Breath Of Life

She frowns. “Who taught you how to wheel and deal, young man?”

I laugh. “It’s in my blood.”

“That it is. Since you’re using your powers for good, I’ll agree to this.”

The sparkle in her eyes leads me to believe she has someone in mind. I’m not sure how to feel about that. Looks like things are about to get interesting for the both of us.

“I want to hear more about this young lady of yours.”

The warmth that surges forward at her request tells me I’m in deep and sinking fast.

IT’S FITTING I HAVE Quinn beside me as we wait for them to bring out the suspects. Our hands brush, and we share a look. The evil that touched us will soon be only a sheet of glass away. The room is crowded with a detective and two men in suits. I think one might be a lawyer for one of the men called in to do a lineup. My palms are clammy, and my mouth is dry. The room seems to shrink as my body grows hotter. Detective Kunes hits the buzzer.

“Send them in, Officer.”

The men walk in all dressed in black. I tense as my mind returns to that day. I never knew I could hate a color so much. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as I glance down the row of five men. The first two are too short. The third is too bulky. But the first and second on the left side make my gut ache.

“You know the drill, step forward when you’re called. Number one.”

The man steps forward and I study his facial shape. Too round and smooth. The other man was older and more weathered. This kid is barely out of puberty. I shake my head.

“No, this isn’t him,” I state.

“I agree,” Quinn says quietly.

“Number one, step back. Number two, step forward.” My heart knocks in my chest as time slows. The light falls on his face. The gnarly white scar extending from his temple down to his chin stands out like a blazing signal. The lean face, hooked nose, and scraggly goatee push me toward a panic attack. I ball my fists and suck air into my distressed lungs. “That’s him.” I point.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ll never forget him,” Quinn whispers from beside me.

The suspect’s eyes are narrowed and cold. It’s as if he can see through the one-way mirror.

“Can he see us?” Quinn’s voice wavers.

“No,” Detective Kunes assures her. “Suspect number two, put your hood on.”

He pulls the garment up over his head, and I grunt, closing my eyes against the memories that press down against my brain.

“Jesus Christ, it’s him,” Quinn whispers.

“Suspect number two, step back,” Detective Kunes instructs. He runs the other three men through the process and lets them leave. It’s the end of the darkest chapter of my life. A nagging concern tickles my cerebellum, but the adrenaline running through my brain muddles my thoughts. It’s a fog of formal thank yous as we’re walked out of the viewing room to the front of the police station. Not even the sun chases away the chill that’s set into my bones as we step out of the brick building.

“Are you okay?” Quinn asks.

“No.”

She squeezes my hand. As we leave the building behind I can’t help but wonder if I just made a mistake. This can’t be how triumph is supposed to feel.

QUINN

I open the door and invite Ollie in. Fridays when I’m not working it’s become a tradition to unwind. He’s still healing, and I’m getting used to peopling heavily again as I start to take on projects. A makeup artist is part skill and part psychology, sort of like a bartender, but for beauty. People get in the chair and spill their guts. You have to respond accordingly to the client in your chair. That could mean soothing nerves, giving reassurance, or my all-time favorite, catering to the actors who get off on making you feel like a peon. Or should I say attempting to make me feel like one? As my mother says, they wake up in the morning and put their pants on one leg at a time like everyone else. I’m not awed by them.

Noticing how tired Ollie looks, I frown. Asking him about his injuries will get me nowhere. The man is as stubborn as a bull. I know he feels he has a lot to prove, but I worry he might burn himself out.

“Hey, how was your work week?” I say.

“Long and stressful. There were some issues with the calendar, so we had to talk about reshoots, but no one wanted to bring it up to me. So they tiptoed around the subject for the past two weeks, and now I’m on a time crunch and paying the models out the ass for last minute booking fees.”