| Subject: Priority Mail 1 |
Author:
Nikita507
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Date Posted: Sunday, October 17, 10:49:16pm
In reply to:
Nikita507
's message, "Priority Mail (A New Story)" on Sunday, October 17, 10:48:18pm
Multi-tasking was one skill that Michael did not need to learn when he had left Section One on that fateful day. He had to learn to become a father to Adam who had been traumatized. He had to learn to become part of society and blend in with them. He had to learn to not always question every person who was attempting to help the single father out. He had to learn how to cook food that Adam would eat. He had to learn to just live again.
But in many ways, part of the thing that would have allowed Michael to learn to live again was left behind on that bridge, in the body of Nikita. He found it difficult not to think about her at least once each day, even six years later, while Adam was on the cusp of becoming a teenager, Michael thought about her.
Pushing away from the centrifuge machine that he had just placed the newest delivered piece of evidence into to process, Michael went back to the multi-tasking that had made it easier for him to function when he threatened to fall apart. He didn’t dare work out in the real work force, but he had quickly made a name for himself as a private forensic scientist who unraveled the hardest pieces of evidence, sometimes even for the government. It was that interaction that told Michael that Nikita must have made it safe for him to do such work, not that he had ever heard anything from her.
On the computer screen, Michael flipped to the newspaper website to see what may have happened in the past couple hours that he had been processing various pieces of evidences for the several cases that he was contracted out to work on.
Angel Protector Finds Wanted Rapist that Police Found Elusive
Michael rolled his eyes as he scrolled through the story. He didn’t know how the press could even think that the same person was doing this protective kind of thing that they were now identifying as being the work of one person. It started maybe six months ago when an older woman came forward and told the press about a story of a woman beating up the man who had snatched her purse. The woman didn’t say a word, just handed the purse back to the older woman before disappearing. But the purse snatcher had gotten away.
The next day, the purse snatcher was found on the back doorstep of a police substation with an envelope that proved that he had not only snatched the purse the previous day, but had been part of a purse snatching ring.
It was first a one-of-kind story, but a week later, someone had managed to take down a drug ring, and it wasn’t a person in the police department. The rumors were that it was a governmental agency, like the FBI or CIA who didn’t want to take the credit, but all agencies came forward and said that they had nothing to do with the drug ring that had been found chained up around their truck that was filled from top to bottom with top grade heroin.
The reports of who this person was changed and that told Michael that it wasn’t the same person. Sometimes there was no evidence of a person even being there, although those apprehended always said that it was just one person. There was just no way that it made sense that one person could do all of the work that was being done. It was a woman about two months ago who called the protector her angel and claimed that it was a woman with blonde hair. But that was all that she could say. Except that she had been protected again her abusive ex-husband that had tracked her down even once she had relocated from another state.
Michael was a scientist and he needed to see proof of this angel, and until then, he was skeptical. He had offered to help the authorities to track down the identities of the people who were doing this, but they seemed reluctant to do such a job. Michael didn’t understand. They didn’t want vigilantes out there doing the work the police should be doing.
Michael turned to look back at another computer screen that was processing a partial print. His way of identifying the print would not hold up in a court of law, but it would be enough to guide the police in the right direction and hopefully help them further. He was also running a bone fragment to see if he could extract enough DNA form it for a family to have a positive identification on a burned body.
“Dad? You were to come to the park this afternoon!” Adam’s voice shouted out as Michael noticed that the door slammed. He glanced at the clock and found it hard that four hours had passed from the last time that he had looked at it. He was turning towards to the door to his lab as Adam came up to the door and dropped his bag to the ground. “Ms. Peters brought me home.”
“That’s nice of her,” Michael commented as he looked at his son, he was growing up so quickly. Adam rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Thank goodness she has never seen you like this, dad. You look like a complete nerd!”
Michael tilted his head and Adam stepped forward. “If you can’t have the hair in the evidence, why don’t you just cut it? These three ponytail things make you look like a freak… and why don’t you just get contacts…”
Michael took the reading glasses off and placed them down as he looked at his son. “I don’t need the contacts. I won’t cut my hair.”
“That’s because Nikita liked it long,” Adam shrugged his shoulders and Michael felt his chest tighten. Years ago he had a decision to make and it was the hardest one to make. But he did not feel that he could protect Adam if he lied to him. Adam had been through enough in his young life so Michael told Adam the truth, no matter how much it sounded like a bad spy story. At first Adam didn’t believe him, but it was clear over the years that Adam grew to just understand his father had told him the truth. The fact that Adam could talk about Nikita, when knowing that Michael had been forced into being with Adam’s mother, was a feat that Michael wasn’t sure what he thought about it. In ways, Adam wielded Nikita around like a weapon against his father, especially of late now that Adam was trying to get Michael to date.
“Are you reading the newest article about the angel?” Adam pointed to the screen and smiled. “I have to say… that person has some balls, Dad.”
“Adam…” Michael warned and Adam rolled his chocolate eyes at his father. “Come on, Dad. Admit it… it might be impossible for one normal person to do this… but if you weren’t home all the time, I would think the angel would be you. Maybe it is some rogue operative…”
Michael shook his head as he rolled to the computer screen and turned it off. “Proof Adam. That is what people need to come up with in this case. This is probably all copy cats now.”
“Nah…” Adam shook his head back and forth as he went back to his bag and pulled out an envelope. “I almost forgot… this was in our mailbox… Didn’t you get the mail today?”
“I did,” Michael turned to look at the pile that was on his desk. He always was careful about checking the mail as sometimes the evidence got mailed without being dropped up by delivery. That often happened with the pro bono cases that he had taken on as those families often did not have the funds that would allow them to hand deliver or at least express post the evidence. Michael took the envelope from Adam and noted that it looked like it had come through the mail, but something was different about it.
“I’m going to go get some cookies…” Adam attempted to skip out of the lab. Michael stood up and cleared his throat. Adam groaned. “An apple.”
“Nancy left us a casserole in the oven…” Michael revealed and Adam forced out a smile. “More Mexican…”
“We would be having soup if she didn’t leave us food today, Adam,” Michael reprimanded his son about the help that Nancy, an older woman that Michael hired to come in to do odds and ends in the house, such as cooking, three days a week. Michael took on a lot being Adam’s father, but he also knew that there were things that he wasn’t good at doing. “You should be thankful for her.”
“Because of her, I don’t get new clothes as often,” Adam retorted as he disappeared from the area. Michael turned back to the envelope but he did not pick it back up. He pulled on new latex gloves and moved it to a magnifying glass. Michael put his glasses back on as he started to review the letter.
There was a clue about where it had come from, but Michael wasn’t so concerned about that right now. He would have time later to explore that, if he needed to. It would be wrong to spend hours and hours about the where it had come from if he had found out that the contents was a piece of junk mail that a neighbor had accidentally received and dropped into their mailbox.
Opening the envelope, Michael could see that it was a letter. He pulled out the one piece of paper with tweezers and unfolded the paper, his blood running cold as he looked down at the crisply written words. Familiarity of the handwriting buzzed in Michael’s mind, but that did not register at the moment. The words mattered.
Five years and four months ago, your daughter was born.
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