A Study In Rosewood {Ele}

When you've held a career for longer than a year, you tend to come across anniversaries. Such as one's tenth anniversary of work, or his birthday, silly things, birthdays. I never did quite understand the idea of celebrating looming death. There are good ones too, I suppose. Celebrations of victories, births, the like. Then, of course, there are celebrations of death. Of a life that has ended being ended for almost a year. It's odd celebrating that I suppose, or even marking it. Not hard to remember when I've begun to mark the days I've lived without all the people I've lost. I have lost a lot over the years too, co-workers, grandmothers, victims, and of course, friends. I have lost a lot of those. I might look disgusted and say that I don't have friends, but it isn't logical to say that I don't. There are many people that I could call 'friend', especially after I decided that it was alright if they weren't on the same intellectual level as me.

There are also many people I could call dead, and be extremely accurate.

A lot of the time, I could pinpoint the reason for the death. Sometimes they didn't listen to me, when I told them to stop or I would shoot. Sometimes when I gave them advice on what to do they didn't listen and got themselves killed, or they were taken down by a criminal I couldn't stop in time. Sometimes they were a citizen, minding their own business and I called them into my games to help me win faster. sometimes they got killed because that's what people do, they die. Once or twice they've gotten bored of living. Other times they were taken from me, once or twice they went willingly. What about when I told them what to do and they died. That too, yes. A man can't always be right, every time. Even if it is me. I won't always be right, and I think I've come to realize that in the years I've had here, among the people of the District. What the hell am I saying.

I'm always right, I am, I always have been. I have been in this profession for almost ten years now, the last quarter of days and minutes will come to a close soon. If anything, I'm an old veteran in this. Of course I'm always right, yes. I am. Sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me lately. I've been off for ages now, only half here. I feel like I'm hanging on by my fingertips, but it's beginning to become painful. I guess that's what I get for trying to stow away all these stupid emotional feelings. I see why they could be useful, but I don't think I need them. It is a lot easier to pretend to feel nothing, and that is what I am good at. Still, I can't help feeling like I might be going even madder than before.

I see them sometimes, the ghosts of people that I knew. I'll be walking down a street, and they'll be just out of reach in District One's busy crowds. Or, they'll just be there, right here, in my flat. They speak to me, ask me questions, laugh. I ignore them, I have never acknowledged their presence, not once. I know they are there, but not for me. This is no longer a case of 'missing' them either, this is something more. It is like an ache in my chest when I see them, and no matter what I do, it refuses to go away. I couldn't ask Riley to check what it was, that would be far too....wrong. I asked Eden to. She said my vitals were absolutely fine, and gave me pills for heartburn just in case. I understand the mechanics of heartburn, but this does not feel the same at all. It feels like I am thawing out.

I haven't left the apartment in days, except at the deepest night, when all sane people have gone to bed. That is when I go out, when the scoundrels of the District are playing. I thought I could find myself there, in that time of night. I came across crimes yes, but I didn't care to arrest any of them. None of them were the boy I so wanted to catch. Do I still want to catch them? I've never felt so off before. Anything could happen at this point and I don't think it would matter. I find myself uncaring about anything. If it's sunny that doesn't matter, if it's raining it's the same. Nothing seems to effect me anymore, but it's in a bad way because I don't even have a mystery to throw myself into. For me, it's been solved for ages, I'm just waiting for the right time. Am I, though? How could I blame a serial killer for killing. I have far too much blood on my hands. I could just turn myself in, being an avox could be fun.

I have responsibilities, however. Last week, I received a message from my old team in the Capitol, offering me my old position. I could go back there, and throw out all this nonsense of feelings because I wouldn't need them. Ah, but how could I admit defeat and go crawling back there? Yet maybe I am defeated. Everything is still and calm but pointless. I feel everything, too much. I think I might be done with this whole thing, the saving people thing that I've been doing. Finished all together? Maybe, maybe not. For now though, I am done saving them. It's time they looked after themselves I think. I could do with a nice little holiday in District Six, doing sciencey things. Is that running away? Logically, it is, I know it is, but I'm not sure if I care.

My communicator beeps at me, and reaching into my pocket I pull it out. Odd little things, I never liked how round they were. I modified mine ages ago to be elongated and thin, pen sized and easier to keep on me. The light blinks, so I click the button that accesses the communications, and a man's voice leaks through, "You wanted me to tell you when he left, and he's just gone." Clicking it off again with a sigh, I straighten my bow tie, and pull on my shirt. It's not like it matters how good I look, but I don't need to appear weak in front of my brother. The last time I let myself do that, there had been no comfort from him. I hadn't let myself appear any less than perfect for almost ten years now, that pattern wasn't going to change.

I smirk softly as he attempts to open the door with an old key. I know he watches me all the time, has someone keeping an eye on me. There was that one man in the office for a good few weeks, but I sent him back home to his master, tail between his legs ages ago. I like my privacy, you see, but unfortunately my brother insists on intruding on it. He gets the door open finally, and as it swings open, I position myself in the center of the room, one hand in my pocket, the other hanging loose by my side. It has been years since I last looked at him with my own eyes, but I don't extend my hand, or even look the slightest bit surprised. Of course I knew he would come personally this time, I have been slipping. Still, Kaelen Dempsey is still relatively small game, and therefore not worth my brother's time. I doubt he's ever given a damn about my personal well-being either.

"Micro. I'd say it's a lovely surprise if it wasn't such a cankerous one."

Narrowing my eyes, I remember the package that came in the mail last year, only a week after the end of the games. Of course it had gone right into the garbage. He had to know that too, otherwise why bring it up? Even if they were my favourite, I'd hardly eat something made by my mother for me. It was more like to contain poison than it was to be nourishing. As a general rule, I don't trust anyone, least of all my family. For him to even bring up the Games was just to see how it would effect me. I know, he doesn't actually care about whether or not it did, it's purely scientific for him, as it should be. Freezing over, I keep my visage empty.

"You surely know by now how I feel about kind of thing, brother. I have never had a chickie, nor will I ever, don't be ridiculous."

Taking a seat across from him, I absent-mindedly flip my communicator into the air and then slip it back into my pocket.

"You're looking old Micro, twenty-five going on fifty, are we?"