Redacted

You walk down the hallway, suspicion on Your tongue. You remember it all, except You don't because Your memory is awful. 

Everything is capital R E D A C T E D. Redacted. Gone.

You feel it all is more accurate, the shiver running through Your bones, and Your hair, the creeping feeling of this has happened before aching through Your skull and slinking along Your spine.

This feeling is [REDACTED]

It's in Your blood, this feeling. This restlessness of sleepless nights and open heart surgery where You can't save the patient. You try anyway.

You're here now, can't turn back because she's already seen you.

"Hello." She says. And her eyes are watercolor.

"Hello." You say. And your eyes want to paint hers with everything You want to say but You can't. Suspicion is on Your tongue and You know what she's done. She [REDACTED]

Why can't You remember?

"You're in uniform?"

"I am."

"You're never in uniform when you come visit me, detective."

"I am today."

"Why?"

Oh, suspicion is on Your tongue, You vile pig. You can't even look her in the eye, like any other man would, when You take her wrists and slide the cool metal onto them, a snap to shut them closed.

" [REDACTED] [REDACTED] you are under arrest for the suspicion of aggravated assault, attempted murder, and burglary of the home of an officer of the law. 
You have the right to remain silent."

You wish you did too.

The hurt in [REDACTED]'s eyes is worse than anything You have ever done.

A dirty cop, a dirty detective. What a ride, [REDACTED].

You don't want to be a cop, no one does. Either power or to do good, that's what they want. Now, You don't want to do either. 

You want to go home.

Oh, but what did You do to that? What did You do to home?

[REDACTED] is what You did. And You know it too.

God, You pray though praying isn't Your thing, why?

She cries. God laughs. You lead her down the stairs.

Couldn't You have covered it up for her? She's Your friend, isn't she? She's Your pet project?

You could've, You've done worse. 

But not for her? Not when it matters?

Oh what a deal, what a power-trip, what a mortal who thinks they're a god. Those mortals always ended up getting done with the fastest.

How fast do You think You'll go down?

[REDACTED] is how fast. I know, why wouldn't I?

Why don't You?