He didn't want to enter the office. He knew there would be someone waiting to see him. He didn't want to have that conversation. He knew it would get ugly. He always had problems controlling his temper in confrontations, especially confrontations with Holt. It was inevitable, seemingly unavoidable. He wished the outcomes could be different, but it never failed. He always ended up irate for one reason or another, yelling at Holt, shouting strings of expletives that would make even a dirty sailor blush. He didn't want that again. He was going to try very hard to stay calm. He turned the knob with hesitance. He pushed his way through. Marge had already left for the day. The new girl sat behind the front desk. He didn't remember her name. And he didn't care to remind himself by asking her again. He didn't like her. She wouldn't last. He would be sure she wasn't around long. He picked up on a strange vibe from her. She wasn't thorough. She had something to hide. She smiled funny. She had an asymmetrical face. She had an odor. He couldn't pinpoint it. He just knew there was something about her that he didn't like. He followed his hunches, feelings. It's what made him a good cop. It's what got the job done. You couldn't get anywhere in his line of work without having a knack for reading people. He had developed that at an early age. He carried it with him now and he relied on it. He always listened. Years ago, in those few instances that he doubted himself, he had learned his lesson. He knew now: his hunches were always dead on.
He passed by her without a second glance. He didn't care to know her. Pleasantries weren't worth wasting. He didn't have time or concern for them, or her. He saw the light on at the end of the hall. Holt was in his office. Kahle hoped he could slide into his own office without being noticed. It was unlikely. But he attempted anyway. The longer it went, the cooler Holt would be. If he could make it until tomorrow, they'd both be better off. He just wanted to get back to his case. He wanted to learn what he could about Pablo de Amantillo. He promised Jake and Janie he would keep them safe. As it was, they were alone again. He promised them that he would keep them alive. He couldn't waste a minute. He didn't have time to deal with Holt. He didn't have time to get railroaded. But he knew it was going to happen, whether he liked it or not.
He quickly turned the corner and ducked into his office. He gently closed the door and slid behind the desk. He left the lights off, except for the small 40W bulb that lit the corner of his desk. He punched away on his keyboard. He checked all the databases he had access to. He picked up the phone. He reached his contact at the FBI. He filled in all the gaps. He didn't waste time. He gave them the information they needed. Nothing more, nothing less. Five minutes later, an agent was on their way to keep watch over the Samuels house and another was headed straight to Kahle's office. He replaced the receiver on the cradle. He picked it back up. He reassured Jake that they would be safe and they should expect an agent in under a half an hour. He wanted them to know they would be safe. He wanted them to know who was coming. He didn't want any surprises. He wanted to keep going. He wanted to. But he knew it was best to just face him. He changed his mind. He just wanted to get it over with so he could focus on the case. He had to get it out of the way. He needed to fill Holt in on the developments. He would be more angry about withheld information than the fact that Kahle had picked up Janie without any communication.
He clicked off the light and exited his office. The light was at the end of the hall was still there. Holt's door was propped open halfway. He stepped down the hall with confidence, and a quiet calm. He tapped on the door and didn't wait for a response before pushing it open the rest of the way. He walked in the office ready to deal with what he had done. He knew it was the right decision, he just had to justify himself to Holt. He was ready. Holt wasn't in the chair behind his desk. Kahle turned on his heels, somewhat pleased to be able to avoid the situation. Maybe now wasn't the time to deal with it.
Now was the time to deal with something else. It wasn't his case. It wasn't the safety of Jake and Janie Samuels. It wasn't the odd feeling he had about the new girl behind the front desk. It wasn't his contact with the FBI. It wasn't the uncouth methods he practiced in accessing information. It wasn't his bad habits or his bad relationships with the media. Kahle stood perfectly still. He didn't move. He couldn't move. He didn't have words. He couldn't muster a sound. He wasn't sure what to do. Should he call someone? He froze. His mind blanked. Blink. He felt himself moving forward. He saw himself getting closer to it. It was as if he moved in slow motion. The stain started on the wall next to the window. It was smeared down the plaster, molding, and beadboard. It pooled around the lifeless form that was heaped in the corner. He didn't need to worry about the conversation anymore.
/ / /
The day ended like any other day. The sun set over the Western plains. The light filtered through the budding trees with a pale green glow. Red, pink, orange, and yellow streaked across the horizon. Pen met page. Bottle met glass. Glass met mouth. Regret sunk in. Fear resounded.
I didn't know what to do. I knew that my life was in danger. I knew that my little sister's life was in danger. I knew that this was all because of what she had done. I wanted to be mad at her for it. I did. But I couldn't bring myself to hate her. I couldn't let anger win. Not now. I loved that girl. I always would. Right now, I wanted to protect my family. I wanted to catch this guy. I wanted to put him away. I wanted it to be over. I wanted my life back. Six months is not a long time. For me, it was lifetime. It brought an overwhelming amount of change. More than I ever thought I could handle. But I was still standing. And Janie was still standing. We were still here. I wasn't about to give up now. I wasn't going to roll over and die. That was the easy way out. I would fight back. I would claw my way to the death. I wouldn't go down without a struggle.
Janie was asleep. I was surprised how quickly she faded. It had been a long day. First day out of rehab. I couldn't imagine walking through those doors to face this, to face the life and the problems we had in front of us. She was strong. I couldn't fathom that strength. I wanted to be strong. I hoped I was as strong as she.
The desk before me was old. Indistinguishable markings covered the top. Decades of writing and generations of writers had left behind the impression of their thoughts, intentions, and emotions. It didn't take much to leave a mark in the soft wood. It was impossible to make out anything that remained, but it was the collection of what was left behind that I valued. I fingered the grooves. I traced them with the index finger of my right hand. I lost myself in the idea of what someone else had once written. This space we shared. The page lay before me. It was the only way I knew to deal with this. I could face it here alone. I threw my head back and downed another drink. The ink flowed freely.
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