Page 76 of Shadows of Justice

She lived. She fucking survived a gunshot to the chest, as it narrowly missed any vital organs and exited out her of back. The woman is a testimony of grit. I would bow down at her feet, if I could bend that way right now.

She visited me. We talked. We cried. She told me that she forgives me. She’s moving up north to be close to her parents and entering a rehab program. We’ve started writing letters to each other. It’s another thing keeping me sane.

It’s letting me look in the mirror again without only seeing her blood pooling on the floor. Or sharp, serrated blades. Or diamond-encrusted smiles of malice.

Needless to say, I have a lot of time on my hands while I recover. So in my downtime, and during my seemingly endless bouts of insomnia, I’ve taken up some light reading.

I’m learning Spanish.

When I told Dr. H my reason for said reading was to be more useful at work and not to be closer to a certain Columbian dark knight, she shot me a knowing smirk. Thankfully, she didn’t give me a hard time about it. I don’t think my pride would have survived if she had.

Leo hasn’t come to visit me. I can’t bring myself to think about what that means.

I have to admit that I truly never knew him well enough to be able to properly decipher his behavior, so I truly don’t know why he hasn’t come. Justine told me he signed over his materials, his properties—basically his whole shadow life in exchange for a clean slate. So, why wouldn’t he come to me? Come celebrate with me?

Does he not care that I’m alive?

It’s the strangest form of rejection I’ve ever experienced, because I know that he made a huge sacrifice in his eyes by showing up to the station, and he did it for me. But, he still clearly doesn’t want to be a part of my life.

It has me very unsettled.

Every time the door to my room opens, I have to tamp down my skyrocketing hopes. Every time I glimpse a caramel complexion or dark, unruly hair on a man, I do a double take. I wake up screaming, memories of wandering, unwashed fingers with jagged nails and greasy pads dragging across my skin—all of it haunts me. It doesn’t matter that I watched the Dogs die, I still carry them with me like ghosts encased in a tomb of flesh.

All I want is to feel safe again, and the last time I felt that way was wrapped in Leo’s arms.

At first his absence made me sad, but it’s turned to anger. That anger has fueled my drive, however, and I’ve made leaps and bounds in therapy—both kinds.

Now, while signing my discharge paperwork, I can almost taste freedom outside of these sterile walls, and nothing’s going to keep it from me.

“You should really use this, Ms. Schaeffer,” Georgina, my physical therapist says to me. The bite is still in her tone; I’m begrudged to say I might actually miss it.

I flick the head of the cane she’s holding out to me and wrinkle my nose. “Nope.”

She sighs. She’s going to miss me too, she just won’t admit it.

“I’m about to walk into a disciplinary hearing that will, no doubt, shame me into the next life. I’m not doing it while hobbling in there like an elder.”

Georgina presses her lips together in a firm line, her dangling stethoscope earrings wiggling back and forth as she shakes her head.

“Stubborn girl,” she says, taking the completed clipboard of paperwork from my outstretched hand.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I say, winking at her. That earns me a small smile. I lean in and give her a firm hug, and after a moment of shock, she hugs me back.

Life’s too damn short.

“Thank you—for everything.”

“Good luck, sweet pea,” she says, releasing me and giving my hands a squeeze.

I leave the hospital and return home. It’s like having an out-of-body experience, being back in my apartment. Most of my plants are dying; Mrs. Gonzalez doesn’t have the greenest of thumbs, but that’s okay. I’ll have a new start with them too, bringing life back into my surroundings again.

I hobble to the shower. Three weeks post-op and I’m doing great, but the three flights of stairs up to my apartment is no joke. I dress in my go-to professional attire and head to the precinct, eager to get this over with. I know what I did isn’t okay, and I’m expecting the axe, if I’m being honest. But, I’m also choosing to look at that as a release. If that’s what happens, so be it. I will figure out another way to help people, if that’s what fate has in store for me.

Inside the meeting room I take a seat across from my father, the new replacement for Jennings—Captain Reynolds—and Police Commissioner Gallagher, my father’s boss.

“We have had ample time to go over your report of the incident Officer Schaeffer, as well as your account of your interactions with Leo Barone,” Commissioner Gallagher says. “You’re very lucky to be alive. I understand your recovery is going well?”

I clear my throat and sit up straighter. “Yes, sir.”

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