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Detective Mavish
Prologue
It was almost a year since the killing of my partner.
There was never a time after that I wouldn’t think of him. I spent every night searching: for the man who took from me the only person I rely on; for the man who took from me the greatest guide who ever walked me through my thoughts; for the man who has no remorse; for the man who could’ve sold the world for not but a moment’s pleasure and felt nothing of it.
Perhaps it’s unhealthy for me to dehumanize him. After all, we’re all people, and people can be driven to do terrible things. We’re all creatures of habit. Were it my partner in his shoes, maybe he would’ve done the same. For all I know, the person who did this could’ve lived an otherwise virtuous life where he does nothing but give.
But that doesn’t mean I’m not a creature of habit. No whatever what he may have ever given, I will not let him forget what it is that he’s taken.
I’ve been down every street in Mississauga only to find his footsteps. I’ve had a swing in every dive bar in Hamilton only to find an empty glass at his table. And now I’d settled down in Toronto, the final resting place of the broken detective: no leads, no ideas, no nothin’.
I was nowhere with it.
I eventually gave up on it, not knowing where to go. But sometimes, I would go down to the docks where we found his body, and I’d look back on the old times.
I’d think back to us together in the academy, back when I hadn’t any senses about myself - not that I do now. I’d think back to us together on the force, before we both took to the desk instead of the streets. I remembered when these were better memories.
And all I had was hope. Hope that we’d reach closure.
Detective Mavish I
Written By: Vincent Diego
Fiction
Prologue
It was almost a year since the killing of my partner.
There was never a time after that I wouldn’t think of him. I spent every night searching: for the man who took from me the only person I rely on; for the man who took from me the greatest guide who ever walked me through my thoughts; for the man who has no remorse; for the man who could’ve sold the world for not but a moment’s pleasure and felt nothing of it.
Perhaps it’s unhealthy for me to dehumanize him. After all, we’re all people, and people can be driven to do terrible things. We’re all creatures of habit. Were it my partner in his shoes, maybe he would’ve done the same. For all I know, the person who did this could’ve lived an otherwise virtuous life where he does nothing but give.
But that doesn’t mean I’m not a creature of habit. No whatever what he may have ever given, I will not let him forget what it is that he’s taken.
I’ve been down every street in Mississauga only to find his footsteps. I’ve had a swing in every dive bar in Hamilton only to find an empty glass at his table. And now I’d settled down in Toronto, the final resting place of the broken detective: no leads, no ideas, no nothin’.
I was nowhere with it.
I eventually gave up on it, not knowing where to go. But sometimes, I would go down to the docks where we found his body, and I’d look back on the old times.
I’d think back to us together in the academy, back when I hadn’t any senses about myself - not that I do now. I’d think back to us together on the force, before we both took to the desk instead of the streets. I remembered when these were better memories.
And all I had was hope. Hope that we’d reach closure.