#100 day writing challenge:no time

[thorinsbeard]

100 day writing challenge: No Time

He sat down in front of the gravestone, the bunch of flowers clutched tightly in one hand. It had been a long time since he'd even come near these parts. Not since then, because every time he walked along these streets, every time he went into the city, he saw the offices, he saw the sights that had been there when it all happened. He closed his eyes, breathed in and remembered. 

*

Time was relevant to him. It was the reason he quit his job, the reason he left his position. That, and the crucial mistake he made on the last case they did. He thought he had time, to save her. He hadn't been expecting the phone call that night. 

It started off an ordinary day, nothing special. No cases, and then she called. Sarah. An old friend, well, maybe more than a friend. A lot more. That was why he wanted the flowers. For someone as beautiful as that, wasn't it all she deserved. He wanted the flowers to be perfect, along with the date. 

Until the phone rang. The voice on the other end chilled his bones. It was a voice he knew well, a voice that would haunt him for the rest of his days. Him. The serial killer he'd worked so hard to catch, the one who got away by pure manipulation. He was back. 

'Tell me, what is your fascination with birds?' No. Not that voice, not his apartment. And worse news, he had his friend, his date for that night. He almost dropped the phone, barely able to cling to his sanity, before he regained his composure. 

"Don't hurt her," he said. He dropped the flowers, and took off, to his car, before he got inside it. His heart raced, his fear built up. He knew exactly what he would do to her. He'd never forgiven him for chasing him, for letting his mad girlfriend disappear. 

He raced to the apartment, as fast as he could. There was no time to stop, no time to think. Shakily, he came to the apartment, and forced the door open, gun pointed. There was blood everywhere. All over the bed, all over the floor, like it had erupted. His eyes darted to the bed. She lay there, wide-eyed, looking up unseeing, but he couldn't deny the fright in her eyes. 

Anger, built up inside him. He didn't think, he bolted out of his apartment, down the stairs, after him. He knew that he'd still be around here, he wouldn't want to miss the panicked, furious look on his face. Looking around, he saw him and ran after him, still covered in his girlfriend's blood. The bastard got into a car and drove away, so he did the same. Until he lost him. 

*

"I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't have time. If I'd known he was around, I never would've let you anywhere near that apartment." He tried to smile, the curves of his mouth wouldn't turn up, "I was too late. He hurt you, and other people. He's gone now. Thank god for that." There was no way she could answer him,  no way he could get her back, but he could do one thing, "I tried to come back here after I left the job," he said, "I could never quite manage it. I just kept driving, and driving until I couldn't go any further. No matter where I went, it still haunted me. But I can do this," he said, "these are the flowers I meant to give you that night." He thought of the killer's comment about his fascination with birds, "and I think I finally figured it out," he said. Gently, he lay the flowers down on her grave. Bright, yellow flowers, that contrasted the darkness, of the gravestone, "because birds can fly away. Birds are free. Maybe one day I will be too."