Ignas

Ignas kept staring at the screen of her monitor, not sure of what to do for the day. There were a handful of files on her desk, to work on. But, she found it rather too difficult to open just one of them. Today was one of those days.

She rubbed her eyes and cursed under her breath, wishing so hard to disappear from this hellhole and appear at the care home to spend the rest of her day with her mother. She had no doubt that it will be more rewarding.

"Detective Derim!" She heard the familiar voice of chief Lamina at the end of the Bullpen.

"Sir." She answered, scrambling to her feet, she rushed down to meet him. Standing beside him was detective George.

"You're up for a visit to a family that lost their kid. You'll be going with George. He will fill you in along the way. Now, hurry."

"Yes sir." Both detectives chorused.

Once the Chief left for his office, Ignas excused herself to get her coat, telling George she was right behind him, using this as an excuse to lag behind. She still haven't forgotten that George was one of the few detectives that didn't bother reaching out to her when she was thrown under the bus, or whatever she chose to call her life at the Bullpen. Knowing that her temper would flare if George tried to make conversation.

She walked behind him in slow gentle steps, until they got to the car and stepped in. The silence between them lingered as George started the car and off they left for St. Gregory's hospital. Within minutes, they arrived at the hospital. Getting off the car, they started heading inside.

Within the period she was whiling away her life at the Bullpen, George got promoted, and was automatically ranked above her.

She didn't need a reminder of the frantic decision that was taken over her career because of an excusable failed operation. Over time, she had tried to think of what could possibly be the problem, what happened to chief Lamina. He had been angry with Ignas before, but never like the day of the failed operation. That day, he'd actually hated her.

In the early years of her life, It had been one long series of fuck-ups, from losing her father to getting raped, then relocating to Bramhills with her family, away from the horror of her previous life, and joining the force. Very few people knew about this part of her life. As few as her Mother, the Therapist, her best friend Priscilla, whom she met during one of her visits to the therapist. She was also seeing one to get through the trauma of her husband's death, and finally Chief Lamina.

"Keep up, Detective," George tossed over his shoulder. He was a couple of feet in front of her, and she stared at his wide back, willing all her hatred into him. "Come on, Derim," George said. "Move your feet."

"Why are we here?" She asked him.

"A kid overdosed himself with meth this morning. We are headed to speak to the mother. She works here."

"Why do I have to come along. You can talk to the kid's mother yourself. Do you really need a chaperone." She asked, thinking she can upset him, but George shrugged instead.

"Dr. Anderson, I believe you know her, in person." He replied, "there you have your answer."

Ignas felt cold. Dr. Anderson was her Therapist. She even resumed seeing her since they tossed her aside at the station. The first one month at the Bullpen messed with her mental health, so she decided to resume therapy sparingly. She wanted to tell George that she won't be able to break such news to her therapist, but she couldn't. The chief sent her along, because he knew Dr. Anderson was her therapist. Ignas had shared that part of her life with him, a long time ago.

"The boy was found in his room at the University, lifeless, with an almost empty bottle of meth and syringe. He's been confirmed dead and moved to the morgue already." George added, popping his gum like a fool.

They took two more steps with George leading the way, bringing them to a small room with a receptionist.

"Derim, you are stalling, move your damn legs." George's voice was so loud in the small room that Ignas wanted to put her hands over her ears. Instead she stared at the floor, trying not to look as embarrassed as she felt.

The receptionist, an average sized light skinned woman with an irritated look, finally appeared. She glanced at Ignas with no sign of recognition. "There you are," George said, smiling like they were old friends, his few months old pot belly looking bigger than usual.

"Yes, good afternoon, what can I do for you." The receptionist asked.

"Riley?" George asked, reading her name tag, his eyes lingering at her chest.

She crossed her arms. "What is it?" She asked in a tone suggesting a brewing anger.

Ignas stepped in, keeping her voice low. "We need to see Dr. Anderson."

"She's having a session. She can't be disturbed." Riley replied, not giving a hoot to whatever they wanted to tell Anderson.

Ignas was about to take the lady aside and privately explain the situation when George blurted out, "Her son overdosed himself about few hours ago, he's been confirmed dead."

There was a collective gasp around the room. Phones were kept aside, magazines dropped, and two patients or more walked out of the door within seconds of each other. Ignas couldn't keep count.

Riley took a moment to recover from her shock before offering, "I'll go get her."

Ignas stopped her, saying, "I'll tell her. Just take me to her office."

The younger woman exhaled with relief. "Thank you."

George was at Ignas's heels as they followed the girl down the hallway leading to the office.

Fear struck Ignas like a sudden lightening, and she found herself sweating by the time they reached Bree Anderson's office. She wondered how she'll break such a heart breaking news to the woman.

With his new flair for knowing how to make things worse, George stood close to Ignas, almost hovering over her. She could smell his aftershave and the sweet smell of his gum, which he smacked loudly in her ear. She held her breath, turning her head away from him, trying not to be sick.