Page 17 of Nightshades
“If anyone is here and you need anything, all you have to do is go across the street and ask for me by name, okay?” I raise my voice to shout over the abusive amount of rain. I place a hand against my chest, giving myself a light pat when I introduce myself again. “Ask for Detective Lula Sanchez, and I’ll help you. I promise, okay? I can’t help you if you hide. I understand you’re scared, but I won’t hurt you. I’m only here to help.”
I wait, standing there in drenched clothes while the rain hinders my vision. I lick my lips, the cool water drenching my dry throat. The longer I stand here in the dark, the more I know I’m not alone.
Someone is here. I feel their eyes on me, analyzing me, drinking me in. It’s almost like a thick grime slithering over my body, violating me from head to toe.
A cracking noise has me turning my head, whipping out my cellphone to turn the flashlight on to see what it is. I jerk the light back and forth, shining it on the walls on either side of me.
My breath comes out in quick, chilled clouds as I shine the light against the dumpster.
A long vine or maybe roots creep on the side of the dumpster.
I blow out a breath, relieved and sad; the sound didn’t belong to a person.
“I’m going to leave!” I shout just as a loud roll of thunder shakes the atmosphere, silencing my attempt to communicate. “You can come into the station tomorrow and ask for me if you want. I’ll be there at eight in the morning.” I scan the alley one last time, holding my breath when my mind thinks the bags of trash lining the ground are a body.
There’s no one here. I’m psyching myself out.
“Hay, Dios mío,” I say to myself, pinching the bridge of my nose at my own actions. I can’t believe I’ve run into a dark place, alone, without backup, again.
It’s another reason why I left New York City. My captain was tired of me running into the unknown without my partner to keep me safe. He didn’t understand that I didn’t want to be safe. I didn’t want a safety net.
There will always be a part of me that wants to be caught.
I begin to walk away, my shoes squishing with every step I take since my socks are drenched to my skin.
“Lula-lala-la-la-laaa.”
I pause mid-step, turning my chin to my shoulder to see if I heard my name like I thought. A few long seconds pass without anything but the steady pounding of rain.
“You are being ridiculous, Lula,” I say to myself, looking left and right down the street before I cross it.
One car drives by, its headlights so bright, I have to lift my hand to cover my eyes. Once the coast is clear, I step onto the street, needing to get into my car and head home. The time has gotten away from me, and it is much later in the evening than I initially thought.
“Lula-lala-la-la-laaa,”is breathed on the back of my neck.
My skin rises in goosebumps, and the need to run for my life screams inside my soul.
I spin around, my hand on my weapon, but no one is there. It’s just me standing in the middle of the road in the middle of the night and imagining wild scenarios because I’m sleep-deprived.
Leaning against the side of the car, I pat my pockets for the keys when it hits me that I had the files in my hand before I felt someone watching me.
“Fuck,” I curse, jerking my head up to the files spread out on the front steps of the police station. “No. No, no, no.” I dash to the steps, gathering every single piece of paper that fell from the files when I drew my weapon from its holster. “This can’t be happening. Not on my first day.” I don’t bother inspecting them. There’s no time to waste. I shove the scattered papers into the folder, uncaring if the information becomes mixed together. I can always separate everything once I dry out the papers. “Why do you always do that? You sabotage yourself just to chase a ghost that is never there,” I scold myself, holding up a piece of paper that is so wet, water drips from the corners.
I groan in frustration. “This can’t be happening.” It’s my fault. It always is, but these files have to be saved. I spentthe entire day researching and studying old case files that were never solved. Not because the sheriff couldn’t handle it, but they didn’t have the resources to dedicate to solving these cases with such a small police force.
After going through the cabinet of ‘Unsolved Mysteries’, which is what Zig calls it, I plucked four files and studied every single sentence in them belonging to the alleged suspects.
Once the files are tucked under my arms, I dig my hand into my pocket and press the unlock button of my car, then run through the rain.
Opening the driver’s side door, I peek at the alley one more time, and the sensation of someone watching me is still there. Not wanting to waste any more time in the rain, I slip into the car and slam the door, not pressing the lock button.
“Lula-lala-la-la-laaa.”
I freeze when I hear the creepy song again. It reminds me of the children in horror movies who sing in the dark, only this voice is much deeper. It cracks and breaks, almost as if there is a constant growl or a foreign object is caught in their throat.
Glancing into the rearview mirror, a pair of black eyes stare back at me, and I scream at the top of my lungs. I turn around to look at the creature who broke into my car, but nothing is there.
No one is there.