Page 19 of Carter

With my to-go cup in hand, all bundled up for the cold, I head out for work, making it there ten minutes early, as I usually do. The walk never takes long, but it does suck in the cold, and especially the rain.

I’d passed by the branch a hundred times before I noticed what it was. I’d been living in the apartment for close to a year, working jobs here and there to get the bills paid. Then one day, I just… saw it. Something made me go in. Which is when I saw the flyer that they were hiring. It felt like a sign.

Eileen is already sitting behind her desk and going through emails when I get in.

“Good morning, Carter,” she says without looking at me.

Her glasses are perched on the tip of her nose, the frame holders made of beads and glistening under the lights. She’s old enough to be my grandmother. Sweet enough too, though my grandmother died a long time ago.

“Morning.”

“I’ve already unloaded the outside return box.”

“You know you don’t have to do that.”

She smiles and finally looks over at me. “I know.”

I head to the break room to put my things down. My coffee is gone, so I rinse the cup and leave it with my things before putting on my name tag that stays in my small locker. The first thing I do every day is unload the outside return box, but Eileen already did that, so I’ll start on putting all the books back where they belong for new readers to come in and find.

People show up right as we open our doors, some taking books to the private rooms to read or study while others check them out. Hell’s Kitchen isn’t the best neighborhood, but most people respect the rules of the library and keep things quiet and calm. It’s one of the reasons I love this job, though some days it does give me too much time to think. I’m good at keeping myself busy, and on days when I can’t figure out what to do and my mind is too loud, it’s like Eileen knows and has something for me.

As I put the overnight returns away, only a few books, I think back on the conversation with Detective Bennett yesterday.

He’s kinder than he looks. Rugged with hard edges so you’d expect him to sound like an asshole. All rough and tough and “I’m a cop so you listen to me.” Only, he’s not. When he opens his mouth, every word is meaningful, as if he thinks about what he says before he says it. He’s not hotheaded or impulsive. I guess that’s important when you’re a cop; you just don’t see kindness too often.

I can’t quite tell how old he is. I’d guess closer to forty than thirty. He’s in shape, with dark features, and lacks the typical New York accent you’d expect growing up around here.

Though, to be fair, I don’t have a thick New York accent either; even though I’ve lived in the state my whole life. But there’s something about him that makes me think he’s from somewhere else. I don’t know. He just doesn’t feel New York bred.

What I do know is that there is something heavy sitting in my stomach, because as we parted ways yesterday, standing just outside the café, in the freezing cold, he told me he’d call me by the end of the week with an update.

I’m not sure I can wait that long to hear something… if he’s even going to call at all.

Chapter nine

Nash

I finally got through everything in the case file yesterday. Thursday. I’d hoped to have it done sooner, but I can’t put all my time on this case just yet, so I had other files to go over at the same time. Plus, I had to go to the warehouse to get the surveillance videos that were submitted as evidence. Of course, it wouldn’t be easy and they’d beonsite. It’s fine, though. It’s keeping me busy, and this is why I’m here.

There is nothing on the videos that help. There are five total. Three from businesses in the area, and two from traffic lights. The masked suspect only shows up on two of them, while the woman shows up on one. It’s dark. The cameras aren’t the best quality, so they’re no help in seeing her face. I still have one of the tech guys running the partial of the woman through ourdatabase though. The suspect isn’t happening. There’s nothing to go off of, and no other evidence to show who he is. All we have is his height and build, but it’s too common to matter. The woman, though… this could be something if we can figure out whosheis. Maybe she knew her attacker. Maybe she could give ussomething. Anything. Right now, that’s where I’m at. Doesn’t seem like much, but it is something.

The reports showed nothing that will help me either—nothing I didn’t already know. Unlike some of the other cases, they were accurate and not mixed up in the wrong folder.

Ryan was an otherwise healthy young man who died because of a monster. He lost too much blood, and his body just couldn’t fight any longer, and finally gave up after only thirty minutes in surgery. They tried to resuscitate him to no avail.

Ryan Kinsley was pronounced dead at 10:32 p.m. on March 19th. The anniversary is coming up soon, marking the third year Carter has been without him.

It’s still new. Still fresh.

I don’t care what doctors or books say. There is no time limit for grieving a loved one.

Broken Heart Syndrome is a real thing.

Some swans never find another mate if theirs dies. I’ve seen videos of them refusing to leave the bodies of their mates, or even the place where they lost them, hoping they’ll come back.

It’s cruel to tell someone they’ve focused on losing someone for too long. You can’t put a limit on that because some people feel things so deeply that the pain never goes away. And they have to live with that. Telling them it’s been too long just makes it worse.

Some people learn to live with it. Others don’t.