The rain hit the glass. It fell in sheets. Cold. Wet. The station was loud. It was always loud. I stood by the window. I watched the drops slide down. They ran together. They made long, thin trails. Like tears. But no one was crying. Not here. Not anymore.

My name is Arthur. I was a sergeant. I had the stars on my collar. I had the badge. I had the weight of it. I carried it in my chest. It was heavy. It was cold. It did not go away. It never went away.

The office was small. It was gray. The walls were peeling. The air smelled of dust. It smelled of old paper. It smelled of fear. I sat at my desk. I looked at the file. It was thin. It was black. It had no name. Just a number. 704.

I opened it. I read it. The words swam. They blurred. I blinked. They came back. Sharp. Clear. Brutal.

The suspect was a child. Ten years old. A boy. He had stolen bread. He had stolen milk. He had stolen from the orphanage. He was hungry. He was scared. He was alone. The report said he was dangerous. It said he was violent. It said he was a threat. It lied.

I closed the file. I put it in my drawer. I locked it. The key turned. Click. It sounded like a bone breaking.

I went to the corridor. It was long. It was dark. The lights flickered. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. I walked. My boots echoed. Thud. Thud. Thud. I passed the cells. Iron bars. Cold stone. I saw them. The prisoners. They stared. They did not speak. They just watched. Their eyes were empty. Their eyes were full.

I stopped. I looked back. One boy was in the cell. He was thin. He was pale. He was shivering. He held a rag. He held it to his mouth. He did not look at me. He looked at the floor.

I knew it was him. I knew it was 704.

I turned away. I kept walking. I could not stop. I could not look. I was a cop. I was a law. I was a wall. I did not crack. I did not bend.

But my heart did. It beat fast. It beat hard. It beat wrong.

I went to the commander’s office. The door was open. Commander Halloway sat there. He was big. He was red. He had a face like a brick. He looked at me. He did not smile. He never smiled.

"You look tired, Arthur," he said. His voice was low. It was rough. Like gravel.

"I am fine, sir," I said. My voice was flat. It was dead.

"Sit down."

I sat. The chair creaked. It was hard. It was cold.

"704 is a problem," Halloway said. He tapped the desk. Tap. Tap. Tap. "He is not good. He is bad. He is a stain. We cannot keep stains."

"He is a child," I said.

"We do not care what he is," Halloway said. "We care what he is. He is a criminal. He is a threat. He must go."

"Go where?"

"Off the books," Halloway said. "Gone. Clean. Simple. Like a spot on a shirt. You scrub it out. It is gone."

I looked at him. I saw his eyes. They were cold. They were dead. Like the water in the tank.

"No," I said.

Halloway stopped. He looked at me. His face went white. Then red. Then white again.

"Excuse me?" he said.

"I said no."

"You do not say no," Halloway said. He stood up. He was tall. He was huge. He loomed over me. "You follow orders. You protect the peace. You keep the line. Do you understand?"

I stood up. I was shorter. I was thinner. I was alone.

"I understand," I said. "But I will not do it."

Halloway smiled. It was a bad smile. It was a sharp smile. It cut.

"Then you are done, Arthur," he said. "You are done. Pack your things. You are out."

"I am not out," I said. "I am here. I am the law."

"The law is me," Halloway said. "You are a tool. Tools break. Tools are thrown away. You are broken. You are gone."

He pointed at the door.

"Go."

I did not go. I stood there. I looked at him. I looked at the desk. I looked at the wall. I saw the mirror. It was on the wall. It was old. It was cracked.

I looked in the mirror. I saw myself. I was old. I was tired. I was dirty. I was a man. I was a ghost.

I saw the boy in the mirror. He was behind me. He was in the cell. He was in the office. He was everywhere.

I turned around. Halloway was still standing. He was angry. He was ready to hit me.

I moved. I moved fast. I grabbed the desk lamp. It was heavy. It was brass. It was cold.

I swung it.

It hit Halloway. It hit him in the head. It hit him hard. He fell. He fell back. He hit the chair. The chair broke. He lay on the floor. He did not move. He did not breathe.

I stood there. I held the lamp. My hand was shaking. My heart was pounding. I was alone. I was free. I was dead.

I looked at him. I waited. I waited for him to get up. I waited for the guards. I waited for the end.

Nothing happened.

The rain fell. The wind blew. The station was quiet.

I walked out. I walked down the corridor. I passed the cells. I stopped at 704. The boy was there. He was looking at me. His eyes were wide. His eyes were wet.

I opened the door. The lock clicked. It opened.

The boy stood up. He looked at me. He did not speak. He just looked.

I nodded. I pointed to the window. It was high. It was open. The rain was coming in. The mist was thick. It was pale. It was soft.

The boy looked at the window. He looked at me. He nodded.

He jumped. He held the bars. He climbed. He moved. He was fast. He was light. He was gone.

He was in the mist. He was in the rain. He was free.

I watched him go. I watched until I could not see him. I watched until the mist swallowed him.

I closed the window. I locked it. I turned around.

I was alone. I was in the cell. I was in the office. I was in the mirror.

I walked to the commander’s office. I looked at Halloway. He was still on the floor. He was still still.

I picked up his phone. I called it in. I called it in as a suicide. I called it in as a tragedy. I called it in as a mistake.

They came. They saw him. They saw the lamp. They saw me.

I did not say anything. I did not move. I did not run.

I sat down. I put my hands on my knees. I looked at the floor. I looked at the dust.

The rain hit the glass. It fell in sheets. Cold. Wet.

I closed my eyes. I felt the pain. It was in my chest. It was in my hands. It was in my bones.

I felt the boy’s face. I felt his hunger. I felt his fear.

I felt the weight. It was still there. It was still heavy. It was still cold.

But it was different. It was not a burden. It was a gift. It was a price.

I paid it. I paid it all.

The door opened. The guards came in. They had guns. They had badges. They had orders.

"Arthur," one said. "Arthur, get up."

I did not get up. I stayed still. I stayed calm. I stayed here.

"Arthur, get up."

I closed my eyes. I saw the mist. I saw the boy. I saw the rain.

I opened my eyes. I looked at the guard. I looked at the gun. I looked at the wall.

I stood up. I put my hands up. I turned around.

I walked out. I walked to the rain. I walked into the mist.

The rain hit my face. It was cold. It was clean. It was real.

I did not look back. I did not look down. I did not look in.

I looked forward. I walked. I walked. I walked.

The mist swallowed me. The rain covered me. The world went dark. The world went quiet.

I was gone. I was free. I was dead.

I was alive.