spill out, "Please just wait before you…"

"El, I don't want to hear it. I just came as a courtesy to a coworker…"

I ignore him, barreling on, "I crossed so many lines, I know. Sleeping with Needler, and…"

Finally, the flat tone of his voice gives way to anger as Dirk takes a step back and snaps, “I don’t give a shit who stuck it to you!"

"Then what…"

And it all comes out, a flood that was being held back only by refusing to speak. But I broke that dam, so I have to bear the torrent. "It's your lies!” Dirk spits out. “The fucked-up web you spun. And for what?" Spreading his arms, he raises his voice, "I mean, it’s not like we spent every fucking day together. It’s not like I didn’t come every time you called. I could have helped you. You know," he says, shaking his head, his chest deflating like a spent balloon, "I would have done anything for you, if you'd asked me."

The words sink into the hole left in my chest.Anything for me.Dying too. But I'd never seen it, had never wanted to, ignoring all the signs, the looks, the way he cared enough to be angry when I self-destructed with alcohol or midnight quests to dangerous parts of town. I'd been too afraid to accept the possibility and the grief it could lead to again. I knew I couldn't survive more of that.

"But you didn't," Dirk concludes. "You lied instead. You even accused me of…" Now he grimaces, face twisting. "What? Putting on a mask and fucking you? Is that really what you think of me?"

"No!" I protest. "I—"

"Like I would lie to your face the way you lied to mine."

"Youdidlie to me!" I raise my voice to match his. "About your mob deals! Warning them about upcoming raids for information on our cases."

Dirk laughs, more of a choke. He's not surprised that I know, doesn't seem to care. "Don't pretend that’sanythingsimilar. I'd have told you about that if you'd asked me. I practicallydidshow you—I took you with me!"

And we're back to this. If I'd asked, he'd have done anything. But it’s all past tense now.

Dirk takes a breath, brow dark, no longer willing to meet my eyes now that the anger is spent, the words run out. "So there. That’s why I'm leaving. Since you asked…"

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