Behind Sylvie, Jinny sees the movement of arm and shoulder as she reaches into the bag. 

For one brief moment her head droops forward in despondent resignation; the next it snaps up resolutely, service weapon in hand and aimed unwaveringly at the back of Sylvie’s head.   I see Weaver’s eyes go wide as she crutches backwards, grabbing Angelo by the hand and dragging him into the kitchen area with her; Legaspi disappears as well but I catch the raised voice as she informs the dispatcher on the other end that the intruder is armed and Investigator Exstead needs back up.   

“Don’t do this.”   

Jinny and I say the words together and Sylvie blinks and trills laughter.   

“It’s Cops!  In stereo!” 

“Just put your hands up, Sylvie.  Please.”  Jinny’s voice is low and urgent; behind me I sense the movement which tells me Sarge’s weapon is also drawn.   

“Get your hand out of there,” he tells her, voice controlled and seemingly mild.  “This is not something that needs to happen.”   

“Oh, but it is,” she assures him and winks at me.  “This moment has been ordained by fate, no less.  This moment is fucking destiny.”   

Her face is flushed, her eyes glassy and wide, the smile stretched over lips bearing remnants of several shades of gloss, the skin beneath it tender and bitten.   

“You’ve just done too much meth, Sylvie,” I say, hating the quaver in my voice.  “You’re way too high and you haven’t slept and you’re not thinking straight.  This is a really bad idea.”   

“Well, those are my forte,” she responds.  “Ask Investigator Exstead or hell~ ask my father.  I am fucking brilliant at really bad ideas.”   

“You can’t get out of this, Sylvie,” Jinny tells her, voice tight, the gun barrel no more than six inches from the silver blonde skull.  “You’ve got two weapons on you right now and Kim’s called the police.  You won’t walk out of here and Daddy can’t buy this one.  There are six people standing here watching and listening.  Just put your hands up very slowly and let’s all walk away.”   

The bright head tilts to one side speculatively and I risk a glance into Jinny’s wide green eyes and read them as clearly as if she had spoken aloud.   

Weapon?  Do you see one?  

I indicate no with the merest shake of head and blink of eyes.   

“I wanted to walk away, Jin.  But she just kept digging and turning up more shit.  Anyone with any sense would have backed off as soon as they figured out who they were dealing with.  Anyone with any sense would know better than to take on my father.  But oh no~ Not Huckleberry fucking Cooper Finn.  Plant drugs on her, toss her in jail, have her roughed up, send a crank head after her with a bat~  Anyone sane would have got their ass on a plane and flown out.”  She pauses and laughs and behind me I feel Sarge tense; I don’t look away from Sylvie’s stare but I know that something has passed between him and Jinny, some plan of action has been formed in silence.   

I see the dimples on either side of Sylvie’s chapped lips deepen, see the hand slide further into the overly large leather bag and without volition my own creep upwards, fingers spread. 

“I don’t see a weapon, hold off.” I say aloud, my voice rather shrill and Sylvie snorts in amusement.   

“Oh my.  The big bad cops think I’m going to blow your brains out all over this nicely decorated hallway, don’t they?”  She quirks both brows upwards, small white teeth digging deep into her lower lip as she grins maniacally and leans slightly towards me.  When she speaks her voice is low and intimate, her expression one of a confidant to a trusted advisor, of a penitent to his confessor.   

“That’s because they think of pain as being something immediate and noisy.  I think we both know that true pain is always terribly quiet, sneaks in on soft feet and if it speaks at all?  It whispers.”   

She breathes the last in no more than the word itself, eyes wide and blank, expression turned inwards on some place visible only to her.  I shudder without volition and swallow noisily when she blinks and focuses outward again, blinking and dazzled at the sudden internal atmospheric change.  I flick a hand slightly to warn Sarge to back off because I can feel him readying to move and take her down, can sense the looks darting back and forth over Sylvie and me between him and Jinny.   

“And, of course,” she says philosophically, gazing at me in bemusement.  “True pain lasts much longer than a gun shot wound.”   

When her hands moves upwards I see what is in it and fling both arms wide as behind her Jinny murmurs a soft and ragged “Please, no…” even as she braces herself for the shot.  Behind me Sarge growls at me to drop and tries to force me out of the way but I spread my feet and brace myself, yelling at both of them.   

“Not a gun!” I scream frantically.  “No gun!  No weapon!”   

“Ooooh, but you’re wrong there, Sergeant,” Sylvie coos at me, white hand extending the manila folder.  “I most certainly do have a weapon.”   

I stare dumbly down at the thing, looking up at her and shaking my head slightly in confusion as she puts hers back, laughing softly.   

“Coop~” Sarge begins and reaches around me for the square of stiff paper.  I glance at him mutely, then turn back as Sylvie deftly flings it open, spilling the photographs inside across my hand and onto the carpet.   

I stare down at them, shocked into silent stupefaction.   

The blood leaves my head in an audible rush with a sound like bird’s wings.  It’s deafening and at the end of it my knees buckle and I go down, hard. 

 Spread out before me is a montage of intimate moments between two people, all clearly taken at the penthouse. 

 And this time there is no puzzling out who the people are; there is no baffled attempt at discerning features or hair color from the black and white glossies. 

 “Oh god,” I whisper faintly and above me Sylvie shrugs and leans forward a bit, studiously examining the photo nearest the pointed toes of her boots. 

 “Well, there isn’t any audio but yeah~~ I’d guess that’s what you’re saying there.  A fairly accurate photo caption.” 

 “Cooper~” Sarge begins and stops and I can’t look up at him.  It’s Jinny I look up at, her white face I lift my eyes to. 

 What I want to ask is impossible to force past my lips. 

 What I need to see isn’t there in her face. 

 I can feel the tears on mine and lift a shaky hand to swipe at them roughly; I’m stunned when Sylvie gracefully kneels and takes my face in her hand, the gesture tender, the touch kind.  There are fresh tracks on her cheeks and more tears standing unshed in her eyes. 

 “I really am so sorry,” she whispers softly, the words no more than a breath of air, meant for my ears alone.   I stare into the mirror-like silver ringed pools and the sheer pain and terror in them chokes the eerie hitching sob off short in my throat.   

“I’m sorry,” she breathes again, so close it stirs the hair around my face.   

And the most hideous thing?   

I know she truly is.

END OF 64