[Rivulet]

“Yeah, I know Danny. Comes in here a lot,” Ben nods as he glances at the photo and then back at Stella. “He in trouble?”

“I don’t know,” Stella answers. “I need to know if you saw anything unusual after Danny left the store yesterday.” Her body language is tense, her words precise. Every emotion that Stella feels is written in the lines of her body and her face.

“Nah, nothin’ unusual. He was puttin’ groceries in the bags on his bike and this red head comes over, talks to him for a minute then they both walked over to a purple KIA. I got busy after that, didn’t see what happened. Danny’s bike was here for a few hours though. I went and paid the meter for him so it didn’t get towed. ‘Round ‘bout nine or so his girlfriend comes ‘round then next thing I know a guy that looks like a Billy Idol reject takes off on Danny’s bike. I woulda reported it but I figured maybe it was someone Buffy knew.”

Stella makes notes in her own version of shorthand, nodding as Ben talks. “Can you give me a decent description of the red head?”

“Yeah, she was short, couple inches shorter than Danny I’d say. She was dressed like a college student or somethin’. I was surprised when Danny didn’t come back to get his bike ‘cause she don’t seem his type and his girlfriend is hot. This girl was pretty but she just seemed real young. I remember the KIA though ‘cause purple ain’t a real common color on a car, y’know.”

“That will help. The guy who took his motorcycle? What can you tell me about him?” Stella asks as she continues scribbling in her notebook.
“That guy, he was real distinctive lookin’. ‘Sorta short, small guy dressed in one of them black leather trench coats that make everybody look like they got tossed off one of them sci fi movie sets. His hair was blonde, white blonde like Billy Idol. He was pale too like he ain’t got out of his parents basement in a while. Young guy, probably late twenties. He had his hair all slicked back and he was smokin’ a cigarette, tossed the butt out on the sidewalk as he drove off.”

“Can you show me where Danny’s bike was parked and where the KIA was parked?” she asks. Ben points out the window, giving her a general area to search in. “Thank you. You’ve been more help than you know,” Stella smiles as she extends her hand to shake Ben’s.

“Lemme know if you need anythin’ else,” Ben nods as he goes back to his work.

Stella scours the sidewalk but the rain has washed away any cigarette butts that might have been on the sidewalk. She moves down the sidewalk to the general area that the KIA had been parked in. There’s not any evidence lying on the sidewalk but some luminal shows her that there had been. Blood, and a great deal of it. Mac isn’t going to like this anymore than she does. She pushes the speed dial on her phone.

“Mac, its Stella. I’m bringing some evidence back. It doesn’t look good.”

[Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities. Truth isn’t-Mark Twain]

“So you’re telling me this woman was floating on an inflatable raft in a pool all day long and no one noticed she was dead?” Stella was giving Danny a doubtful look.

“That’s what I’m tellin’ you, Stell. They didn’t know she was dead ‘til they got ready to close up the pool. Lifeguard yelled at her it was time to get out. When she didn’t move they went to wake her up,” Danny confirmed. “God’s honest truth.”

“Do they know how long she was there?” Stella asked.

“Lifeguard couldn’t be sure but he was pretty certain she was there when he got to work at two.”

Stella glanced down at the file and then back over at Danny. “And the pool closed at six. So she was there at least four hours. It was ninety-eight degrees outside today so her core body temperature isn’t helping us.” She leaned on the counter, hands going into her hair.

“We’re gonna have to wait for Sid to get back to us on some of this stuff,” Danny told her.

Stella looked up at Danny and smirked. “One things for sure, I’m not going to any public pools anytime soon.”

[Paranoid]

“Let’s talk about Paranoia,” the therapist suggests.

Stella crosses her legs and eyes the therapist. “Alright. It’s a damaging psychological issue. Occasionally we run into a case where either the victims or the perpetrators have fallen to paranoia. It’s a horrible thing because generally in the course of the case, the person will come to realize what they’ve done.”

“What about personal paranoia?” the therapists pushes.

“I don’t have a problem with personal paranoia,” Stella responds but there’s a wince that’s visible. Stella doesn’t have a poker face and she never has.

“Are you certain? The last couple of years were difficult for you. You were assaulted and your home was broken into. You shot a man you had been in a relationship with. There was an HIV scare and an apartment fire. It wouldn’t be uncommon for you to suffer a bit of paranoia. It doesn’t mean you aren’t strong.”

Stella closes her eyes and takes a deep breath through her nose, exhaling through her mouth. “Most of the time, I’m fine. It’s not debilitating and it doesn’t interfere with my life. Occasionally, I feel like someone is following me. And the last time I felt that way, someone was. It’s not paranoia if it’s real.”

“Why do you feel like you’re subject to this occasional paranoia?”

Stella glances at her watch and recrosses her legs. She reaches up and fitzes with her hair. “I think it’s obvious. The incident with Frankie spooked me. He violated my personal space and my sense of security. I’ve moved beyond that point in my life. I’m alright with it,” she assures the therapist, one eyebrow arching and the corners of her mouth tipping up. It was a face that no one in the lab would argue with but for some reason it didn’t seem to work with this therapist.

“And yet you’re still paranoid.”

“Occasionally,” Stella corrects. She glances at her watch again. At that moment her cell phone vibrates and per their previous agreement, it’s Mac. “I’m sorry. I’ve got to go.”

She’s up off the couch and headed toward the door before the therapist can get her words out. “We’re going to have to talk this, Stella.”

“Next time,” Stella promises her with a smile. “Right now there’s some evidence that I’ve got to get a look at.”

She dials Mac’s number as she’s walking back to the lab. “Mac Taylor, I could kiss you right now.”

[There are some that only employ words for the purpose of disguising their thoughts. – Voltaire]

She grips the folder so tightly the knuckles are white, standing out obscenely against the other delicate bones in her hands. Stress is written in the lines of her face, standing out boldly in her jaw, pronounced in tendons of her neck. It runs a tight wire through her body as she paces outside the lab. Inside Adam is working on a DNA test. He’s running her blood through the paces but it will be hours before he has answers. She’ll take hours over months even if they do seem to stretch out infinitely at the moment. She’s intent on Adam’s work, even from this distance and the sound of Mac’s voice makes her start like a greyhound at a starting pistol.

“Stella?”

She turns, smile plastered to her face and it’s a lie. “Mac, I’m sorry I was…” she holds up the folder in her hand and tilts her head toward. “Considering the case and I guess I didn’t hear you walk up.”

They are words to cover up the fact that she is nervous. That test will determine how she lives the rest of her life and she can’t help but be consumed by it.

Mac puts his hand on her shoulder and gives her that half smile of his that says he understands. It is only when paired with the kind look he gives her that one realizes he does understand. Lying to Mac is futile and Stella doesn’t even have a poker face to back it up.

“I could use your input on this case I’m working on. I want to go back to the crime scene and I’d like you to come with me. I can’t help but feel I’m missing something.”

And that is Mac’s lie. The words he uses to cover up his thoughts. Stella knows he doesn’t miss anything. Ever. And that is precisely why he’s getting her out of the lab, out of the office and into the field.

[Who do you blame for your issues?]

No one. In part because there is no one to blame. I grew up in St. Basil’s orphanage. And in part it’s because I’m proud of who I’ve become and what I’ve done with my life. If I own those accomplishments, I have to own my failures and issues as well. Life presents us all with situations, circumstances and opportunities; and sometimes there’s not a lot we can do in a given situation. Few of have perfect childhoods, perfect families or perfect lives. At some point you have to let go of all the things that happen to you and accept responsibility for your life, your actions and your decisions. I’ve got issues, just like every other person in the world. Blaming other people isn’t going to resolve or dissolve those issues. The only way I can deal with them is to own up to them and try to work through it.

Stella came home from work and called her favorite Greek restuarant just around the corner. They delivered often enough to her that they had her address on file. She ordered Keftedes (Greek meatballs, skordalia (potatoes and garlic dip) and two Greek salads. She had red wine on hand, beer and sodas. She'd also picked up some baklava at the bakery on her way home as well as the movie An Affair to Remember with Cary Grant. She'd promised him Bogart and if he really wanted to stick to that, she had her own copy of Casablanca.

Right now she poured herself a glass of wine, lit some candles and walked around the apartment barefoot, rearranging things just so. She wasn't nervous per say. It was Mac, whom she'd known for years. In fact she'd known Claire. It was just that Mac was the first person she'd had in her apartment since the incident with Frankie.

Fun:

1. something that provides mirth or amusement
2. enjoyment or playfulness

It's something a lot of us forget to do because work can be so involved. Mac often forgets it and just this evening I was reminding him that he needs to make time for having fun. He won't do it because Mac looks after everyone before himself so I took it upon myself to do it for him:

Springboard 17: When you put your head down and bury yourself into your career you wake up ten years later realizing that your career doesn’t hug back. Ken Bruen, Calibre
Sacrifices in the line of duty.

I think burying yourself in your career is something a lot of us in law enforcement do. I’d like to think it’s because we know the good we can do but there’s never enough of that good to go around. There’s always the case that doesn’t get closed and the picture of a victim looking up at you and you remember that person is never going to see their loved ones again. That person isn’t going to go for drinks and they aren’t going to enjoy the game with a colleague. They’re never going to have a life again so the least we can do for them is make certain there’s some justice in exchange.

And then again, maybe it’s a cop out. Maybe this line of work and the things we see scar us so bad that we don’t fit into regular society anymore. I like to think it’s the first one.

Sometimes I stay up so late that I have my morning coffee before I go to bed.

I think everyone in this profession has had days like this. You push and push so hard, trying to stay one step ahead of the criminals. You try to set things right and make order out of chaos. We all know somewhere inside that it won’t ever balance out but something we can’t shake keeps us striving for that balance and maybe we hope that one day we’ll be the ones that tip the scale. I’ve been working over time, pulling double shifts, triple shifts and even then not sleeping because I can’t get the job out of my head. Most days have me reaching for the coffee pot long after morning has been tucked away but then every once in awhile we get a lucky break and the bad guys end up where they belong. That’s when I sleep.

"Don't accept rides from strange men, and remember that all men are strange." - Robin Morgan

Stella doesn’t date much anymore. She hasn’t since the incident with Frankie. She’s not sure that ‘I shot and killed my boyfriend’ makes a good entry on her romance resume. She would like to say she came out of the whole thing unscathed but she knows it’s not true. In fact, she’s not even sure someone can come out of things like that unscathed but she’s stronger for it and maybe a little more guarded. She was careful before, no men in her apartment because if something went wrong, when something went wrong, she still had a safe place. She thinks that is what bothers her the most. She’s been shot and hit and bruised on the job but Frankie violated her sanctuary and a part of her wants to shoot him all over again for that. Dead is dead and he couldn’t get any more so but sometimes when her skin crawls and her walls close in, she wishes he could.

It’s funny, but the scar she notices the least is the one that keeps her from dating. Stella has always gotten all twisted up in her work so it’s easy to let herself become more entangled, so much that at the end of the day all she wants is a beer and a night off choked with all the TV she’s tivo’d throughout the week. She doesn’t miss men in her life because she spends so much time with Mac, Danny, Sheldon, Adam and Flack. Besides, if there’s anything Stella has learned working with them it’s that men are strange. She really doesn’t need any more strange in her life.