New Eden

Headshot.

Headshot.

Shot to the stomach.

Shot to the leg.

Headshot.

Missed.

Missed.

Headshot.

This was how Yara moved through the fray. Reinforcements had shown up. But the entire standoff had devolved into one of the bloodiest shootouts she’d ever seen.

Between the ringing in her ears and the pain drumming throughout her body, all Yara could do was concentrate on her targets beyond the barrel.

A bullet ricocheted off the car to her left. She whirled around and fired twice. The first shot hit the man’s chest. Second shot buried itself between his eyes.

Yara raced from one car to the next for cover as she emptied her clip and refilled it with a new one. By the time she landed behind the second car for cover, there was already someone there. A trafficker reloading his gun.

She slammed her knee into the side of his head and as he went down, gun aimed up at her, she fired a round that sliced clean through his throat.

Then she heard her name whispered through the gunfire. A few feet beyond her lay a man so drenched in blood that she couldn’t recognize him. There was a gaping wound in his head and despite his makeshift bandage, he was losing blood at a rapid rate.

Yara stumbled over to him and collapsed on top of his body.

“Th-they’re safe,” he stuttered and blood sputtered back up into her face.

“All the girls are safe,” said Yara. At least that’s what she thought she said. She couldn’t hear the sound of her own voice and his lips felt numb.

Another gurgled, choking sound left his throat and then he was dead. Yara didn’t see or feel him leave. She missed it. The blood continued to pour from the wound. She placed a trembling hand over his bloody face. She didn’t want to look at his face.

She heard her name again, this time as a scream. Someone slammed their body into hers, knocking her to the ground. A rain of bullets blasted from overhead. Yara gritted her teeth and blacked out.

“You didn’t blackout.”

“What?”

Liz was reading Yara’s report. “You didn’t blackout. You dragged Colson’s body to safety underneath a car. Then you retired six more traffickers before the helicopters arrived and the rest of the traffickers were taken into custody.” Liz set the report down on her desk. “You don’t remember any of that?”

Yara shook her head. “No.”

“That’s alright,” said Liz. “You were in shock. I’m sure the memories will come back to you. Let’s move on. I know you talked to Dr. Kaysen already, but I wanted to ask you myself. How are you doing?”

Liz didn’t look like a police captain, she looked like she ought to be backpacking in a wilderness somewhere, communing with nature. A bracelet of quartz crystals was wound tightly around her right wrist. She had the bracelet for as long as Yara could remember.

In moments like these, tense uncomfortable moments, Liz would carefully run her fingers over each individual crystal on the bracelet, breathing deeply and evenly.

Yara wondered what she got from them. Did they give her energy? Did they speak to her? Or was it just some sort of self-soothing coping mechanism to help her handle all the shit in her life?

Yara tried not to judge, but the crystal bracelet always colored her opinion of Liz with distrust.

She didn’t like people who needed a crutch or an avenue for decision-making. Whether you trusted a set of tarot cards or thought your prayers reached someone up in the sky, it all felt weak to Yara.

She didn’t think she was any stronger than them, of course. They were all human, after all. But … but Yara made her own decisions. She didn’t need some pink crystals around her to wrist to help get her there.

“Yara?” asked Liz. Her voice was soft and gracious, but Yara felt as if it was grating all the same.

“Fine, I’m fine. I told you I was fine. I told the doctor I was fine,” said Yara. “A couple of scratches, bruises, one bullet graze.”

“Not a graze,” said Liz, meeting her gaze directly. “You were shot.”

Yara nodded. “Right. I was shot. But I’m all stitched up now. Should heal in no time. I’m fine. I’m all good.”

Liz cocked her head. Her loose braid began to come apart, auburn hair rustling under the metallic clanking of the only fan in the room.

Yara hated that fan. It was useless. The hotbox station wasn’t going to be ameliorated by a series of these clanky, old fans stirring stilted, hot air. Yara shifted in her chair.

“I mean, obviously I’m fucked up about it,” said Yara. She looked up at the ceiling, then back down at the floor. Her right foot kept jiggling.

She could hear Kiare’s voice: stop moving. Stay still. Be quiet. Yara smirked and told the little voice to shut up.

“About getting shot?” asked Liz.

“About the whole thing,” said Yara. “It was my fault we were there, you know? I … I should have waited for reinforcements, but I knew when that shipment was going out and … well …”

“You saved those girls,” said Liz. “Forty-two young women. If you hadn’t intervened, we don’t know where they would be.”

“You’re right,” said Yara. “I mean, I know you’re right. It’s just … ” She inhaled deeply and exhaled. She had cried already and she hated crying and she vowed not to do it again.

She’d put on a full face of makeup before she came into work today for that very reason. No tears. “Nothing. I’m not going to tell you I’m OK because of course, this wrecked me. But, I’m handling it. And it doesn’t mean I can’t go to work.”

“Well, Dr. Kaysen and I think that’s exactly what it means.”

Yara’s foot stopped jiggling. “What’re you telling me?”

“You have a pattern,” said Liz. She stroked one particularly jagged crystal on the bracelet. Unpolished like the others. “You bottle up emotions. And then you lose control. It’s a dangerous pattern that we’ve had to address before on the job when you’re being ‘objective.’ We’ve never had to address the issue after a personally traumatic incident.”

Yara’s voice smoothed over. “I’ve cooperated fully,” she said, even flickering a smile across her lips. “Taken the anger management classes. Started taking medication. Started meditating, working out more to address the … rage. I’ve been doing well.”

“You’ve been doing well for the past couple of weeks. But we can’t deny you have a habit of acting erratically, irrationally, and impulsively when you’re not properly managing your emotions. You have no positive coping mechanisms.”

Liz sighed. She leaned back in her chair and rested her hands atop a pile of papers just as the wheezy fan was about to blow them off her desk. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean this as an attack on your character. You’re not being punished, Yara. I’m doing this because Dr. Kaysen suggested it and because I care about your health. I want you to take some time to properly grieve and heal and handle your problems.”

“I don’t want to take time off, I want to get back to work,” said Yara. She felt the anger rising up, but she clamped down on her it with her years of experience. “If I take any time off, I’ll just be sitting around thinking of Bo.”

“Exactly what we want you to do,” said Liz. “Two months leave with mandated weekly check-ins with Dr. Kaysen.”

“Two months?” asked Yara. “Two. Months.”

“We want to give you the space you need to heal.”

“Is that how long it takes you to heal?” asked Yara. She rose up from her chair and made her way out of the office as calmly and quietly as she could.