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Summary: What does it all mean in the long run if we are all, in the end, capable of the same act – even if how we get to it involves different roads?
The bright, white lights flashed before her eyes, tricking her, playing with her. Every movement made it harder to focus, every breath made her queasy. She sat, perfectly still, her head in her hands, tremors coursing through her body.
It. Hurt.
It would pass. The aspirin would make it easier. She just needed to get through the next five minutes.
November 9, 1991
Over the course of my life, I’ve given a lot of thought to the concept of evil and in that thought, I’ve come to understand two very important, yet conflicting, things: 1) that evil is, as beauty, in the eye of the beholder and yet that 2) good and evil are very real and separate incarnations that exist in the world. As a foster child, I was privy to the truth of good and evil at the hands of strangers and social workers, all of whom wanted only the best but seemed to actively live the worst. As an adopted daughter, my mother showed me only the truest form of good and beauty, yet my time spent kneeling to God taught me about the devil. As a police officer I am faced daily with the evil-doings of mankind and I must live with my own consequences and conscience when my actions lead to the harm or death of another human being.
It is these thoughts on fate and consequences that lead me to worry about the newly diagnosed bubble inside my head. Mark loves me, but the realization that I could die at any moment leaves him nervous and twitchy. In his nervousness, I’ve realized that even though I love him, I can’t be loved the way he now needs to love me. The adventure is gone from our relationship. If I were truly a superstitious person, I’d believe that my actions in my life had led me to this moment, leaving me at the brink of death, never knowing when it’s around the corner. But you see something, you’re only sick if you think you are. If I let this get to me, where would the honesty in my life be, and living life without honesty is the greatest evil of all.
Maybe I’m tempting fate far too much. I won’t reveal my diagnosis to the department – the day they take me off the streets and put me on a desk permanently is the day I hand in my shield and walk away forever. But all I’ve ever wanted to be is right where I am. So, I’ll tempt fate and trust that the evils of the world won’t make the balloon pop in the wrong moment. I’ll trust that Chris will always be able to trust my abilities in the field. I’ll believe that in the long run, good will outweigh evil.
After all, it’s all only subjective anyway. Isn’t it?
No, it’s not. I felt Evil tonight. I felt that cold hand clutching my heart even as Willie Abbot clutched my neck. I’ve been there before, fighting for my life, and at least this time I had a gun to shove down his pants. But what is it … what is it that pushes people who could be good people to such evil? I saw the regret in Abbot’s eyes, not three seconds after he would have happily ripped me open and left me bleeding on the floor of the boat. But I felt a surge of … maybe it is evil … inside of me as I shoved him off of me. So where is the line? What does it all mean in the long run if we are all, in the end, capable of the same act – even if how we get to it involves different roads?
Those questions, perhaps, are truly better left to God.
~From the Diary of Rita Lee Lance
The steam of the shower hung heavy in the air as she wrapped the thick towel around her body. Ignoring the mirror, she headed for her bedroom, itching for her most comfortable set of pj’s and her fuzziest slippers. Albert sat on her bed, looking up at her expectantly. Smiling, she popped down next to him and picked up the worn, frayed teddy bear. “Feel like a movie tonight, bud?” She chuckled and then set the bear back on the bed, ignoring the little part of her mind that reminded her that therapy might be a good idea. She’d resorted to talking to her bear.
Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?
Of all the moments over the past couple of days that could have invaded her memory, it was Hutch, staring, open mouthed at her. Flopping down onto her bed, she pulled the wide-tooth pick through her hair, feeling the curls start to separate as they dried. What was she supposed to have told her boss? That it had been too long since she’d kissed the only mother she’d ever known? It wasn’t like she ached to have some deep connection to the man who ordered her around every day, but his stray comment only left her lost in thought about every time she’d mouthed off to her mother and yet, despite that, when she’d come stumbling in from the date from hell that marked her Senior Prom, Sue had only cleaned her up and held her as she cried.
She wiped her eyes, embarrassed at the sudden onslaught of emotion. Albert stared up at her, his knowing eyes reminding her that it was okay. She’d survived this long; momentary bouts of sentimentality were nothing to be ashamed of.
The flannel pj pants she’d swiped from Chris were warm against her body and once she’d donned a green cami, she allowed herself a glance in the mirror. Rivulets from her hair ran down the camisole, across her nipples, hardening them. With a sigh, she passed her hand down her body, and for the millionth time since she’d walked in the door, contemplated breaking the no-sex-between-partners rule. She knew Chris was angry with her right now, but she also needed to find a way besides hot water and a pumice stone to scrub away the memories of Willie Abbot. Even now, after using up all the hot water in her building, she still felt dirty.
But Chris was pissed and technically, the job of making her feel better should fall to Mark. No, perhaps being alone right now was safer. The line she walked every day was fading quickly into the sand and she needed to keep close control of her emotions. So, she set her mind toward a light dinner and looking over the current cold case file that was occupying her down time.
With a sigh, she headed downstairs, washing away the traces of her headache with a glass of wine and an aspirin.
The wine and aspirin could take away the headache, but not the image of Willie Abbot positioned above her, a look in his eyes that she’d seen all too often from men in her life. He’d targeted her because of her short skirts, her tight clothes. But was he really to blame? She’d come on to him. Was it really true, that women who found themselves in positions as the one she’d been in tonight were simply asking for it?
Stupid questions, she knew, but the thought still nagged at her. Her own unwilling experiences made her the worst possible judge of reason in situations like this, but she was too driven, too professional to walk away in the heat of the moment. Of course, in the heat of the moment, she had ended up with her gun down his pants.
At least she hadn’t blown her cover.
It got her hot – busting the bad guys, taking down evil. Being the white knight for someone made her own existence really worthwhile.
It didn’t make the fallout any easier. Willie Abbot would soon be slam-dunked into jail, they’d find Deirdre Snow’s killer, but she was left wondering about her ability to play God with people’s lives.
Was she really an agent of the almighty Gods of Justice, or was it revenge for her past that drove her onward?
The manila folder from the cold case found its way into her hand and she wandered into the living room, still sipping at her wine. She popped in an old Joni Mitchell tape and settled onto the couch. Work would keep the philosophical questions, and the nagging fears, at bay.