LISTED (LISTED #1)➶ THE BLACKLIST

01. RAYS OF SUN ON MY ROOF

I remember. Remember when Reddington shot the lock off the holding door and barged in, ferociously shooting dead every single henchman in Luther Braxton's army like they had shot his dog right in front of him.

BANG. His shotgun spits out a smoking shell.

I remember well. The look in his eyes was unmistakable- it was jealousy and hurt and hatred and love. But not a romantic love, no; a familial love. Like I belonged to him and he belonged to me. Like a daughter to a father. There was a time that I believed in that relationship between us.

THUD. The body collapses into a clatter of weapons and a sprinkling of blood.

My eyes open, hazel irises searching for white ceiling as everything comes into focus. I had accidentally left my bedroom curtains open last night and I find blinding sunlight where I want to find navy blue linen. In any case, I drag myself out of bed, feeling heavy with moroseness. No more remembering.

Breakfast is measly by choice. Cold, bland oats I had let sit for too long. Half a glass of room temperature tap water. I have nothing on my agenda besides declining calls from Ressler, begging me to come off my sabbatical.

I don't think it's a mystery why I chose to leave the task force for an undisclosed amount of time. I also don't think it'll be a mystery when I end up not returning to it. Ray has fled town without a trace. There's not been a charismatic whisper, a single eyelash, or a blown bullet of his found in the United States in the last month. My Philadelphia apartment is nearly empty, devoid even of a dog. I haven't had the willpower to begin the hunt for Ray.

I'm a smoker now. It's not great, but it works. Only one cancer stick a day; Ray would've given me what-for if it was more than that. He's not a big believer in dying a mundane death. He'd rather I sacrificed myself for justice in some fiery explosion than kill myself a little bit each day with cigarettes. A ridiculous way to think- do I not deserve to live and die in peace? After everything?

The lighter drops from my shaking hand. I've been prescribed anxiety pills, but why take them? They only serve to make my world bleary and smooth. That's not real. I desire reality above all else and if that's bad dreams under cold moonlight and cancer sticks I can't light, then so be it. I didn't want to smoke right now anyway. I toss the cig onto my white granite island and grab my keys.

Outside it's icy and bleak, with pure white snow sludging into cold mud to create a disgusting gray-brown ice in the middle of the complex. Philly is not yet familiar. My rent has been on Ray's payroll for as long as he's been missing now; or at least I assume it is, considering I haven't gotten a single bill. My mailbox stays empty to match my apartment. An asphalt gray Honda Civic waits for me 10 meters away from my door. I get in.

Central Philly is somehow warmer, filled with people who smile at me on the street, their holiday gifts towered in shopping bags under their arms. The Macy's plays a jaunty 50s Christmas tune as I head through the revolving doors. I am here for nothing in particular, but eventually find my way to the home section upstairs.

What seems like millions of shoppers surround me, frantically searching for the perfect gift. Paranoia sets in as I watch these people, these strangers, move rapidly. I watch as two women get into tug-of-war over a set of decorative bird figures. A man is yelling at his wife an aisle over because of some tacky hand towels she picked up. People, fighting, fighting, fighting. I can't take it. My heart's a racing mess. All the violent nonsense surrounding me seeps into my pores and gives me a headache and fills my head with voices and just noise noise noise noise noise-

I scream and instinctively reach for a handgun I no longer carry. The fighting dissipates into order and justice, as I realize it was all just a hallucination.

"I'm," I squeak out, "I'm sorry." My hands find the hood of my gray sweatshirt and pull it up over fading locks of brunette. I really should take those pills. To make up for the outburst, I pick up the nearest piece of merchandise- a small package of fairy lights- and make a beeline for the register.

At my apartment, the lights make a home in one of my many junk drawers. I haven't had the energy to organize my belongings as of yet, so nearly everything I own is in a drawer somewhere. My feet trudge down the hallway leading to the bedroom. A package of Valium is on the minimalist dresser that holds no clothes. I swallow the maximum dosage allowed me- 40 milligrams- dry. I fall asleep in the full sunlight pouring in from the window with the still-open curtains. I can see the shingles atop the apartment diagonally beneath me. I feel that they are dark. I feel that there are rays of sun on my roof.