Ultraviolet ✔️

8.2

Chapter Eight, Part Two

When it's time to make the arrest, I watch both of them walk ahead of me down to the garage, wondering if Stan gets the life he deserves and if I can give Joel the same.

Life is unfair, so I doubt it. I don't want to, but I do.

"Have you done many arrests before, kid?" Stan questions, pressing down on the elevator button.

"My fair share," Joel says. "Not as many as I would like. More arrests can correlate to more cases solved. The way I figure it, we get more of the bad ones of the streets and maybe one day we won't have to do a job like this anymore. Call me an idiot, but I'd like to think that people can change and learn to be better."

He's not an idiot, but I've seen firsthand what evil people are capable of committing, and the idealistic attitude he's swearing by doesn't fit what I've known in my lifetime. Then again, I could stand to be less cynical.

"I was like you once upon a time," Stan tells him. "From what I've learned in the time that I've done this, there's never going to be a world without violent crime. We've just got to try to make the best with what we've got."

"That's why we're at this job," Joel replies.

It's why I share my visions with the chief, I might add if I could.

I wipe my shaking hands on my jeans and try to breathe. The closer we get to the parking garage, the more anticipation starts to choke me.

It's for Valerie. We're gonna lock him up so that he can't hurt anyone else again.

It's off-putting, to think that he's just gotten off work like a normal guy. He's going to eat dinner with the wife he will eventually murder without hesitation. She has no idea what he's done.

I know that there's no definitive proof yet, but my vision gives me a pretty good judgment of his character.

I won't trust him because in my mind he's already at the guillotine.

Guilty. Even the word feels like a finality. A brand.

I wonder if the reason that this murder disturbs me more than any of the cases I've seen before it is because it comes at a time when I'm starting to realize that there might be a fine line between myself and the people I've helped put behind bars.

We ride in a van. I sit in the backseat, behind the cage dividing the front and back of the vehicle. I'll move between Stan and Joel on the way back when we've got him in cuffs. But for now, I keep my distance. I need space to think, and this gives me that chance.

The city's gone dark and the sun has set behind the tops of the buildings. There are no stars in a place like this; the bright skyline makes it impossible to see them.

The drive to the house feels shorter than it did the first time. Part of it stems from the station being closer to the Grant house than my apartment, but part of it is the change in my feelings. Instead of wondering what's going to be there and anticipating it so much that time seems to slow down, I'm sitting with my legs trembling, thinking that it's coming too fast for me.

"You okay, Vi?" Joel asks, peeking at me in the rearview mirror.

"Yeah," I answer. "I'm fine."

"Don't worry too much, kiddo," Stan says softly. "We can handle this."

"I don't doubt you guys," I say. "I just wonder why someone would do something like this. Doesn't make sense to me."

"It doesn't make sense to any of us," Stan assures me. "But that's because we're in our right state of mind."