Under A Rest Pt. 05

Feeling wonderful waves of pleasure wash over you.

It thudded several times more.

"Boss? You in there?"

Detective Berman froze. He swallowed hard. Panic slowly rose in his stomach as he listened more closely and indeed confirmed that the sounds were real. With every ounce of his might, he broke his trance, prying his heavy eyelids open only to see globs of his cum on the desk. He hastily wiped the mess with crumpled, used tissues from his pocket, shoving his softening cock back into his pants and flinging off his earbuds.

"Y-yeah," he called back weakly, mouth feeling full of cotton. He cleared his throat. "Come in."

Sergeant Joshua opened the door and turned on the living room light, causing Detective Berman to squint.

"Hey, just thought I'd drop by and see how things were going. I texted you that I was coming, but you didn't respond."

Ripped out of the depths of his trance, the poor detective said nothing, just closed his eyes and focused on lowering his rapid heartbeat, sitting there lumplike. He was too muzzy-minded to be mad.

"That's alright, I got caught up lookin' at uh...at, uh...this here laptop...here. Found some stuff. Gotta read through it, make sure it's all...here."

The thought occurred to him to show the young detective the letter. Obviously, it was evidence. Obviously, in any other case, he would've shown him without hesitation. But that would just be so embarrassing. He'd explain it all later. When he was good. When he was ready.

"What'd you find?" Sergeant Joshua asked, peering curiously. Odd. Aside from the laptop, his boss was looking particularly tired and out of sorts. Probably just working overtime again. If he knew what was good for him, he'd stop pushing himself so hard.

"I'll show you when I'm more sure of it. Alright?"

"Um...if you say so. And, uh, boss?"

"Yah?"

"Your fly's open."

He glanced down. The blue tartan of his boxers was indeed peeking through the zip of his gray slacks.

"Well, shit. Thanks."

Joshua snickered.

"Anytime, boss."

***

Sunday Morning

4:08 AM

He stared blearily into the red numerals of his bedside alarm clock, and at him they stared back, burning into his retinas. The dark, quiet stillness of his bedroom that usually felt safe and protective now felt stifling. Oppressive. His left eyelid pulsed. His mind raced, all the sediment that she had helped settle peacefully to the bottom now once again stirred into a familiar, turbid storm.

He had nowhere to be tomorrow. It didn't matter. Sleep came no more easily. He rolled onto his back and took a deep breath, an unnerving blend of depression and dread spreading in his gut. Her voice, her laugh, her touch, her smile--the spell she'd cast, embracing him, coaxing him to worlds blank and peaceful. Someone so kind. Someone so good.

A murderer.

He pulled the blanket to his chin and sighed. He felt hollow. He hadn't realized how much of him she'd occupied until this past week. He hadn't realized how much he'd thought of her, was still thinking of her, like a schoolboy. Did he have such precedence in her mind?

He felt a vague sense of unease. All things considered, the spell was broken. He was still unsure of his memories surrounding her and the case, but there was no way around it--he now clearly saw missing contexts abound and uncertainties galore. Perhaps it was all an elaborate, farcical misunderstanding. Either way, from where he sat, things were looking rather bleak for her. It wouldn't take much longer until he'd have something tenable for the district attorney.

Yet that spell wasn't entirely broken.

In his office earlier that evening, he'd tortured himself with the proper routine of anger and guilt--of how he'd let such a thing fly under his radar for so long, what he could've done differently. He chastised himself, heavily, for not paying closer attention, not exerting stronger willpower. Falling for such a simple, underhanded tactic. Spending so long honing and protecting various entries to his mind that he'd left his heart completely unguarded.

"You weak son of a bitch," he groaned quietly.

Sure, those were the normal thoughts. But now, alone, in his bed, shrouded in black, his mind dredged up his deepest, most basal feelings to lay bare, leaving him unable to escape. He stared into nothingness, wishing for her reassurance, thinking of what the victim might have done to deserve such an end. Surely it was something commensurate with murder.

Most torturously, making him feel even more pathetic, he lay there wishing more than anything else not that she hadn't killed James Walter, but that she'd done a better job covering her tracks. He let air escape through his teeth at the mere thought. If she was going to puppeteer him to such an extent, she could've at least taken the care to keep the strings from snapping, sending his body crumpling to the ground, lifeless and alone. The least she could've done was allow him to remain blissfully unaware.

But this was his reality now. There was nothing to be done about it.

Suddenly, in vivid detail he recalled the sensation of her arms around him. The way her mere presence heightened every moment. Her scent. Her skin. Her smile. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.

She seemed so unbothered that he hadn't shown up last night. After every weekend for the past five months...she hadn't bothered to call him? Text him? Didn't she worry? Didn't she care?

Didn't she have anything to say for herself?

***

Monday Morning, Two Weeks Later

"Take me to Detective Berman's office. No, I have n--I don't care, I demand to see him this inst--what? Well, he'll tell you why!"

Detective Berman tensed in his chair. The good doctor herself, clad in oversized sunglasses and a fashionable black fur coat he'd never seen on her before, stormed into his office, handcuffed and flanked by two patrolmen plus Sergeant Joshua.

"Detective! I believe I deserve an answer for this."

He rose from his desk, thankful she was wearing sunglasses to enshroud those eyes of hers. She looked directly at him. He kept his eyes on the desk.

"I believe not."

Mouth agape, she glared at him, incredulous. A brief silence fell before he shook his head and continued.

"He was going to expose you, wasn't he?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

The detective picked up the folder on his desk and opened it, showing her.

"Thought you wiped all the copies, didn't you?" She took a full second's look at its contents and turned her head. A silence befell the room.

"...I demand a lawyer. This is libel," she said, her bottom lip trembling slightly.

"You didn't do a good enough job."

"I--"

"I would close my mouth if I were in your position, madam," he said, by sheer conditioning still unable to shake the honorific, which, thankfully, now only masqueraded to the others as politeness. He could discern the outline of her eyes through her glasses now, wide, and for the first time he'd ever seen them, genuinely frightened. "For someone who knows enough to ask for a lawyer, especially. I'm sure you've already been read your rights."

"I have," she said, her breath so faint it felt barely there. "Well. Seems as though I'm under arrest."

The detective swallowed thickly, giving her naught but a mere silent, heavy nod. He put his hands on his desk and leaned forward, stabilizing, attempting to stave off the waves of relieved exhaustion rippling through him, his knees buckling despite himself.

"Yes, Madam. Afraid so." With a motion of his hand, the officers escorted her out of his office.

After a moment, Detective Berman allowed himself to slump down in his chair. It'd been so long since he'd heard that word straight from her lips. For how much bitterness had built up inside him towards her, to finally hear that word again quelled so much of it that he shuddered. He'd missed it. He'd craved it.

He feared it.

"You okay sir?" Sergeant Joshua asked after witnessing the spectacle. "What was up with that? Kinda weird, right? Pretty obvious she was under arrest."

Forearm draped on his head, the senior detective sighed and allowed his eyes to close.

"All good, Joshua. Just feels like I am, too."