Page 86 of Pose for Me
Nothing fills me with any kind of joy, besides going home and sliding on a pair of pretty panties that remind me of Ryell.
It took a month of therapy before I was cleared for field duty after Ryell released me. For the first month and a half, I approached every body that was discovered, hoping it was a Poser case and Ryell was giving me a sign he was okay, that he was still out there.
I realized what I was doing when we were called in for a copycat murder, a body posed in a semi-busy area, and I almost cried on the scene, thinking Ryell left me a message. We immediately knew it wasn’t The Poser’s victim because there was no sketch left behind. I knew Ryell; he would never leave that part of the process out. He was meticulous to a fault, something I teased him about during our time together.
It hit me I was hoping an innocent person was murdered so I could know my abductor was still out there somewhere. I prayed I’d get a call that The Poser had struck again so I could feel closer to him, to know he was living his life as if I never entered it, happy.
After that, I put in for a transfer and asked to get as far away from California as possible without being in Nova Scotia. I also told my SSA that I didn’t want to work with current cases, giving the excuse that my abduction happened because I apprehended an active serial killer.
He tried to get me to stay, saying they needed my tenacity, but he also understood that I went through a trauma and needed to start fresh for my mental health.
It was a good choice. It took some getting used to, working on cold cases and interviewing victims that may not have as much information as they did decades before, but I enjoy it. It keeps my mind off my ordeal.
And my Daddy.
The press conference wraps up, and my team congratulates me on another solved case. My new partner, Cassandra Paine,nudges me with her elbow. “You kicked ass. Let’s get a drink, my treat.”
I smile sadly but accept.
Even though we talk at least three times a week, I miss Brock. After close to ten years of being partners, it’s an adjustment not to have him by my side. We started working in an almost shorthand, knowing each other’s next move, so starting fresh with someone else is hard.
Cassandra is a decent partner, though, with good instincts and is helping me get into the swing of things.
The rest of the team agrees to go out for a celebratory drink as well, and we all pack into a dive bar that’s a watering hole for cops and agents. It differs from the Drab Dragon, which didn’t cater specifically to cops or law enforcement, but it’s not bad, and the bartender is friendly. But he’s no Emmy.
We sit around and have a few drinks, talking about the case we just solved. It was a fifty-year-old unsolved robbery and murder of a store owner. There was plenty of evidence, but a lot of it was botched or unusable because of improper handling. It was my idea to isolate each set of DNA and eliminate every law enforcement officer and forensic technician that worked the case. It took longer than we would have liked, since some people that worked the case were deceased. We had to hunt down family members, build a family tree, then eliminate them to isolate a suspect.
In the end, we solved the crime and gave the family closure.
With a drink in her hand, Cassandra stands from the booth we commandeered and gets everyone’s attention. Raising her glass, she says, “To Agent Bauer, the lead agent in this case. If not for him, I’m sure we would have been banging our heads on the desk for another fifty years.”
There’s a smattering of laugher and shouts of “Here, here” and “To Agent Bauer”. I raise my glass in thanks, my cheeks burning.
I hate their attention. It’s crazy to say, but I kind of loathe the spotlight on me now.
When people see me, they stare, clam up, then trip over themselves to ask if I’m okay after my ordeal. Brock plastered me all over the news, and it gained national attention, so my face is easily recognizable.
I’ve had to field questions about my time in captivity and if there are any leads in the case.
So far, my “abductor” hasn’t been found and there haven’t been any matches for his description, something I’m thankful for. There are no leads in my case, though I don’t ask anymore. When I contact Brock, he updates me, but I’m sure he doesn’t think it’ll go anywhere. I want to tell them to just drop it, but that will only make me look suspicious, so I don’t.
Me and my team order round after round, giving each other shit and talking about the new case we’ve been assigned. I make jokes, laugh when I’m supposed to and converse with my colleagues, but mentally, I’m checked out. I have been for a while.
Only six months have passed, but it still feels like yesterday that I woke up in that hospital room without my Daddy. After going to Ry’s house, I didn’t look for him again, just like he told me. I even pretended I didn’t know Jacob when I saw him at a restaurant five months ago, though I longed to ask him if he’d heard from Ryell and if he could just tell me he was okay. I held back and cried myself to sleep when I got home.
After a few hours of drinking with my team, I beg off, saying I’m tired. I’m not really but I’m ready to go home, slide on some panties, and lie in bed with my sketch.
I only live a few blocks from the bar, so I decide to walk to my place. I can get my car in the morning.
The night breeze helps clear my mind, and I breathe in deeply, hold the air in my lungs ‘til the count of five, then blow it out slowly.
I need to move on. I’m stuck, waiting for a sign that Ryell is done with me. But the sign is apparent. He told me not to look for him, and he hasn’t come for me. Ryell is done with me, so I need to forget about him.
It’s so hard because for those few months, he was all I had. We talked, we laughed, and we made love. He was mine, like I was his. It’s hard to let that go.
I take my time walking home, smiling softly as the wind ruffles my hair. I let it grow longer since I moved here, not for any kind of change but because I’m never in the mood to do more than shave in the mornings. It’s easier to let my hair grow so I don’t have to add the arduous task of scheduling an appointment at a barbershop. The most I do is snip the ends when it grows past my shoulders.
As I’m making my way down the sidewalk, the hair on the back of my neck stands up, and I feel like someone is watching me. I lower my hand to my gun but don’t turn around. If someone is attempting to rob me, they’ll have a bad fucking day when they realize they’re trying to attack a law enforcement officer.
