Jack
Jack Tatum stared at the screens in the Nightingale Investigations surveillance room.
Jack took night duty four or five times a week. The men thought he was crazy but he liked it.
Since he was a kid, he had a weird sleeping pattern. It drove his Mom nuts. He slept in the late afternoon and evening, was up all night and morning. His Mom couldn’t break him of it, the doctors couldn’t, no one could.
Throughout his adulthood, to fit his life around it, he’d taken a number of night jobs (mostly security) but they sucked. This job was the perfect fit.
It was boring a lot of time but when it wasn’t boring, it was really not boring.
Jack liked the anticipation, he fed off it. Because when something happened, he had to be on his game.
Days, weeks, months of nothing happening could weaken most men’s instincts.
But Jack was born to be sharp and alert at three o’clock in the morning. If something happened, he’d never let the team down.
That was why, when he saw on the monitors the Merc screeching to a halt in the garage, Jack was ready.
He reached out to the phone, hit the speaker button then number two and listened to it ring.
Luke and Hector had called in five minutes ago saying they’d be back in five. The car phone in their Ford Explorer was number two on speed dial.
Then Jack watched the woman fall out of the car. Her head fell down like she couldn’t hold it up. One arm was dangling uselessly on the ground. She was wearing a silky, lacy nightgown but it was ripped and torn.
He was rising out of his chair when he heard Luke’s voice answer the phone.
“Stark.”
“Fuck,” Jack swore.
“Jack?”
“Get here, now. There’s a woman –” Jack stopped as he watched her pull herself up using the car door.
For a second, he froze. She had clearly been beaten badly and was covered in blood.
“Jack. Status,” Luke barked into the phone.
“Call an ambulance. I’m leaving the room,” Jack responded.
“Jack –” Stark said but Jack didn’t reply, he didn’t even disconnect, he was gone.
* * * * *
Sadie
I made it up three stairs then fell. My bloody hand slipped on the stair and I couldn’t break my fall so I banged my head.
It hurt.
Since I hurt, like, loads, like, everywhere, I thought that was a good time to give up.
So Ricky found me. So he finished what he started. I’d be unconscious during the rest of it then I’d be dead.
Dead seemed a good option at that point. It meant no more pain and that was good. I was hoping for doves and angels and fluffy clouds but I’d take there being no more pain.
I heard footsteps and panicked.