Ultraviolet ✔️

5.1

Chapter Five

On the nights I can't sleep, I've taken to sitting out on the fire escape with the cold metal biting into my palms as I lean forward. My hair blows back with the wind, frigid and biting, and my eyes fall shut as I concentrate on the city noise instead of the voices in my head.

Tonight is one of those nights, but rather than not being able to sleep, my problem is that I don't want to. I barely have control over my thoughts, and my dreams may as well be some sort of a hellish free-for-all.

There's only so much coffee can do for me, so after growing anxious about being cooped up in my apartment, I grab my keys and head down to the station. At least there I can be useful, instead of twiddling my thumbs doing nothing important.

There are only a few cars in the parking garage, no doubt belonging to detectives. For people in H2, there isn't really a clear set of work hours. People come and go as they please, following every small lead they get until the case is solved, or replaced with another. Pretty much all of us are workaholics. We don't know anything different.

I guess in a way everyone in the department is running from something, and keeping ourselves busy helps take the edge off.

I figure I could get started on another statement and find some way to make myself useful. I have a plethora of visions I can report and Chief is still here to keep that option open. I can see his car in the usual spot.

I take the stairs, jogging to keep a quick pace. When I reach the H2 floor, I see a few sleepy detectives typing away at computers and pouring themselves cups of coffee. The light in Chief's office is on, but when I see Stan is still working, I head to his desk instead.

"Aren't you supposed to be asleep?" Stan asks, not looking up from the report he's filing. I watch as his fingers fly across the keys, knowing he's probably been at work for hours. Once he settles into a rhythm, he can't tear himself away. I understand that all too well.

I lift a shoulder. "Probably. But I decided since I couldn't sleep I would make myself useful elsewhere. Can I help you with anything?"

"I've got this," he answers. "I was just making a few finishing touches. The case was an easy solve but sometimes I wish there weren't so many of these incidents. Too many good people die. It's a sad truth we have to face. But enough about that. How are you? You look terrible."

Laughing, I say, "Tell me what you really think."

He's not wrong. I always look stressed and weary, but it's definitely gotten worse in light of recent events.

"You been busy lately?" he asks, eyeing me. "You look like you've slept less than usual."

"I'm okay," I tell him, even though it's not entirely true. "It's just been chaotic with school and coming here."

"Chief likes you," Stan observes. "Not that I don't like having you around, kiddo, but you can probably get his approval for a few days off to catch up on college and sleep. Besides, things have been a bit quieter lately."

There have been considerably fewer phone calls in the past week, but that happens every so often. It calms down a few minutes, then it spikes again. It's a constant cycle, that's for sure. Just because it's quiet now doesn't mean it will be tomorrow or next week.

"I'm okay," I insist. "How much of the write-up do you have left?"

"Just finished," he announces, emailing it to Chief. "What time is it?"

I look down at my watch. "Almost three."

Stan gives a low whistle. "My wife is going to kill me. I better head out. Do you need a ride?"