Secondhand Heart

CHAPTER 1: "Collide"

Lizzie had thought going back to university was the right choice even though she was in her early 30s for a masters degree. Other people did it all the time. In fact her classes were swarming with people of all ages, even a few pensioners. She wasn't exactly sure what she would do after getting her degree in sociology but she had only just started and there was still time to figure everything out. What Liz knew for certain was that she couldn't ever go back to being a field agent.

It had been exactly one year since her boyfriend and colleague had died in an ambush by some monster they've been trying to catch and after a break she had tried to go back to work but everything about that place had reminded her of him. Liz had realized it might be better to switch jobs after she had broken out in tears three days in a row in front of her colleagues but it was no use. She had still expected Tom to knock and stick his head through her office door any minute and it just couldn't go on like that. After speaking to her family and even a therapist she had come to the conclusion that a change of careers might be best.

That was how Liz, now two months into her first semester, found herself attending a class on gender studies. She had gotten the results of her first essay this morning, an A+, the same grade everyone else seemed to have received as well, which was odd. She hadn't exactly given it her best and even the others seemed baffled.

She turned her attention back to Professor Doctor Raymond Reddington, who was, as she had learned an expert on the subject. Yet her mind kept wandering. Today was the anniversary of Tom's death and she would've stayed home, pretending to be sick, if Reddington's class hadn't been obligatory. She usually loved attending his classes but it seemed as if her professor wasn't having the best of days either. Maybe he had overslept, he certainly looked like it. She could've sword that if his hair was thicker it would have been ruffled, his cheeks unshaven, his rimmed glasses slightly askew and she could've sworn that he was wearing the same clothes as yesterday. He also seemed very scattered, changing the subject every few minutes, leaving sentences unfinished and half an hour before the time was up he told them to go home.

Liz gathered her things and started to approach his desk.

"Uhm, Professor Reddington?" she asked carefully.

He looked at her over the rim of his glasses, confused. It took him quite a while to reply. "You're new. First semester?"

"Yeah. Listen, about my essay. . ."

"Explains why you don't know my nickname. Most students just call me Admiral or Sir Red " he gave her a half-hearted smile as he continued to stuff his papers into his briefcase.

"Oh, okay. I have a question about my essay. Are you sure you've given me the right grade?" Liz held her paper into his direction, her eyebrows raised.

"Yes, yes, quite sure. Look, can this wait until tomorrow?" Reddington stood up straight and looked at her.

Liz felt slightly intimidated by his posture an the tone in his gravelly voice.

"Yeah, sure," she replied.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," Reddington grabbed his briefcase and headed out of the room.

The library had been Liz's safe haven from the first day on. It was where she could retreat to when she felt close to tears and bury her nose in a book. Only today her haven appeared to be more of a fridge. The heating was out, which wouldn't have bothered her hadn't it been November. After spending several hours freezing despite her warm coat and not getting any work done, she decided it might be better to go home and warm up before she caught a cold.

As she walked through the streets, shivering in the snow, she passed a small pub in a back road that she hadn't really taken notice of before. A hot cup of tea or coffee would be really nice now, she thought. Liz spun around on her heels and entered the pub, a wave of hot air blowing into her face. She still kept her coat on and approached the bar when she suddenly spotted her professor sitting on one of the bar stools in front of a glass of what looked like strong alcohol. At least she wasn't the only one having a bad day.