Page 19 of The Birthday Girl

V ega lay in bed staring at the ceiling, one arm tucked behind his head, the other curled around his wife, Kim. Her cheek rested against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat relaxing her. The room was quiet, but Vega’s mind refused to follow. He was there, but he also wasn’t.

Kim lifted her head to look at him. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Vega palmed her head and lowered it back to his chest. “I think I want to quit.”

“What? The force?” She shrieked, caught off guard by his admission.

“Yeah. It’s wearing me down, Kim. The hours, the mess, the way the department’s run… sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it anymore.”

She laid her hand flat on his chest, feeling the rise and fall beneath her palm. “Marcus, you’ve been doing this too long to just walk away. You love that job, even when you’re mad at it. Let’s not mention how good you are at it. Damn good.”

“I know, but it still doesn’t negate the fact that I’m over all the bullshit. I just want to say fuck it all, and maybe open a business.”

“With what money? Opening a business isn’t cheap.”

Vega signed. “I know, but I could get a loan from the bank or something.”

“And put us further in debt?” Kim asked, looking up at him. “You know I got your back, right?”

“Yeah.” Vega nodded.

“Then you know I’ll ride with you no matter what you do. All I ask is that you refrain from making life-changing decisions when you're exhausted or upset. Think things all the way through and know without a doubt that you’re ready to go. If not, you’re going to be miserable.”

“I know. It’s just that I don’t love the job anymore.”

Kim rubbed her hand down the side of her husband’s face. “Give it time. That passion will come back to you when you least expect it.”

“I hear what you’re saying, babe, but—"

The phone buzzed on the nightstand, cutting him off before he could finish his sentence.

Vega pressed a kiss to his wife’s forehead before he reached over and answered. “Vega.”

“Detective, we need you to report to the abandoned house in Brentwood Park, the one the city turns into a haunted house every year. It’s a crime scene.”

Vega gently tapped his wife’s thigh, sat up, and swung his legs off the bed. “I’m on my way.”

In less than twenty minutes, Vega showered and dressed, his badge clipped to his belt, and his tie knotted tight. The smell of coffee pulled him into the kitchen, where Kim stood waiting. A steaming mug of fresh brew and a bagel sat on the counter.

“Put something on your stomach,” she said, sliding the plate to him. “It’ll give you a burst of energy.”

He managed a tired smile as he walked over and pressed a gentle kiss to his wife’s cheek. “You always look out.”

“Somebody has to.” She rolled her eyes with a grin.

“Thank you, baby. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied as she crossed her arms, watching him take a sip. “Just… be careful out there, Marcus, and don’t let the job take more of you than it already has.”

Vega nodded, chewing the bagel even though he wasn’t hungry. He wanted to promise her it would be fine, that he’d come back the same man who was leaving, but promises like that didn’t belong to cops. Especially not cops like him, who were called for special cases. Desk duty, be damn.

Vega stuffed the rest of the bagel in his mouth and finished the coffee in two gulps. “I’ll call when I’m done. I might be able to meet you for lunch or something.”

“That’s if you can eat. We both know what kind of cases they call you for. Just try to take it easy, okay? That’s all I want from you.” Her voice was soft but firm, the way it always was when she needed him to remember he had more than a badge to come home to.

“Will do, baby.” Vega kissed his wife and grabbed his keys, heading for the door.

The morning air hit him as soon as he stepped outside. Vega tightened his coat, unlocked his car, and slid behind the wheel.

The drive was silent save for his thoughts, the city caught between night and day. He kept one hand on the steering wheel, the other drumming his thigh as his mind drifted back to Kim. He hated to worry her, but not worrying her seemed almost impossible.

Vega had a way of letting cases crawl under his skin until they became part of him.

There were times when he couldn’t separate work from home, or crime scenes from the dinner table.

Files followed him into bed, photographs bled into his dreams, and theories stirred him awake before dawn.

Every case demanded answers, and until he found them, his mind refused to rest.

The obsession showed in the distance of his eyes.

Kim would speak, and he would nod, but his thoughts were turning over evidence and replaying interviews.

The job gave him purpose, but it also robbed him of presence.

He wanted to be the husband his wife needed, but the pull of unfinished work was relentless, and more often than not, it won.

Vega exhaled through his nose, his stomach tightening as his mind moved to what he might find. However, he didn’t need details to know the kind of morning it was going to be.

By the time he turned onto Kellam St., squad cars lined the cracked curb, and yellow tape fluttered in the breeze, stretched across the porch of the old house.

Officers stood in clusters, their faces drawn, voices low.

News vans crowded the block, antennas pointed at the sky, while reporters jockeyed for position behind the barricades, cameras trained on the house.

Vega parked, killed the engine, and stepped out, his shoes crunching against the gravel. The air carried the faint tang of rust and rot, and his chest tightened with the familiarity of it all.

He ducked under the tape and made his way toward the door, bracing himself for what waited inside. The floor sagged beneath Vega’s boots as he crossed the porch, and a uniformed officer met him at the door, face pale, eyes shifting back toward the dark interior.

“Detective Vega.” His voice trembled. “It’s bad in there.”

Vega gave a short nod but didn’t ask for more details. He just pushed the door open and stepped inside. The smell of copper, mildew, and something sour hit him first. Heart racing, he forced himself forward, but nothing in his years on the job had braced him for what lay in the center of the room.

Mercedes’ body was splayed on the floor, her chest split wide and crudely sewn back together with uneven stitches.

The skin puckered where the thread bit deep into flesh, straining against the bulk beneath it.

She looked stuffed, her torso swollen and misshapen, like a deranged imitation of a teddy bear.

Beside her, her removed organs lay on the floor in a grotesque pile left in plain sight.

Green edges peeked from beneath her eyelids, Benjamin Franklin's face distorted across the curve of each socket, where her eyeballs should’ve been.

More bills protruded from her nostrils, and her mouth gaped in a forced smile, jaw dislocated to accommodate the thick wad of cash that had ripped the delicate skin at the corners of her lips, leaving dark crimson trails down her chin.

A rookie near the door gagged into his sleeve and turned away while another officer muttered curse words and stepped back onto the porch. Vega did neither. His eyes locked on the body, and he crouched low, pulling his notebook from his pocket.

He began cataloging what he saw, his pen scratching steadily across the page.

Chest cavity opened. Insides removed. Stitched shut.

Cash stuffed in facial cavities. No detail was left out.

Focusing on the routine gave him something to hold onto.

It was essential to have a barrier between the horror and his nerves.

Vega swallowed hard, straightened, and closed his notebook. His face remained a professional mask, but his pulse quickened as he recognized that slow, inexorable current that would carry him away from Kim and into the darkest corners of this case until he found whoever had done this.

“Get CSU inside. I want them on the body first thing. Every dollar gets bagged and tagged. Run them for prints and DNA, and make sure they shoot the stitching from every angle. I want to see every knot.”

Moments later, crime scene technicians swarmed in, latex snapping against wrists as they pulled on gloves and unlatched equipment cases.

Then, Vega turned to the officers. “Keep the scene tight. Nobody in or out until CSU is finished.”

The uniforms nodded and snapped into motion, grateful for direction.

Vega's gaze lingered on Mercedes one final time before he faced the staircase, steeling himself for whatever waited above. The scent grew thicker as he climbed, copper and decay curling into the walls. At the landing, two more officers waited, both looking sick to their stomachs.

One shifted, uncomfortably. “Detective… there’s more you need to see.” A rookie pointed from a body hanging from a rope to one on the floor.

“Did you two touch anything?”

“No, sir. We haven’t moved from this spot,” the rookie, a young Hispanic male in his late twenties, answered.

“Good,” Vega replied, moving further down the hallway.

Tremaine’s body lay slumped just beyond the stairs, his face mashed to the boards, jaw blood-slick, and a dark wound hidden behind the ear. His hand was frozen outstretched, stiff in death, pointing toward the line of dolls propped neatly against the wall.

Vega’s gaze shifted upward, and he saw Jimmy dangling from a beam, the rope digging deep into his neck. His body swayed faintly, shoes brushing the wall with each slight movement. His tongue bulged from his mouth, blackened, his eyes wide and lifeless.

“Have you ever seen anything like this?” The rookie asked as he turned his back on the scene.

The older cop next to him, a potbellied veteran with too many years and too few illusions, grunted. “No, and I’ve seen a lot.”