15:06 HOURS

A new day, a new shift. I was tired and certainly wished my days off were longer. Maxine McMenamin walked from the sallyport. She glared at me but waited to speak until in range.

"William Kelly," she said. "Keegan's in the bin again. IAB count number one-hundred and seventy-six." She adjusted her shoulder mic, pulling some hair from the chord. "They're going to hang him out to dry, and you know it."

Max opened the passenger side door, sat down, and snapped the shotgun into the brace.

I closed the trunk, got into the driver's seat, and tested the lights and siren.

"Hold that thought, lover," I said and picked up the mic to call us mobile.

"Six-Three-David to Central, two-man unit in service. Two hundred on the O2, good on trauma and first aid kit. Good afternoon."

I sighed and took the Redman tobacco pouch from my front pocket. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and waited.

"He's a repulsive jerk." And there it was. She shook her body in disgust, her tongue hanging from her mouth as if gagging. "That's just disgusting," she said while shaking her hands and pointing at my tobacco.

"Okay, sweetness, I'll bite. What did he do now?"

She rolled her eyes at me and scoffed. "You know I hate when you condescend to me, sweetness. And he's your partner. You should know, Prophet. You and he are thick as thieves, so you're lucky you're not in there with him."

Maxine was my fiance. She was breathtaking and spectacularly gorgeous, and I loved her like a fool. She had wavy, long, brown hair that dropped well below the shoulder and pulled into a ponytail. She had the most incredible eyes to match and darker skin for her Irish heritage. Her body was athletic, tight, and incredibly sexy.

"Come on, sweetheart. I'm not that stupid," I said.

"Yes, you are. He'd be lying through his teeth, and you'd be swearing by him."

She threw her peaked cap onto the dashboard as always. Mine was tucked safely underneath my winter jacket, spare uniform, and about fifteen used spit cups from my tobacco.

"Do you ever even wear that thing?" I asked.

"I hate it, but we're supposed to have it with us all the time, Kelly."

"Yeah, try wearing a piss cutter for eight years... then it wouldn't be so bad."

She sighed and smiled at me. "You're an ass. And can you please speak English and stop with the Marine Corps stuff? I know eight years of old habits die hard, but you're not there anymore, buddy."

Ignoring her poke at my years of service in the Corps, I switched the conversation back to Keegan.

She rolled her eyes with a mocking, "whatever, Prophet."

Being the Prophet, it was my street name. The gangbangers tagged me with it for my ability to catch them in lies and predict the outcome of their situations. With certainty, I could project when shit would go down, somehow knowing who was involved. I teased everyone and would say my, but it was nothing more than a cop's intuition. Sometimes, though, it felt very much like second sight. How could I explain that to people without sounding like a psycho?

"Oh God, I need a cup of coffee. You want one?" I asked. I had a feeling this was going to be a long shift.

"I think you need to stop with the coffee and the tobacco," she said. "You look like you are losing weight again." She gave me the once over with a stare.

"I'm sitting at one-eighty-five. At five-foot-ten, I'm on the mark."

"Well, you don't sleep well and haven't been to the gym in weeks. When did you last go to Veteran Affairs to check your medication?"

I tapped my hip repetitively, part anger and part stress. I hated when she ever so gently spoke about my Post Traumatic Stress. But it wasn't my fault that it was there. And I sure as hell don't want to be a statistic on some mental health brochure or billboard.

"So, across the street?" I asked. "Coffee, tobacco, and?"

"I need gum, so let's go," sighed Max with a smile. "Don't think I didn't notice your clever little digs and redirection tactics. Someday we're going to talk about what happened, just saying."

We pulled into the Super Wawa gas and convenience store, and I dragged myself from the RMP. I beat Maxine to the front swinging doors and held them open. She pushed past me into the store without a word.

"After you, lover," I said. "I can't wait until July 7th. Then, we'll be cocked, locked, and ready to rock. A brand new married couple."

My attempt to deflect the conversation from Johnny Keegan didn't work, and I regretted using him as an earlier diversionary tactic. Though she bit her lip and winked at me, she wouldn't give up that easily.

"My problem with Keegan," she said. "Is that he treats women like crap, and you know it."

She leaned against the counter as I poured myself some joe and listened.

"He's arrogant. He acts like he's above the law. He breaks the rules and gets away with them. And one day, it's going to catch up with him, and you'll go down with him."

I said nothing, just listened to the radio traffic. It was busy with other units checking into service for the shift. We smiled at each other, I kissed her forehead, and we went to the RMP.

I would never admit this to her, but I admired him. Yes, he treated women like a plaything and was as arrogant as they came, but nothing ever bothered him. It seemed to roll off his back.

Unfortunately, I wasn't so lucky.

"The time is 15:35 hours. Central Operator, 1-5-7, Heights Police forty-nine, station number K.G. 49 Bravo. Six-Three Precinct in service. Good afternoon. Stay alert - stay alive. Stay alert - stay alive."

A small congregation of uniforms gathered just outside of the vestibule. Max talked with her regular partner, Esteban Marcello, as I stood between the driver's side door and the car. I took one sip of the coffee and dumped it.

"The hell with it," I said under my breath. "I'll use it for a spit cup."

I opened the pouch and took some leaves. I was rolling them in my palm when I felt a chill, but not from the weather. On the contrary, it was a sudden and overbearing presentiment of blackness. My hands trembled, and my mouth turned to cotton.

In an instant, I saw flames, a woman's face, and an infant. A sharp stabbing pain hit my abdomen and chest. What the hell? I fought off a rising panic. Breathe, Kelly. Breathe. There's nothing wrong. You're safe. Yet no matter how much I assured and reassured myself, that face, her haunting high-pitched screech, cut through my bones. This isn't supposed to happen. I've done everything they said.

It was as if my skin stretched across my cheekbones and jaw, almost like being flayed alive. Then nothing. It was gone.

I was panting, sweating, and my hands were trembling as I finished rolling the tobacco and put it in my mouth: deep breaths. Move, Kelly.

"Come on, Max," I said. "All units are in service. I love you, but we need to get oscar-mike."

She walked over to the car and looked at me through her eyebrows. Then, she pushed her jaw forward with her mouth open and glared.

"You've got to be kidding me. Really? Didn't I just ask you to stop with the Marine Corps stuff?"

We got in and closed the doors. My heart was pounding, and I couldn't stop shaking. Hide it from her.

"Hey," she said. "Kelly, I'm just kidding. Are you alright?" Her playfulness turned to concern. "Are you crying?"

She leaned over and wiped a tear that had not yet reached my cheek.

"I'm fine, and I know." I leaned over and asked for a kiss.

"No," she said playfully. "I'm mad at you."

She leaned over when I put the car in reverse and gave me a quick peck on the cheek anyway.

"That's only because I have to marry you," she said. "But I'm still mad at you."

"Okay." I smiled. "We're on the move."

Max hit me on the arm.

"Ha-ha," she said as she made a mocking face at me. "Oscar-mike means 'on the move.' I get it."