Michael was stunned, frozen in place at what just happened. An alert sounded in the station at the unauthorized teleportation. The technology was so rare that he had never seen it used before. Marshall had already left the room with his weapon drawn, as though he could use it to stop what had just happened. But while everything was going on, Michael’s mind was still lingering on what she had said and what he had seen. A single face now filled his mind, the younger brother, William Blake, who was there on that night.

It was only a few moments later that he realized Marshall was stood in front of him, trying to get his attention.

“Come on,” he urged him. Michael followed without argument as his mind ran through a series of possibilities. It felt as though his mind had been sleeping since the incident and was now starting to wake up, like a machine engaging its gears of thought. Marshall led him down a series of corridors. While the alert had gone quiet in the building, security personal ran from place to place and the security drones were now active, UAV (Unmanned aerial vehicle) passed by the windows, their sensors scouring the surrounding ground for her. But Michael knew they would not find her. While he was not an expert in technology, especially teleportation which the United Earth Republic had limited its use, he knew it potentially could send someone many miles.

They soon reappeared back in the central office. It was even more busy that earlier, and he could see the chief of the special reaction force, the hardened officer, Magnus. On the other end of the office was the chief of police, Agnis Watts. She was only a small woman, dark hair and seemingly normal in all respects. But she was a heavily experience veteran of the force and had the ability to put men twice her size in their place, with her sharp wit and iron will. Michael knew what was coming, the interrogation that would hinder his investigation, and likely she would want to stop him from continuing and go back home. But he was determined, a fire he thought finish had finally come back.

As he approached her, her stern gaze fixed upon him, he was still pondering everything that happened, the murders, cards and the connection to Ethan. He needed to track down William.

“Michael in my office, Marshall, stay outside,” she ordered. Without a word he followed her inside. It was fairly large inside, with a large desk and several bookshelves of what appeared to be antiques, since people did not read books anymore. She sat behind her desk, the wall behind her covered in accolades, pictures and awards she had received for a near life time of service. Michael was not concerned, he barely looked at her as his mind was focused on the case.

“You’re looking better than the last time we spoke,” Agnis said. Michael finally met her eyes. “Are you still drinking?” he tensed up, as though prompted by her words he had to fight a sudden compulsion to reach into his pocket for the flask.

“No,” he lied.

“I’m glad to hear, you were one of my best, I’d hate to lose you,” she said, a slither of care slipped through her hard exterior that would have been missed, if he had not known her for as long as he did.

“What happened in the interview room?” she asked, carefully watching his face.

“I questioned the suspect, as I attempted to discover her connection with the series of murders involving Tarot cards,” he began to explain.

“And what did she tell you?” Michael considered his words carefully, not willing to discuss the vision, the memories that had come back to him and leave Agnis with no option but to send him home. Before he could spin a lie that she might believe the door opened.

Stood in the doorway was a tall woman, in a black suit. Michael was confused for a moment, not recognising her as a member of the police force, but then his eyes fell on a small badge on her collar. The badge was a pair of eagles, crossed over a ring, with one resting on the ring. He gave an internal sigh and wished he could walk out.

“Agent Maxwell,” Agnis said in recognition.

“On behalf of the FDI (Federal Division of Investigations) I am taking over the Tarot Card Killer investigation,” she announced.

“Tarot card killer?” Agnis responded.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“Yes, seems to be what the media have named him,” the agent sighed.

“We have it under control,” Agnis rebutted. Michael felt as though he was trapped between a rock and a hard place. As they continued to argue who was running the case, Michael was just glad he did not give away everything he knew. This was his case and he wanted William. But the federal agent was not willing to give in, and there was nothing they could do about it.

Agent Maxwell left them both in an awkward silence in the office, Michael could sense Agnis looking at him carefully, evidently expecting an outburst from him, but Michael was deep in thought as he considered what he was going to do, what to reveal.

“Michael, you should go home,” Agnis suggested, “there is nothing else to do, and your sister has been calling,” his eyes snapped on to hers like lasers. The thought of going back home, going back to that hole he had spent the last several months hiding in. His heart began to race, as he could feel the strengthen temptation to take a drink. The urge to drink from the flask, still in his pocket became so strong he left the office before she could see his weakness. He pushed passed a group of administrators and went to the nearby toilets. He struggled to control his breath as thoughts of going back home, going back to the last several months of mental numbness resurfaced. He turned on the tap and splashed his face to try and snap himself out of it, but all it seemed to do was add to the growing panic in his mind. He took out the flask, finally about to give in and stared at the sealed vessel. But before he could loosen its top, a strong hand grabbed his shoulder.

It all happened so quickly, as he turned around, he went to punch the first person he found. But it was Marshall, who took the thrown fist and twisted Michael to the ground, pressing his fist against his back.

“Is this what you want? You’re going to give up, go back home and drown yourself in that bottle,” Marshall growled, the calm patience he had used to guide Michael earlier now gone, to be replaced with fire in his eyes. Michael struggled back to his feet; the fight taken out of him. The toilet door opened as an officer was about to enter.

“Not now!” Marshall snapped at him and he quickly left.

“I’m off the case!” Michael shouted, “what’s the point,”

“This is more than just a case, this is your second chance,” Marshall shot back, “I’ve seen your eyes, the spark, you either continue with this case regardless of Agnis, or the feds, or just go home and drink that trash in your hand,” he was angry, “I will pour it for you,” Marshall suddenly pulled the flask free of his hand.

“I’ve been patient with you, but now this is the point you make a choice,” Marshall warned. He opened the bottle, almost immediately he could smell the alluring sent of whiskey. Like a thirsty man in a desert, he had been given a chance to quench his thirst.

“What is it going to be, are you going home and spend the rest of your life in that hole you dug for yourself, or are you coming with me,” he pushed him. He was about to reach for the flask when he remembered the vision he had been shown, the death of his friend and partner Katie, his sisters voice lingering in the back of his mind, begging him not too. Michael took the flask from his hand; he felt his whole-body shake. Marshall watched him carefully as he looked inside at the amber liquid. Michael’s hand hovered over the flask, trembling as though the weight of his entire past hung in the balance. He could almost taste the whiskey, the warm burn sliding down his throat, numbing the storm that had raged in him for so long. His eyes fixed on the amber liquid, the allure of oblivion, just a heartbeat away. But then, Katie’s face flashed in his mind, vivid and haunting, her voice as though stood with him now. The night she was taken from him, the blood, the shattered trust. And his sister’s voice, like a soft plea that cut through the haze: Don’t lose yourself, Michael. Don’t, Katies voice told him. He let out a slow breath, his fingers tightening around the flask. For a moment, everything around him blurred, the noise of the station, the cold light of the bathroom, even Marshall's expectant gaze. All that remained was a choice he had avoided for too long. Without another word, Michael moved to the sink. His hand shook so badly he thought he might drop the flask entirely. The scent seemed stronger as it tried to pull him closer to the edge. But with a sharp intake of breath, he tipped it out. The whiskey spilled into the sink, swirling down the drain, disappearing drop by drop, like all the nights he had wasted running from his pain. He stared at the empty flask; his breathing uneven.

A strange silence filled the space between him and Marshall, who stood watching, his hard expression softening just slightly.

"You made the right choice," Marshall said quietly, his voice steady again.

Michael closed his eyes, the ache still there, but something inside had shifted. He was not fixed, not even close, but for the first time in a long while, he felt something other than defeat. He turned to Marshall and nodded.

By the time it had emotional sank in, the fact he was able to pour away a liquid only a week ago he would have gladly drank off the floor, they were both back at the car. He looked at his hands and while they had stopped shaking, he had to admit that he felt vulnerable, as though he had given up a crutch and now it would be up to him, he just wondered what his sister would think of what he had just done, would she even believe him after all those days she would come to his apartment stinking of drink. The suffering he had put her through left him feeling guilty.