The rain hit the window.

It was a heavy rain.

Cold.

Gray.

I sat in the chair.

My uniform hung on the hook.

It was black.

It was dry.

I touched the fabric.

Smooth.

Cold.

It was my second skin.

It was my soul.

I had worn it for twenty years.

I had bled into it.

I had screamed into it.

Now it just hung there.

Waiting.

The room was small.

A cell.

Not a jail cell.

A holding room.

For suspects.

For the accused.

I was the accused.

I was the officer.

The irony was sharp.

It cut deep.

The door opened.

It did not knock.

It swung wide.

Two men entered.

They wore dark suits.

They looked tired.

They looked angry.

I did not stand.

I stayed in the chair.

I looked at my hands.

My hands were steady.

They were clean.

There was no blood.

There was no dirt.

Just skin.

Just bone.

"Thomas," one said.

His voice was low.

It was flat.

"Thomas Bradshaw."

I nodded.

I knew the name.

It was my name.

It was my burden.

I knew the other.

Elias Thorne.

My partner.

My friend.

Or so I thought.

He stood by the door.

He did not look at me.

He looked at the floor.

His face was pale.

His eyes were red.

He was crying.

Or trying to.

"Did you do it?" Elias asked.

His voice cracked.

It was a whisper.

I looked up.

I looked at him.

I saw the fear.

I saw the hate.

I saw the guilt.

It was heavy.

It was thick.

It filled the room.

"I don't know," I said.

My voice was quiet.

It was calm.

I was tired.

So tired.

"I don't remember."

The words hung in the air.

They were heavy.

They were false.

I remembered everything.

Every second.

Every breath.

Every drop of blood.

The second man stepped forward.

He was tall.

Broad.

His name was Miller.

A detective.

A hunter.

He held a file.

It was thin.

It was black.

He placed it on the table.

He did not speak.

He just watched me.

His eyes were hard.

Like stone.

Like iron.

I stood up.

My legs were stiff.

They hurt.

I walked to the table.

I opened the file.

There were photos.

Blurred.

Dark.

A body.

A street.

A night.

I knew the street.

I knew the night.

I knew the body.

It was not a stranger.

It was a child.

A boy.

He was small.

He was innocent.

He was dead.

I closed the file.

My hand shook.

Just once.

Then it stopped.

I was calm.

I was still.

The storm was inside.

It was quiet.

It was deep.

"Why?" Elias asked.

He stepped closer.

His hand was out.

He wanted to touch me.

He wanted to save me.

Or judge me.

I did not let him.

I stepped back.

I put my hand up.

"Stay back."

My voice was low.

It was a command.

It was a warning.

He froze.

He looked at my hand.

He looked at my face.

He saw the truth.

It was there.

It was always there.

I was not the victim.

I was the wolf.

I was the monster.

I had eaten the light.

I had swallowed the dark.

"The system," I said.

I looked at Miller.

"I followed the rules."

My voice was steady.

"I did my job."

Miller shook his head.

He looked sick.

He looked ashamed.

"You broke the law," Miller said.

"You killed a man."

It was not a man.

It was a boy.

But the law does not care.

The law is blind.

The law is cold.

The law is dead.

I looked at my uniform.

It was still on the hook.

It was black.

It was perfect.

It was a shroud.

I had worn it with pride.

I had worn it with fear.

I had worn it with love.

Love for the cause.

Love for the order.

Love for the silence.

It was a destructive love.

It ate everything.

It ate the boy.

It ate my soul.

It ate Elias.

It ate me.

"I am sorry," I said.

I did not know who I was sorry to.

The boy?

Elias?

Myself?

The words were small.

They were weak.

They were dust.

Elias stepped forward again.

He moved slowly.

He was afraid.

He was brave.

He was a traitor.

He had betrayed his oath.

He had betrayed his badge.

He had betrayed his fear.

He reached for me.

His hand was open.

It was a plea.

It was a prayer.

I let him take my hand.

Our hands touched.

Cold.

Warm.

Alive.

Dead.

The connection was fragile.

It was a thread.

It was a lie.

It was a truth.

I pulled away.

I turned to the door.

I looked at Miller.

He was holding his gun.

His hand was shaking.

He could not shoot me.

He did not want to shoot me.

He was broken.

We were all broken.

The system was broken.

The world was broken.

I walked to the door.

I did not look back.

I could not look back.

I had to go.

I had to end it.

The pain was too much.

The guilt was too heavy.

The silence was too loud.

I pushed the door open.

The hallway was long.

It was dark.

It was empty.

I walked down the hall.

My steps were slow.

My breath was shallow.

I felt the weight.

It was on my shoulders.

It was on my chest.

It was in my bones.

I reached the end of the hall.

There was a window.

It was open.

The rain was still falling.

It was hard.

It was cold.

It was clean.

I walked to the window.

I looked out.

The city was gray.

It was wet.

It was alive.

It was indifferent.

I thought of the boy.

His face.

His eyes.

They were closed.

They were peaceful.

I had given him peace.

I had given him death.

I had given him silence.

It was my gift.

It was my curse.

I thought of Elias.

He was waiting.

He would follow me.

He would try to stop me.

He would try to save me.

I would not let him.

I had to go alone.

I had to bear the weight.

I had to carry the sin.

I thought of my uniform.

It was in the room.

It was on the hook.

It would stay there.

It would fade.

It would rot.

It would disappear.

It was my mirror.

It was my mask.

It was my grave.

I climbed onto the sill.

The wood was wet.

It was slippery.

I held on tight.

My heart was beating.

It was fast.

It was loud.

It was the only thing left.

I could feel the rain on my face.

It was cold.

It was clear.

It was a baptism.

I looked at the ground.

It was far away.

It was small.

It was nothing.

I closed my eyes.

I opened them.

I jumped.

The air rushed past me.

It was cold.

It was fast.

It was free.

I was falling.

I was flying.

I was gone.

The ground was coming.

It was gray.

It was hard.

It was real.

I did not close my eyes.

I watched it come.

I watched it grow.

I watched it fill my vision.

I was ready.

I was still.

I was at peace.

The impact was brief.

It was a blur.

It was a flash.

It was a stop.

I did not feel pain.

I did not feel fear.

I did not feel anything.

There was only the rain.

There was only the gray.

There was only the silence.

My uniform hung in the room.

It was dry.

It was black.

It was waiting.

It would wait forever.

It would fade.

It would disappear.

But it would stay.

It would remember.

It would hold the shape.

It would hold the ghost.

It would hold the dust.

The rain kept falling.

It washed the street.

It washed the blood.

It washed the truth.

It washed the lie.

It washed the world.

It washed me.

I was dust.

I was nothing.

I was free.