• She had the same thoughts of the press as he did. She never talked to them or with them unless she felt she had to.
    “I’ll get rid of her.” He promises his friend. A promise he wasn’t bothering himself to keep. After saying farewell, he notices the reporter had left. Leaving her alone with the fed, Chief Robert McHeartly had hired as they quickly engaged in conversation possibly about the old times they had recently shared together. He walks back to the yellow tape wondering with distinct curiosity what he was going to do with her.
    6:23 p.m.
    CSU showed up an hour later, along with two other homicide detectives Allen Noble and Katrina McHolt.
    “Hey Lex-a-million, who’s died today?” Allen called from the yellow tape, showing his I.D., I shield my eyes from the golden faded light shining from the setting sun,
    “Allen, a teenager was found here… dead. I also think he was murdered.” When he comes over to us, I introduce him to Special Agent Hammermill.
    “Special Agent Shaun Hammermill, it’s a real delight to finally meet you. I read in a crime magazine that you stopped a drug cartel leader from attempted first-degree murder of Timothy Kaine the governor of Virginia.” Katrina and I roll our eyes at him in disbelief. Handing Allen the Polaroids taken of the scene, he ponders over them carefully reining in all emotions; Katrina stares from her point of view over Allen’s shoulder as Shaun kneels over the dead body, eyes locked with mine his hands ran against his jeans causing simple distraction to his mind. Allen kneels beside the body, staring at the paper wrapped around his neck. He pulls on rubber latex gloves, examining the message, reading it aloud for our benefit, ‘the body and the blood have been officially restored to you my lord redemption shall soon be ours. Signed your faithful servant J.C.’
    “The initials are written in blood.” I point out, Katrina turns away in disgust; Allen stares up at me, pointing to a part of the letter J,
    “Look how it’s smeared here, here and here. Our killer uses something to hide his prints, hide his own identity. It’s a good ploy but it does tell us one thing.” He paused, violently adding suspense to the situation,
    “This murder was premeditated.” Bending down next to him,
    “What the hell does the message mean?” Jack asked, as he stood hovering over me his hand gently laid upon my neck supporting his own weight against me. “The act of communion...he’s talking about the Christian act of communion in the message, and of the circle of life. Our killer is probably a schizo.” I tell him. Conscious of everyone staring, Shaun stood, rubbing his pants from any particles of dust questioning, “Can you get a hold of a pastor, for an initial interview?” “I’m a friend of Father Patrick Monroe with Corpus Christi Catholic Church, over on 36th street and Knox.” “Come with me.” He grasps my hand.
    “While the two of you are gone working over on that angle, I’ll figure out what the killer used to hide his identity.” Allen volunteered. Katrina stares at him, slightly punching him on the arm. “Then let’s get to work, partner.” Once we got to his rented red unmarked impala, he opens the passenger seat, helping me into the car. “Thank you. This is a pleasant surprise.” He smiles,
    “Even an old dog like me can learn a new trick.” Driving to the church we had a somewhat casual conversation of the body, up until Shaun states, “You look absolutely stunning.” It felt awkward hearing him say that. Afterwards, we barely spoke to one another. I never wanted him to know my secret. What would he think of me when he found out? Arriving at the church with the sun almost completely set, leaving brilliant colors streaked across the sky, I stop him by seizing his upper arm,
    “Wait! You should know…” I told him everything, when he hadn’t responded; I mumble mostly to myself, “I never wanted to tell you. I was embarrassed of my past; I thought that if you knew about my past you would’ve told Eric Saunders at the time…” I stopped; he interrupted me placing a finger upon my lips,
    “Alexis, you’ve always known I can keep a secret. I would never tell Saunders. He would have fired you in a heartbeat.” He tries a sense of humor. Rolling my eyes, I see Father Patrick come out of his office,
    “Daddy, we need to ask you some questions on the act of communion.” He laughs a joyous tone ringing through my ears,
    “Ask away, Alexis, ask away.” Showing us around his office where we could talk without the risk of being overheard, we asked him for information on the act of communion,
    “The bread is the symbol of Christ’s body, while the wine symbolizes the blood of Christ. It is the most sacred act in the entire religion. It is supposed to be rejuvenating, a release of sin, and to secure a place for us at the golden gates of the kingdom of heaven.” Shaun hands him the Polaroids of the crime scene, glancing over to me. Daddy stares at the Polaroids, I watch him frown deeply in thought. “It looks to me like your killer might be a schizophrenic; God is supposedly speaking through him to commit such an act of violence.” A dark tone, which made me shudder.
    “Score one for your theory Alexis.” Shaun tells me as I smile. My father stares at me,
    “You guessed that as well? Good for you.”
    After saying good-bye, we head back to the scene as soon as we could. The sun had finally set, letting the darkness engulf the city of Phoenix.
    7:30 p.m.
    “Bye, Daddy. I love you.” I tell him, over the phone once I got back to the scene. I felt like I needed his wisdom now more than ever. The silence was almost unbearable; the only sound was the clicking of my high heels on the ground. I heard Shaun carefully creep up behind me, moving some of my blunt straight black hair from the back of my neck, he states in a smart-a** tone,
    “You know when your partner leaves you’re supposed to go with him.” He makes me laugh. Honestly, it almost felt good to laugh. Funny, how funny it was that I couldn’t remember the last time I shared a laugh with him. The smile disappears from my lips; quickly I changed my facial expression to one of seriousness. “Next time you scare me like that, I’ll show you how my taser works.” “Promise?” He teases. “It feels like something is missing.” After ten minutes of intense searching, I solemnly gave up. I start walking to the deserted parking garage named after the sun devil stadium where I parked my car; he stepped in rhythm beside me.
    “Let me take you home.” He offers. I shiver with cold as I respond,
    “Thanks, but why the sudden acts of kindness?” He laughs as he stares at me, “Because you need them.” I shake my head. “You’re a wonder you know that.” He smiles and nods.
    “I know that, you know that now. We have a history Alexis.”
    “And that’s supposed to mean something?” I ask in curiosity, wondering why all of a sudden he started caring.
    7:45 p.m.
    He sits at the dinner table with his father, as they converse of the past, his past, his shared past with his sister. “The reason why I chose to give up on her, my own daughter was to save her life. If I had remained as her father, she would’ve died a long time ago. Or she would’ve gotten hurt.” His frown deepened showing deep wrinkles in his face. He feels bad for making his old man remember this almost to the point of making his own father cry; he feels it’s his responsibility to know why she left after all he is the one who found her after all these years.
    “Dad, I got you help with AA and with the government after I went to the academy in Washington D.C. You could’ve looked her up! Found out where she was! Where she lived! Who had adopted her! So you could forgive yourself, her, and Mother for leaving. She was right to leave you, you were a drunk.” He explodes in his father’s face. His father makes no reply, which makes him upset. He storms off out of anger, at his father and the way his life had turned out, yelling behind him, “I found out who she really is. She works for me now. I’m working with her now. She’s my sister and you never told me!” He stomps out of the door, without looking back at the face his father had. The defiant look of loss, death and evil lay upon his face.