Lights | A Forever Fanfiction

2. Salt & Smoke

The dream was a complex of steel and ice, painted in a thousand hues of pallid whites and stark greys. It shifted smoothly, like clouds drifting slowly and soupily across a murky, rain-swept sky. The air tasted like salt, finely brisk and savourily refreshing.

And from the smoke and salt came a face, shaped by time and timelessness, blank and expressionless. The mist darkened, into dark curls and eyes like varnished pine, and the trimmings of a suit, cut off blearily by the undefinitive space of the dream.

And just like that, the world broke off into darkness, and a startling silence, though there was no sound before, it was more noticeable now, and-

I sat up on the sofa, surprise etched into my face as I observed my new surroundings. A faintly sunlit room, with an expensive sofa that was entirely unfamiliar took shape around me, as a grainy, bright haze from my sleep coated my field of view. I wasn't sure where I was.

And like rain falling to the earth, it all came back to me.

I shivered, the impact of my returning memories of last night chilling me to the core, the oddity of the dream forgotten. Pain and sorrow so sharp it was almost physical stormed through me.

A sudden flurry of footsteps rushed towards me from a staircase just down the hall. Jo glanced at me, eyes barely awake, hair barely brushed, and exhaustion clear on her face.

"Hey, Lights," she mumbled groggily. "I have to go to work. Hanson and I have a friend. He's going to help us find the son of a-" she hesitated "-gun who killed your father. He's... brilliant. He's solved almost every case we've gotten, except for one." I was tempted to roll my eyes. The way adults avoided swearing in front of children seemed so pointless. We watched televisions, heard them fight. And besides, this was New-frickin-York. It wasn't exactly the epicentre of formal pleasantries.

"Can I help?" I asked, with much too much eagerness, intended only to hide my pain.

She gave me a look, full of mixed skepticism and concern.

"Please?"

"You're underage," she explained tensely, clearly exasperated. "You could get hurt, and I'm supposed to be looking after you until... until this has been sorted. Not officially, yet, but-" Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and I heard her swear under her breath as she pulled it out, checking her texts briskly. "I- I really have to go. I'm sorry, I'd stay with you if I could, but I can't take you to the station because of- well, you know. There are oranges and milk in the fridge, and cereal in the pantry. Just don't make a huge mess. If you'd like to go out, there's a spare key in a bowl in the kitchen. Just remember to lock up before you leave, and no wild parties, okay? I can call your school on the way to work."

"Yes, mother," I mocked. She sighed again and shook her head, snatching up her keys and turning towards the front door.

"See you, Lights. You know what to do if anything happens," Jo said, as if she thought something bad would happen. "I'll be back around five PM, unless we're hunting suspects, which we probably will be. So expect nine or ten PM."

"Okay. See you."

And the door shut behind her.

I got up and combed out my hair with my fingers, trying to decide what to do. Jo had blatantly refused to allow me to go with her, but I needed to know what was going on, I needed to helps omegas. In my mind, a plan built itself, brick by brick, and an unbidden. Smile slid to my face, despite the circumstances. I had a dastardly idea.

I grabbed the spare keys to Jo's place from the kitchen, and found my backpack on one of the stools by the granite-layered island in the middle of the room. I unzipped it, checking the contents. My silvery laptop, a portable modem to generate wifi, my pencil case, my specialty usb drive, with my own little upgrades to it, and my beloved cell phone. I strode outside briskly, hope suddenly welled up inside of me, like a ball of crushed paper covered in hateful words and vehement delusions.

Ten minutes later, as snow began flitting through a silvery-cold wind, I found myself across the street from the morgue that connected to the Eleventh Precinct, where Jo worked. She was a detective, as far as I knew, which was not very well, but I knew that her husband had been a state prosecutor before he died.

A fleeting memory of my mother flashed through my mind, and suddenly, I couldn't get her out of my head. As I crossed the street, the slight distraction of it flickered inside of me listlessly.

I glanced at the glass doors to the morgue nervously. I hoped that this was the one where they'd taken him. I didn't exactly have the money to pay bus fare to get across town, not to mention subway fare.

Hesitation was painted thickly across my limbs, but I forced myself to move inside, where at least it was warmer. The lobby was as pale and sterile as a hospital, with walls so light blue they were almost white, and a tile floor specked with dirt and the faint lines where the tile polisher had crossed.

"May I help you?" the receptionist called annoyed lay from his desk, an eyebrow raised at me as though to express his distaste for young children roaming free in his morgue.

"Yes," I replied smoothly, striding over. "I'm here to identify a body. My mother and I received a call suggesting that the body was his. Unfortunately, my mother has been quite ill as of late, and she asked that I come here to identify the body." A lie. I could taste it bitterly on my tongue, but it was convincing enough.

The receptionist smiled with sick loathing. "Of course, ma'am. One moment, please." He plucked up the phone from his desk and punched in a few numbers, lifting the receiver to his face. "Yes, hello Doctor Morgan. Ah, yes, I'm very sorry for bothering you. I know, I know, you're in the middle of an important meeting, but there's a girl here-" he paused, listening "-to identify a body, yes. Ah, so Mister- Doctor Wahl shall be meeting with her? Alright. I'll send her up." The receptionist set the phone back into its holder, and nodded at me, the same smile still plastered to his face. "Elevator is the the right. The floors are split into four sections, and homicide victims are on the third and fourth floors. You'll be on the third floor, second section."

"Thank you very much," I replied insincerely, jogging to the elevator and stepping to the gleaming metal room. My fingers skimmed the buttons, before settling over the worn button labelled '3.'

There was a slight lurch, and a gentle whirring. The elevator doors slid open a moment later, and as I looked up, about to stride into the hallway, I saw Jo, and the man from the dream, and my breath caught in my throat, I was frozen in place, unsure what to do.