All I wanted at that moment was to call you Mom. To ask you for help.
The phone rang and rang, and it felt like forever. Just when I was ready to give up, you
answered.
But by then, I could barely speak. I could only hear your harsh, cold voice on the other
end of the line.
“I told you already! You’re not going to the academy. Someone like you, a second–rate
dropout, can do whatever dead–end thing you want. Just stop tarnishing the DEA badge your father wore!”
You thought I was calling to argue about applying to the academy. But Mom, you did not
know it was the last call I’d ever make.
The guys overheard your words, like adding gasoline to a fire.
“Oh, you’re Daddy’s little DEA trainee, huh? Well then, we better ensure you get a warm
welcome to the business!”
“Yeah, the future DEA agent! Guess what? You’re done for!”
Their fist
fists and boots rained down like a storm. I lost track of the blows. Soon, I lost
consciousness altogether. When I woke up, I was in the abandoned factory.
What came next… I don’t want to think about it anymore.
The police weren’t amateurs. They played the alley footage over and over, analyzing every second. Finally, Detective Boone noticed something.
“Hold on. Look at those guys. Aren’t they part of DeAndre ‘Big Dee‘ Fulton’s crew from
Shadow Creek?”
Hearing the name, Vanessa went pale.
I didn’t understand why, but then someone else chimed in. “Big Dee? Wasn’t he one of the top enforcers under Carlos Ramirez?”
And then it hit me–Carlos Ramirez. The same cartel kingpin my dad had gone toe–to–toe
with all those years ago. The man responsible for my father’s death.
Mom’s thoughts were spinning. Was this… was this a revenge hit?
Helplessly, I could only hover nearby as they started piecing it together.
“What’s Big Dee been up to lately? Could the victim have been tied to rival distributors? Or maybe… someone paused. “Could it be cartel–related?”
“Doesn’t make sense. The pipeline’s been dry for months. No one’s moving product right
now.”
“Let’s map out potential targets,” Boone suggested.
They began listing names on the board, a grim roster of possible revenge killings. Dozens of names filled the space, one after another.
At the bottom, written in stark black letters, was mine: Elijah Hartman.
The room fell silent. All eyes turned to Vanessa.
“Dr. Sterling–Hartman,” one officer ventured cautiously, “do
you think…”
“No!” she snapped, cutting him off. “No, it’s not him. It’s impossible.”
Her voice wavered, and everyone could hear the fear buried beneath her words.
They exchanged glances but didn’t push further. Still, it was clear to everyone what
‘needed to be done.
“Dr. Sterling–Hartman, perhaps… we should run a DNA test?”
“No! It’s not necessary!” Vanessa’s voice cracked, her protest tinged with desperation.
22:19” Thu, Mar 13
She was terrified, though I couldn’t understand why. Mom, aren’t you the one who’s always told me I’m a failure?
Now that I’m gone, shouldn’t you feel relieved? Shouldn’t you feel like your life just got
easier?
I couldn’t make sense of it. Or maybe it was just the limits of my ghostly, brainless self.
A young officer walked in carrying a medium–sized cardboard box. He held it out toward
Vanessa.
“Dr. Sterling–Hartman, this just came for you. The front desk said a deliveryman dropped
it off for you.”
