"Come on!"
He slammed the chart onto his desk. "Gimme a break! Speak to me!" he
screamed.
Ray heard the
response he had been expecting earlier. He looked up to see Special Agent
Christine Milovich, the singular, but only,
help the FBI had sent when Ray requested assistance at Easter. Chris was pretty
and athletically built. Ray knew she never lacked male companionship for
several of the patrolmen had asked her out since she had been there. She was
almost as tall as Ray and wore her dishwater blonde hair short. Her soft brown
eyes stared with rebuke at Ray now. She wore black slacks, a cream-colored
lightweight cashmere sweater and flat black suede Earth shoes. She crossed her
arms, pursed her lips, and tapped her foot. "Ray, have you been here all
night again?"
"Yes,"
he replied, unaffected by his temporary partner's tone or demeanor.
Agent Milovich
snatched the pictures from Ray's desk. "Go! Now!" she commanded. "If
you make yourself sick, you'll be of no use to anybody. I can see by the expression
on your face you have another migraine. You look like shit! Get some rest, and
for God's sake, shower and shave. Do that for me. I have to smell you."
Ray rubbed his
head again and spoke softly. "Chris, I can't have another body turn up."
He picked up the picture of the nun as it escaped her hands. "I knew her
personally. Sister Mary Michael taught Sunday school when I was a boy. Who
would wanna hurt this woman? Or any of them? It's just that this does make it
more personal, and I don't have a clue." He finished with despair in his
voice. He ran his fingers through his hair and puffed out his exasperation in
one long breath.
Christine
softened her tone. "Ray, get some sleep. We'll get this bastard. I promise.
But right now, you need to rest."
"I know,"
he submitted. "I'll go to the locker room and sleep a while. And I promise
to shower and shave before I come back."
She shooed him
on with a little hand motion. Ray went to the back of the facility where each
police officer had a locker. Several cots stood for use during disaster times. They
had been moved in after Hurricane Katrina. He plunked onto the nearest one and
instantly fell asleep.
A strange,
disconcerting dream floated into his subconscious as often happened. He dreamed
about himself, or thought it was himself. Although the person looked just like
Ray, it was someone entirely
different.
♣♣♣
Ray woke to the
gentle shaking of Christine Milovich and her voice insisting, "Wake up."
He opened his
eyes slowly and squinted against the harsh glare of the overhead florescent lights.
His headache lingered. "How long have I been asleep?" he asked, a
little dazed.
"Only a
couple of hours," his partner replied. "I'm sorry to wake you, but
another woman has disappeared."
"Fuck!"
Ray rubbed his forehead and neck. "Just shoot me and put me out of my
misery. This is real pain, Chris, a real pain."
Cover by Christopher Chambers.
How I see Chris:
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