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Why This Beach? copyright Amanda Green

Why this Beach?

             Only 29% of the world is covered by land making the remaining 71% percent covered by water, and although the ocean plays an integral role in our lives it is arguable that a majority of the global population values the coastal points at which the sea meets the shore rather than the sea or the shore itself. These coastal points or beaches, have been raising rents and making their way onto travelers’ bucket lists for many years, but why? What is it that makes beaches so attractive to people? Perhaps it is the relaxing quell of the waves or the soft sand beneath your feet, or is it the water sports, and luxuries like boating that draw people to beaches. With these factors in mind I attempted to determine an answer to my question through observations and instead came to a different conclusion.

Yes, beaches do have their own differences such as where it is located, if its rocky, long, black, pink, white and has high or low swells. Yet, these factors do not justify people’s particular perspective of the beach, as everyone has their own opinions. Therefore, it is not the beach itself that draws people in but instead it is the different characteristics and identities people give to beaches that make them more or less attractive to people. For example, someone who enjoys surfing is going to be more attracted to a beach with high swells and good waves versus someone who wants to relax/layout and tan on a pink sandy beach. These particular opinions can be based on preferences, memories, and can even be influenced by the culture that develops around a beach as a result. In an effort to explain these differences I will compare the beaches of Miami to those in Southern California. Pointing out the distinctions of beach life in the two places and the different cultures that have developed as a result.

When I first decided on the University of Miami, I would be lying if I didn’t say that a major selling point was the close proximity to the beach. I have always loved the beach, growing up spending a majority of my summers and breaks in Southern California, when deciding on schools I found comfort and familiarity in the idea of having a beach near-by. However, I came to realize upon my first visit to South Beach that Miami beaches and culture was a lot different than the Southern California beaches I was used to such as Del Mar, Solona, Cardiff, Grand View, Swamis or even Laguna.

Although born in San-Diego I grew up on the East-Coast in Virginia outside of Washington D.C. With a majority of my relatives still living in California, such as my grandparents, Aunt, and later my sister, my mom convinced my dad to stay spend summers

there. Obviously like every kid I looked forward to summers, not only because I would be out of school but also because it meant that I was that much closer to getting to go to the beach. The beach to me became a place not only for relaxing but also for excitement and fun. From swimming to learning to surf I

quickly started to value some of the essential aspects that define

San Diego beaches and beach life. Some of my best memories were at

the end of a long beach day having a moonlit barbeque eating ‘s’mores and

watching the sun go down with friends and family. It was through these good

memories and experiences that I developed my specific preferences, and opinions that now define the types of beaches I prefer today.

In Southern California there is a very relaxed attitude to beach life. Even when crowded there is more of a natural and easy-going atmosphere. I would argue that a lot of this attitude around the beach stems from surf-culture. Because the waves of Southern California attract a multitude of surfers it has become a way of life. For example, my sister teaches in Encinitas and several of the filth graders in her class go out before school with their parents for a morning surf. This normalcy of the beach and ocean being an everyday occurrence in life is much more similar to the ideas and practices of “watermen” in Hawaii than the contrast that is provided by the Miami beach scene.

Unlike Southern California, Miami beach is typically not a place to go for good surf. Majority of the people that go to South Beach do so to tan, relax. Miami beach is a direct result of the more bougie beach life that can be associated with the Miami lifestyle. Sky rise hotels and crowds of tourists provide a much different atmosphere than that found on beaches of San Diego. As result of this more elaborate lifestyle people of Miami beach have catered other beach activates such as yachting, other water sports like wake boarding, or scuba diving to satisfy their interests. However, unlike going for a surf every-morning, yachting is less of an everyday activity. Because of this Miami beaches have less of a normalcy everyday life feel than Southern California making Miami beach seem not quite as authentic.

Another defining characteristic between California and Miami is the style of nightlife. Unlike Miami where beach going is typically reserved for the day and club life at night, in CA people also go to the beach later solely to watch the sunset, meeting up with friends etc.

 Although Miami has pretty sunsets clearly California has the advantage. However, in terms of nightlife for eventful and lively nights that eventually become early mornings, South Beach is the place to be. Very different to San Diego night life where restaurants close around 10, Miami is always a party. This mentality somewhat discourages a relaxing evening on the beach, instead drawing people to the variety of clubs and bars all along South Beach that require people to be dressed up and not just coming from the beach. Therefore, this difference represents the variation of culture in both places, based on that both beaches and their identities are a result of the society around them and the desires and practices of the people who frequent them.

             However, people can also have a mix of preferences, or can develop new ones as a result of the culture around them. For example, I talked to someone who had just recently moved to Florida from California and was talking about how he had to find new interests and was going to try to take up scuba diving and get a small boat to go fishing. Therefore, change is a possibility but typically the change is people adopting to the present beach life culture than the beach culture shifting to meet people’s desires. Therefore, oftentimes when I tell people while in California that I go to school in Miami a majority of them end up asking, “well which do you do you like more Miami or California?” And that question is difficult due to the variety of pros and cons of each, and the fact that each person weighs those pros and cons uniquely.

That being said I think that with an open-mind there is a way to choose both Miami and SoCal beaches to fulfill a variety of interests. For example, I appreciate being able to experience the lively Miami South Beach area with friends, going to shops and restaurants, getting to go on yachts, and enjoying the finer things of beach life while having a bustling city as a backdrop to college life. However, on the other hand I will always feel the most at home in Southern California. I have grown up admiring the authentic feel and laid-back San Diego culture that resonates with Southern Californian beach life.

Overall, in the future I could see myself in Southern California as there is something about the familial atmosphere surrounding the beaches and life there that makes it an attractive destination for me to live and raise a family. However, that being said beaches and the culture around is subject to change. As more and more people begin moving to California, and traffic continues to somehow manage to get even worse, the relaxed and no stress attitude that has made California beaches and culture the way it is today might begin to be shift. Additionally, my preferences have also grown to accept and admire Miami beach life and I have also been able to find other near-by beach spots like in Key Biscayne that offer a different and more laid-back vibe.

That being said, for me I am drawn to beaches that offer a variety of things. Simply put, the most attractive beaches are the ones that best satisfy my preferences; I enjoy a less crowded and very casual and lower profile beach where ideally I will be able to surf or do something in the water such as snorkeling but can also layout and tan on the beach. Yet, what makes beaches so interesting is that they are able to provide different things for different people’s specific interests and as a result are able to form their own unique identities and cultures. Therefore, there is a lot to be said about a people’s interests and their cultural preferences based on their favorite beaches. Maybe from now on when meeting people I will ask that instead of where they are from. And if they say they don’t like the beach well no further convo needed, cause I mean who doesn’t like the beach?

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Paradise in South Pacific copyright Austin Cate

Paradise in the South Pacific

My ideal beach would be on a relatively secluded island somewhere in the South Pacific. Not secluded enough that there wouldn’t be electricity, at least in some areas, but enough so that it wasn’t swamped by tourists. I would prefer if there was an airport on the island, but if it was necessary to take a boat to a larger island to go to the airport then I wouldn’t mind. That said, I would prefer a smaller island than a larger one. Perhaps about the same size as Key West, if not a little smaller. The island would be inhabited by any variety of people, from locals to others who move there for the beauty of the island. It would probably be a tight knit community with hopefully little to no crime with a population of less than 10,000. The island would be a U.S. territory with a governor and some bureaucratic offices but hopefully not too many. This would make it easier to travel to and from and allow me to retain my American citizenship. A beach on this type of island would be ideal simply due to these various factors.

When it comes to the beach itself, there are various parts of the beach that must be taken into consideration. As to the physical landscape, I would expect practically crystal clear blue water and soft white sand that is very fine. The kind of sand that doesn’t get stuck to things easily and make a mess. The beach itself would probably lead out into the open ocean on most sides of the island, but maybe some areas could have sandbars which make it nice to relax at and safe for children. There could be a few rock formations out in the water, which would make the views even more amazing. Somewhat similar to El Matador in Malibu, California except perhaps a bit deeper in the ocean as well.

The surrounding area would be steep cliffs in some areas of the island, but nothing too rugged. The beach should be easily accessible no matter where on the island someone lives, and maybe near one side of the island where it’s flat enough there could be a nice plaza with most of the shops that people would need. The beach itself would have various shops nearby, but not too many directly on the beach perhaps in order to preserve the natural beauty of the oceanfront.

As for vegetation, it would be nice if there were palm trees for shade and people to put hammocks up on near the beach. Farther inland there could be more variation, as well as beautiful flowers such as frangipani and hibiscus, but the beach shouldn’t have too much shrubbery, except for what’s needed to prevent excessive erosion. The water shouldn’t have any plants in it either, at least not in most places; however, if one side of the island has a coral reef on it, then it would be fine there. My ideal beach would be pristine and not full of seaweed or sea grass and whatever else the tide brings in.

In terms of atmosphere at the beach and what kinds of people would be there, aside from what was touched on earlier, the beach would be mostly a place to relax and have fun. However, an island like this would likely retain the value of fishing. To allow for this, various parts of the island that are good fishing spots would be dedicated to that. This would ensure the safety and enjoyment of those who want to go to the beach but also satisfy fishermen hopefully. A good spot would probably be near the southern edge of the island if it’s less inhabited.

The required services for my ideal beach are simple but varied. There would definitely need to be a small police force, composed of a sheriff and perhaps 10 or so other policemen. They would enforce the laws and make sure the beaches remained pristine by having signs posted about not littering and that sort of thing, as well as keeping the environment safe at the beach and elsewhere. At most there would need to be one courthouse and one fireman station; these wouldn’t deal directly with the beach, but the firemen especially would need to be around since there will likely be various restaurants near the beach and those sorts of things. Lastly, a medium-sized hospital should exist on the island in the case of emergencies like shark attacks or boating accidents. More serious patients could always be airlifted to another island if necessary and having a large hospital would just be too cost ineffective for the island, but it would be nice to have at least a small hospital at any rate. Aside from government offices, there would need to be various restaurants and bars and the like along the beach. The center of town would have various other shops necessary for the people living there, but along the beach the only other building might be a motel or something like that. Of course, sewage systems as well as water and electricity services would be needed as well. Last but not least, there would need to be lifeguards at the beaches for safety.  

The reason lifeguards are necessary for the beaches would be for the surf season. For my ideal beach, the surf season would probably be in the winter. Less of the population would be going out into the water during the winter, so the surfers would have less to worry about.  On average the climate would be a nice 72 degrees Fahrenheit, but in the winter it would probably dip down into the 60s so the water would be a little too cold for the people who live there.

As to the specifics of the kinds of people who live there, there would likely be a lot of natives or locals who have lived on the island their whole life, as well as people from all over the world who would move there for the beautiful ocean scenery. The native language would probably be some form of Polynesian, but the official language would likely be English simply due to the amount of people from other countries and the fact that it became a U.S. territory. However, the cuisine there would still be very heavily influenced by Polynesian foods. Lots of fruit and meat like pork; the sort of thing people would expect on islands. No beach is complete without proper desserts to beat the heat, like ice cream or shaved ice.  In addition to that, seafood would feature very heavily as it would support the fishermen. Barbecue, as derived from the barbacoa, would be a great addition, and there would be specialties of the fish in that area.

When it comes to animals on the island, I imagine that there are quite a lot of birds. Tropical birds with many different colors, which would feed off the island’s population of snakes and frogs which would live in the shrubs and trees which would still make up a lot of the landscape on the interior of the island. There would also be domesticated pets, which people would be allowed to walk on the beach and bring with them everywhere as long as they took care of the animals properly. In the water itself, I imagine there would likely be a healthy shark population that the lifeguards on duty would be sure to watch out for. However, most of the sharks don’t come in too close or aren’t aggressive, so there wouldn’t be accidents often. There would also be other sea life, especially on the reef. Various schools of fish, octopi and sea urchins as well as manta rays and sea turtles. Perhaps even pods of dolphins from time to time, and father out some whales might be spotted.  Most importantly, however, there won’t be a single mosquito. The insect population will be limited to butterflies, ladybugs, and perhaps a few others, but not mosquitoes.

All in all, my ideal beach would not be too busy; it would be a place to get away from the rest of the world while still enjoying everything that life has to offer. It would be very scenic and beautiful, wonderful-smelling with the flowers that grow around the island, with the sound of the ocean and macaws interspersed, and the great taste of island food and drinks. Life would be comfortable but there would be jobs for those who worked on the island, and people would get along and be happy. It wouldn’t be perfect – the summers would be hot, and there would be rainy seasons, but the it would at least be nice to forget the stress of life and just breathe.

(El Matador in Malibu, California)

(House on the cliffs)

(Hawaiian hibiscus)

(Frangipani)

(Bird species)

(Fish species)

(Barbacoa tacos)

(Locals)

(Beach view)

(Aerial view)

 (Ideal location)

(Visual concept of ideal beach)

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A Place Behind the Dunes copyright Michael Durham

I spent my whole life going to the beach. There was just something about the warmth of the sun, the sand between my toes, and the calming roar of the waves crashing on the shore, that made me feel at home. I loved the beach and I can still remember the times when I wouldn’t go near the water unless I was wearing my red and blue Spiderman floaties, begging my dad for ice cream even though it was almost dinner time and the treat would surely spoil my appetite. I remember the hot sun beating down from above, melting my chocolate soft-serve cone down my hand. When you were a kid you never really noticed how messy you were, covered in sand, ice cream, and God knows what. Those times were simpler, when trips to the beach meant family, friends, adventure and relaxation. Now, it’s a whole different feeling when I venture down to the dunes, stepping over seagrass, driftwood, and old beer cans. It’s the third time this month I have found the lifeless body of some poor girl who was unfortunate enough to go home with ‘Gilgo Jack’.

My name is Howard Heart (people call me Howie), Chief Investigating Detective of The Suffolk County Police Department on Long Island, New York. Do I enjoy my job? Hell yes, what kid wouldn’t wanna be a detective. And although everything I do isn’t as glamourous as the primetime CSI shows, to me it couldn’t be cooler.

In my mid-forties now, life is coming at me more quickly. People tell you when your young, not to blink because you might miss the ride and this couldn’t be more true. I feel like just yesterday I was graduating from the academy and then boom I was married with three kids, coming up on a decade into my career. Nicholas was almost 9 already.

This morning at 5 am I got the call that another victim had been discovered, mangled into the brush on the dunes right off Ocean Parkway. This had been the third victim in a month and the fifth already this year. But this is the first time that I was named as the Chief Detective of the case after the last detective stepped down after making no significant leads in the past month.

All the victims were found the same way: naked, lacerated, strangulation bruises, and missing their tongue. All the victims also met a similar description. This one, Cindy Kouffax, was in her late twenties. A tall, blonde girl from California that must have moved out here for undergrad and just never left. That was the common theme among the victims: they were all fairly young, tall, thin and lived alone.

I went around the dune to where the crime scene was and almost lost my breakfast. I had seen dead bodies before, two prior this month in fact, but the way this poor girl looked, it nearly defeated me. I darn near wanted to cry. It is crazy to think just how sick some bastards are, and having a young daughter, I thought to myself about what I’m gonna do when she starts going out with her friends. That’s a real nightmare I have.

As I burned my lip on my coffee, my partner Tim Robbins filled me in on the details, which were bleak and unrewarding.

“Yeah, same kind of deal, young attractive girl that probably ran into our friend Jack.”

First of all, Jack was far from a friend. ‘Gilgo Jack’ is the name we kindly bestowed to the killer as some kind of tribute to the greatest murderer of all time, the infamous Jack the Ripper. It was Tim who came up with the name, cleverly I might add.

“Jesus, you never can get used to that smell though huh, Howie?”

And Tim was right, the smell of that decomposing corpse was worse than you could imagine, it lingered in your nostrils and you could never forget it.

“This is the third body we found this month and we still have no more of a lead on a suspect than after the first body was found in April. We need to do something here. We can’t keep letting these girls go out and end up like cattle ready for slaughter.”

The suspect we are looking for is a ghost; he never leaves evidence of DNA. The incisions on the bodies are usually clean, suggesting that he has some sort of a medical background, but then we get a body that looks like its been hacked-up with a rusty butter knife and we don’t know what to believe. There are never any witnesses to describe a potential suspect and half the time we don’t even know what bar these girls got picked up at. There is still so much space missing when trying to connect the dots. We haven’t made much headway since the first body was found months ago.

“Hey, I think I got something over here!”

One of the officers called me over and pointed down to the sand. Jack had made a critical mistake, he was getting careless. There laying on the dune covered in sand, was a broken, bloody stiletto that could be the first lead in catching this monster.

 We investigated Cindy’s home and found little to nothing. She was tidy and meticulous, everything was neat and organized. It was a nice place. She must’ve been doing well for herself. You could tell that she was a careful individual who was very schedule oriented. We joked about her multi-colored calendar chaotically covered in post-it notes, which actually led to some headway. Written in pink highlighter was the word ‘Memory’ circled and underlined twice on the little Thursday square. This was a lead. So we headed off to the local hangout known as The Memory Motel.

Later that night me and Robbins took the trip into town. It was about three miles from the last dump site. The Memory Motel, a little rinky-dink bar that is usually filled with an older crowd of locals, chain-smoking cigarettes with little tasteless conversation, a real hole in the wall place. Definitely not a place someone would expect a girl of our victim’s age. They do have a great deal for burgers on Mondays though, so it was worth the trip. Robbins and I stopped by to chat with the bar proprietor, “Rusty” as he was called.

We showed him a picture of Cindy. “Yea, she was in here the other night, a real natural beauty, you couldn’t miss her. She ordered a cocktail and waited in the corner over there for about a half hour, then she got up and left. That was at about 10.”

“Did she speak to anyone while she was here?” Robbins questioned.

“I don’t think so, but the boys were gawking at her, she seemed to like the attention. But no, she sat by herself over there in that corner until she left.”

Well, we didn’t gather as much useful information as we hoped, but Rusty’s recollection did initiate a timeframe. She was still alive at 10pm that Thursday night.

 The next morning I got up at my usual time. It was still dark out, but the birds were chirpin’. It was that kind of weird dawn time when people were awake before the sun. I’m not a man of long showers, but for some reason the warm water on my face felt so strangely good. I hadn’t slept much last night. When I finally emerged from my steamy hideaway, my wife, Kate, was already downstairs.

“They wrote an article in the herald about that girl you found yesterday. She graduated from Columbia Law School a few years ago. Her parents had no idea she was even living on the island.”

This poor girl. Her parents hadn’t even known where she was when she was killed. Imagine the devastation on the other side of the line after she was identified. I went back upstairs and gave each of my children a kiss on the head. They were still asleep; school didn’t start until 8 for them. They all looked so innocent laying in their tiny beds with their superhero and princess comforters, hopefully dreaming big. Never tell a kid they cant be something when they are little. They have the rest of their lives ahead of them to become whoever they want to be. At least that was my view on the situation.

Walking back into the station, I was met midway between the door and my desk with a handful of papers shoved into my face.

“This is the full report from yesterday’s victim, and you’re never going to believe this. We found DNA on that stiletto that wasn’t from Cindy. No matches for it yet but we are gonna continue to run analysis on it. Makes me feel a little better that she clocked the sucker and didn’t go down without a fight.”

This was the best news I had heard in a while. All night I was running scenarios in my head of how the next victims were gonna look, each more unpleasant than the next. But this made me hopeful. There was a positive aura around the whole station and everyone seemed to benefit from the good news.

After lunch, Robbins and I headed back to the victims apartment to do one last sweep while waiting for the DNA results. For some reason I had a feeling that we were gonna find something new, something we missed and overlooked before. It was a good day and we wanted to keep the momentum going. It was eerie walking around in this dead girl’s apartment. It was a place where she lived her own individual life and now it was nothing. It was no longer a home, no longer a place to come home to after a long day of work, no longer a place to laugh or cry, it was just nothing. Unfortunately, we found nothing of substance, and it was time to head back to the office for the results.

“The cross reference came back without a match, I’m sorry Howie.”

That one sentence was basically the end of my day. All hope I had from early had simultaneously left my body at that moment and I was immediately exhausted. I went back into my office, shut the door, and laid my head down on my desk. This is where I stayed until it was time to go home.

People say not to take your work home with you, but I couldn’t help myself. My Dogfish Head IPA had run dry and the Mets were losing 7-1 to the damn Cardinals. It was hard to distract myself from work. I wanted to pull myself away. It was late. I needed something stronger, so I poured myself a handsome glass of maker’s mark, slugged it, and poured another one. I made my way to my office where I sat the glass down on my desk and began looking over some old files that I had laying around. Most of them just cases from earlier in my career. None of them particularly stuck out. But all these cases were closed. In fact every case I had ever worked on was closed. It got me thinking. I’m going to catch this catch this monster, or it’ll drive me insane. I was tired, it was late.

 My alarm woke me up the next morning, I felt like I had barely slept a wink. It was time to embark on another days work. When I made it back to the office I was again assaulted by Robbins while I was till only halfway in the door.

“There’s a girl here that wants to speak to you. She said she may be able to give a description on our guy. Apparently she was at a bar the other night and a man approached her. She said he offered to buy her a drink, but she was with her fiancé so she refused. But guess who she said she saw leaving with the guy later that night. Our fifth victim, Cindy Kouffax.”

Immediately, I was thrown into the hurricane of hysteria created by this girl. She was crying. I told her to calm down, go slow, and start from the beginning. It was honestly too early for this.

“Okay, okay, well,” she started. “We were at the Sloppy Tuna on Seacliff Street and this man approached me. He was wearing glasses and was very nicely dressed. He was actually pretty handsome.” Her fiancé sitting next to her didn’t seem to appreciate that comment. “He offered to buy me a drink, but I told him that I was actually getting married in a few weeks. Then he kind of chuckled, bowed his head, turned around and left. And that was pretty much our entire interaction. But then right when we were getting ready to leave I saw him leave with that tall blonde girl from the paper! He must have been the one that killed her!”

“What time would you say that was at approximately?”

Looking at each other the couple collectively responded with “2 am”. I glanced up and down at the man. He was rugged and had a band-aid on his face. It was strange but I disregarded it. I was giddy that we had gathered more evidence on a potential suspect. This also narrowed our timeframe even further. Our victim was still alive when they left the bar around 2 that Thursday.

I sent the women and her husband to describe the man to our facial sketch artist. I thanked her for coming in and reiterated what a huge help it was. And it truly was. On the outside I was calm, but on the inside I felt like a little kid on Christmas. This was a crucial development in a case that has been looking more empty and hopeless each day. If we could match a face to the killer then there is no doubt in my mind that we would close this case by the end of the week.

 It was Thursday, exactly a week since we found the last victim and with the weekend approaching I was nervous that our killer would strike again. Having watched too many episodes of CSI: Miami and other Hollywoodized cop-show propaganda, I had a gut feeling that our killer would strike again because they begin to murder more frequently when their thirst simply cannot be quenched. It was a rough morning and my wife found me day dreaming over my bowl of lukewarm oatmeal. It was already 7, I was late for work.

Swinging open the doors to the station, I was surprisingly not met with the loud cacophonous chaos that had greeted me everyday this week. The office was pretty dead. Was it a Holiday? Then I heard Robbins voice call me into my office. He handed a laminated piece of white paper. Hesitantly, I snatched it from his hands and turned it over. There on the other side was the pencil drawn sketch of our killer to the best detail that our witness could remember. It was weird because at first I couldn’t process exactly what I was looking at. It was somewhat surreal because after analyzing the page for about a half minute, it dawned on me. I knew this guy. I felt so dumb that I hadn’t noticed it right away. It was the guy from Al’s Hardware Store. It was Al Olson from Al’s Hardware Store! I jolted to the door, but stopped when Robbins said “Too late”. “Too late?” I questioned.

“We took a sample of Al’s DNA and compared it with the DNA that we recovered from the victims shoe, and I don’t know how but it wasn’t a match. We still have Al in custody if you want to go question him.”

How could it not be a match, we had a witness identify him and work with a facial artist and it matched. Why was this not adding up? How could our victim have been seen leaving with this guy, but he not be the killer? It was the last time she was seen, it was the night she disappeared, how could it not be him? It didn’t make any sense to me. I needed to sit down.

I went in finally after a tall glass of water to chat with Al. He wasn’t very talkative, more annoyed than anything. He said he was trying to take our victim home, but as soon as they left the bar, a gentleman approached them and the victim willingly left Al’s side and left with the new mystery man. Al hadn’t seen his face and the description he gave could have matched any male on the east coast. Needless to say it was not a very enlightening interrogation.

“His alibi seemed fishy, but I think he’s telling the truth. I mean the DNA doesn’t match.”

There wasn’t much more we could do but let Al go. In the back of my mind I was kind of glad that Al wasn’t our guy. He always gave me the employee discount whenever I shopped at his store. I guess that’s what he had to do to compete with the big franchises like Home Depot these days.

I headed home with an empty feeling in my stomach, and no it wasn’t hunger, it was the fact that another day passed and we still had a killer on the loose. It was sickening, the feeling of failure and inadequacy. Anyway it had me thinking, but I was tired so as soon as I got home I passed out. I need a good night’s rest.

 Waking up Friday morning, for some odd reason I felt refreshed. It was the first time in weeks that I might have actually gotten a good nights rest. The real reason I felt refreshed might have been because it was Friday and tomorrow was the weekend, but it was probably a combination of the two. With my wife still soundly asleep I gently rolled out of bed and made my way to the bathroom. I cut myself shaving my face. Those are the worst little cuts. They were deep and bled profusely. I didn’t want to put a bandage on my face so I just dabbed a piece of toilet paper on it and waited for the blood to coagulate and scab. I splashed water in my face, I did have bags under my eyes but I wasn’t too tired. God I looked old; my hair was already beginning to gray. The cut on my chin didn’t make me look any better. The stress from work had really taken its toll on my appearance.

I put on a pot of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table to think. I must have been missing something, overlooking some detail that would break this case wide open. It seemed as though the closer we got, the further we got. It was frustrating. I sat at my table for almost an hour, blankly looking into empty space, but my mind was racing over so many details it felt like my head was going to fly off my shoulders. I snapped back into reality, I was again late for work.

During the drive to the office I just couldn’t get out of my head when that couple came and described Al to us. It was strange that they had acted so quickly in coming to the police. How did they even remember what the guy looked like? They only had a minute interaction at most. Something didn’t add up. I pulled up to the station and again it was quiet but I was expecting some development in the case.

Surprisingly Robbins didn’t have anything for me, no words just lips smacking together as he shoved two jelly-filled donuts down his throat. I sat down at my desk, leaned back, and folded my hands behind my head. As soon as I became comfortable it hit me. Why did the man that came in the other day have a band-aid on his face? Cut himself shaving? No, he had a beard. We needed to call him back in, something about that guy made me suspicious. Me and Robbins decided to make a house call.

Robbins drove, and I was in the passenger seat of his black police-issued dodge challenger. It was a nice car, surprising that this was in the budget. I joked with him in the car of a potential gun fight when we got there, but in reality it was nothing to joke about. There was a real possibility that some action would take place, but that’s what made this line of work so exciting, the danger came with the territory.

We pulled up to 86 Sycamore, the couple lived in apartment B3. Robbins knocked.

“Suffolk County Police Department open up, we just have some more questions for you two.”

There was a chance that they weren’t there, it was 10am on a Friday, surely they had somewhere to be. I tried the knob, the door was open. Cautiously, guns drawn, we entered the residence. I called out again, and again there was no response. The place was a wreck, there was broken glass all over the floor.

“It looked like Hurricane Sandy ripped through their living room,” Robbins uttered jokingly.

Just then a figure emerged from the bedroom, it was the women who had come in. She was sleepily moving towards us rubbing her eyes. I told her not to move any closer. She asked what we were doing in her apartment, and we told her we just needed to ask her and her fiancé a few more questions regarding the “Gilgo Jack” murders. She complied. Just as she was about to sit down, a noise came from behind us in the kitchen. Before I had a chance to turn around, I felt a burning sensation in my lower left back. I looked back at Robbins and he had a growing red, wet patch on his shoulder. We opened fire. As soon as I spun around, I was grazed again on the cheek. I fired two shots back at the man and hit him in the chest. He got off one last shot that hit me right in the neck, before crumbling to the floor. I hit the ground. The room was spinning. What the hell just happened? That entire moment felt like it was moving in slow motion. I thought of my wife. My field of vision was then filled entirely with Robbins who began applying pressure to my neck. It had missed my wind pipe and aorta thankfully. I was still alive but I was bleeding out, and if I wasn’t rushed to the hospital immediately then I certainly wouldn’t make it. Robbins threw me over his shoulder, fireman-carry style and began calling for backup to secure the premise. Robbins threw me in the back of his cruiser and slammed the gas.

 Its funny how the mind works. Sometimes you just can’t control your thoughts. Your conscience wanders through your mind like a lost traveler trying to find his way. I felt warm. My mind drifted to memories of when I was a kid playing at the beach. I saw my dad, he tossed me a football as I dove into the sand. I saw my mother, she was so beautiful and happy. Then I saw my kids, and when I looked to my left I saw my wife smiling. The sound of the water was so relaxing, I could practically smell the sea. I started walking towards the water, then I dove under a wave and as soon as the water hit my face I was thrown violently back into reality.

 I blacked in for a moment and looked up at a team of doctors trying to frantically save my life. The room was so bright. I was hot, but the warmth soon began to fade and I again fell unconscious.

When I finally awoke again Robbins, my wife, and my kids where there staring at me.

“I think he’s waking up! How are you feeling buddy?”

I didn’t know if I was still dreaming or not. I reached up my arm and touched my neck. It was tender and bandaged up. I was alive. My wife started to cry tears of joy, and came over hugged me and kissed me. I was definitely alive.

“Howie, you took that bullet like a champion, I thought we were gonna lose you there for a second. We got the killers, that couple that came in and identified Al, it was them working as a team to court young girls in and butcher them. You did it Howie.”

I began to cry, it was an emotional release that I was not expecting. I never cried, I hadn’t cried since my mother passed away. I was so happy to not only have closed the case but also to be able to live another day with my beautiful family. This whole time we were calling the killer “Gilgo Jack” while we should’ve been calling them “Gilgo Jack and Jill”. I faintly uttered that to Robbins, to make sure he added that in the press release. He chuckled and said, “Good to have you back Howie”.