Page 4 of Dangerous Beginnings

“You’re probably right.”

Lea stands up, flashing me a reassuring smile.

“Yeah, we deal with psychopaths all the time. Maybe he’s been in and out of prison and knows the system. Probably just another man with no conscience, like so many others here.”

I try to smile, feeling a little lighter, but there’s still a nagging feeling deep inside. As we exit the room, I force another smile.

“You’re probably right. I do feel a bit less anxious.”

But deep down, the ominous feeling lingers, refusing to let go. And little do I know, it won’t leave me, not for a long time.

After our break, we go our separate ways to check on other inmates. By the time my shift ends at 6 AM, I’m beyond exhausted. My second job starts at noon, giving me only a few hours to sleep. How does anyone live like this? I sigh as I change out of my scrubs and into my joggers. Grabbing my bag, I wave goodbye to Nick.

“See you Wednesday!”

I try to hurry out of the building, desperate to get some sleep and avoid facing Nick about what happened. He gives me a quick smile before returning to his phone call.

Just as I turn to leave, Nick calls me back. Of course, great.

“Isabel, I need a quick word before you head home,” he says. I turn around, putting on a fake smile as I stand in the doorway.

“Sure, what’s up?”

Nick walks over after placing his phone down on his desk.

“How did it go? Did he show any signs of foreign behavior?”

I twist my lips, feeling a wave of exhaustion hit me.

“He did, didn’t he?” Nick raises an eyebrow.

“He spoke a couple of words,” I respond, looking anywhere but at him. “Nothing special.”

“He spoke?” Nick’s voice sharpens. “Why didn’t you report this to me?”

I sigh, my mind hazy from fatigue. “I didn’t think it was that important.”

Nick tenses slightly.

“Isabel, he hasn’t spoken to anyone since he came in. Not a word.”

My heart picks up speed again as his words sink in.

“What did he say?” Nick probes.

I close my eyes briefly, trying to recall. “Something in Russian. I... I don’t remember exactly.”

A long time ago, I took a short Russian language course. It only lasted a week, maybe two—if I’m being generous—but I remember the tone, the way certain syllables are rolled. Russian has a harshness to it, an intensity in the way it sounds, and when he spoke, something in his voice struck me.

Nick jots something down before meeting my gaze.

“Next time he talks, you need to inform me immediately. This is important information for the NYPD.”

I nod, the weight of his words sinking in. “I will. Sorry.”

Nick gives a small nod of approval. “It’s alright. Now go home and get some rest.”

I offer a small smile, nodding in return. With that, I head toward the exit.

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