Try as the snowstorm might to haze its image, and try as I might to find an excuse to look away, the view from the top of the Prosecutor’s Office is always the same. And it’s always as strange as it is heartbreaking. For differing reasons.

It’s hard to believe that eight long years can pass, and a whole city district can still lay in absolute ruin. After the explosion, it’s like someone decided to throw salt on the land and never look back. The park. The old courthouse. The agency. They’re all still somewhere there. Stuck in the past and lost to the future. And I’m here. The woman on top of the tower, forcing myself to stare at it every day. How can I not? I know I’m not the only one. It’s like rotten flesh. Even if a doctor came along to cut it all out, you keep pushing him away.

Because dead as it is, it’s still a part of you.

“Are ya even listening to me?” Detective Magnussen’s voice booms behind me.

“I am, Detective, I am!” I turn around, throwing my biggest smile. “And I understand your frustration. I do! You drew the short straw and got saddled with patrolling what’s essentially a ghost town. God knows it’s difficult enough to just look at the buildings, let alone the homeless someone up there’s still forcing you to bring in. And then some jackass on a motorcycle comes along and starts speeding through the place, like they own it. In spite of the traffic ban. In spite of the road infrastructure just barely supporting it to begin with. And you—”

He buries his head in his hands. “You don’t understand, Ms. Cykes! Er, ma’am! Sir! He’s mocking me! It’s like he knows my patrol route and just—just jumps out right in front of me! T-Taunting! Wagging his tail and telling me to get his ass! And—”

I tap his shoulder. “Now, now, Detective Magnussen. I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to talk about your failures in, er. Chasing tail.” There’s a faint scent of a perfume on him. High-end. Lilac? Fun.

He groans. “Can’t you please just talk to the Chief and get him to send a couppla more guys in there? I could really use the backup.”

I circle back around to my side of the desk. “To alleviate the boredom?”

“Wh—No! To catch the Death Racer!”

I drop into my chair. “I see you’ve got a name for him.”

“Well, yeah! ‘Cos he’s gonna get himself killed! Or me!”

I place my arms on the desk. “As I said, I understand your frustration, Detective, I really do. But nobody knows your Chief’s frustration better than me. The crime rate is skyrocketing. We need every man we can get.”

He leaps out of his seat. “What about me, then?! Why don’t you need me?! Why am I out there chasin’—chasin’ ghosts?”

“Oh, sorry, the driver is a ghost?”

“Figure of speech! Figure of—” He fiddles with his wedding ring. “Just—answer the question!”

I shrug. “I thought you drew the short end of a straw?”

“I—I’m a detective, for crying out loud, and you’re putting me out on patrol here!” He nervously taps the back of his shoes against the floor. They’re pretty worn out. Muddy, too. And if he doesn’t stop with that, my floor will be, too.

“I guess you must’ve done something to upset someone.” I cross my legs. “Either way, the police’s internal affairs are none of my business, I’m afraid.”

He laughs, scratching the back of his head. “You know, you’re a real piece of work, ya know that?”

And you’re the detective that got drunk and hit on the Sargent Mayflow’s wife during last year’s ball. Why am I even still listening to this? “I’ll look into it.”

“That’s what you said last time!” He’s pointing at me. And only at this angle to I realize how crumpled his shirt is.

I squint. “I gotta look deeper.”

“What does that mean?”

“Anyhow, if that’ll be all?” I look down, pretending to stare at some papers. That usually works. Sometimes. Probably never, now that I think about it.

“Hah. How’d a brat like you get this high up, anyway? How can you even call yourself Chief if you can’t look out for hardworkin’ cops like—”

Alright, enough of this.

“How’s Marcy, by the way?” I ask.

He raises his brow. “What?” Oh, he heard it alright. The very mention of the name throws ripples into the air.

“Marcy? Your wife?” I lean back in my seat. This chair? This chair is very good. Very comfortable. “You know, the woman you’re cheating on?”

“Whoa, wait a minute—”

“Listen, I’m not gonna beat around the bush, this is the most ominous I can get myself to sound, so listen up: you haven’t been home in a while, given how crumpled your shirt is. But you’ve got a high-end women’s perfume on you. And don’t even try to tell me it’s your wife’s – not with the salary that still hasn’t gotten you new shoes.”

“I—”

“Now that I think about it, I have friends in your precinct. Your department, specifically. How much do you wanna bet one of them will let me in on the secret? Because you’re not really the type of guy to keep it to himself, are ya, Detective Magnussen? I mean, you’re here, complaining to the Chief Prosecutor about how boring your job is! No, no, someone will know. They’ll tell me. And then, I’ll tell Marcy. With more believable proof.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re right. Why even do the whole song and dance? Let me just bust out my camera. The look on your face now says everything you’d want to know.” I tap my finger against Widget’s cracked, soulless glass, sizing him up for the last time. “You know what people like you are, Detective? A walking contradiction. You’ve got a wife, but you can’t help yourself. You’re bored at your job, but deep down, you don’t really want to do better work, do you? You came here, made this big song and dance, all while hoping I’d kick you out, like I have at least a dozen times before, because that way, you can tell yourself that you at least tried. That, at the very least, it isn’t your fault that you feel like you’re stuck. Because, hey, when you’re stuck, you gotta try and wiggle, right? Maybe into another woman’s bed? Maybe, when your wife catches on, you can blame it all on the big bad Chief Prosecutor who didn’t let you play?”

“You—”

“Ah. Wait. I see it. Not a walking contradiction. A walking cliché.”

I stand up.

“I’ll put in a good word with your Chief.”

I grin.

He lunges at me.

“Goodbye.”

And the brat shows him why she’s at the top of the tower.