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I shrug and fold up the empty box. “I didn’t have one anyway. Let’s get back to work.”
The rest of our dinner mess is cleaned up quickly, and we return to the office to resume our search. Birdie updates the search criteria as each model is eliminated. By ten, we’ve narrowed the list of possible matches but still have a way to go.
Birdie is leaning forward with her elbow propped on her desk and her head resting against her fist. She’s been working for almost nineteen hours straight. The woman needs a break.
“You look tired.”
Birdie jumps at my voice as if I startled her awake. She rubs her eyes, smearing day-old makeup and checks her watch. After noting the time, Birdie opens up one of the computer games she mentioned using as a hunting ground.
“Birdie?”
She turns around, lifting her weary eyes to mine. “You’re right. It’s getting late. You should go get some sleep. I can leave these searches to run and check the results in the morning.”
Birdie returns her focus to the screen again, only to look over her shoulder once more. “Thanks for your help.”
Looking beyond her to the program she called up, I watch the game load and shake my head. “My observation was that you look tired and should get some sleep. Not me.”
“Oh. I’ll probably only drop into a few sites. The door will automatically lock behind you when you leave.”
Birdie quickly becomes so absorbed in her task, not to mention her exhaustion, that she fails to notice I don’t move. Or that I’m still behind her ten minutes later.
Between typed responses to various sick assholes across two gaming platforms, she’s back to resting on her fist. When her head bobs forward, I step up and push the power button on her computer, forcing a shutdown.
Birdie shrieks, not having noticed I was so close. “What are you doing? I’ve got work to do.”
“No, you need sleep.”
“I mean it, Bastien. I’m really close with this one. If I pull off now, he’ll walk and find a real victim.”
She tries to shove my hand away to turn her computer back on, but I grab her wrist instead. “Look at yourself. You can barely hold your eyes open.”
“I just need a few more minutes.”
“No, Birdie. You can’t wreck yourself to stop the assholes of the world. Even if you do, there will always be new assholes lined up to take their place.”
“You don’t understand. If I don’t do my job, another child could be hurt or killed.”
She’s frantic now and on the verge of panicking. “Birdie, you know as well as I do. You can’t save everyone.”
“I have to try!” she shouts.
Kneeling beside her, I spin Birdie’s chair, making her face me. “Who was she, Birdie? Who are you trying to save.”
“I can’t. You don’t understand,” she says as her eyes fill with tears.
“Make me understand. Please,” I beg.
A sob breaks free, and Birdie’s hands go to her face. “It’s my fault! She was raped and killed, and it’s all my fault!”
Now that the dam has broken, Birdie breaks down into gut-wrenching wails.
Shooting up from the floor, I pick her up and cradle her to my chest. The anguished cries coming from deep inside Birdie rip me to shreds as I walk us to the living room. All the way, I find myself wishing I could do something, anything, to ease her pain.
I fall back onto the couch, wrapping my arms tightly around her trembling body and pressing my lips to her ear. “Tell me, Birdie,” I plead.
She’s barely able to breathe as she confesses the sin that’s tortured her for thirteen years. I don’t let go, hanging on tight the whole time, feeling every tear like a knife to the heart.
I hold my tongue throughout the soul-crushing story, knowing there’s nothing I can say to make her feel any less shitty. After Birdie details the start of her hunt and the illegal methods that landed her in hot water, her body goes slack in my arms.