Bryan Nowak [Nowak - The Reverent Dead

Carrie tried to remember the old saying about sailors and skies as she drove toward the police station. Something about red sky in the morning and red sky at night. While the meaning escaped her, certainly the red sky at night stood out as the better of the two. If that was the case, the delightfully pink evening sky suggested the next day would be a gift.

Too bad I am destined to spend most of it sleeping after the night shift.

Following in the footsteps of her father, Carrie Pettygrew made her way through the police department with the encouragement of her friend, boss, mentor, and now police chief, Melonie Dixon. Every step of the way, she proved a quick study. Smart and quick on her feet, she was well liked on the force.

Only recently achieving the rank of acting detective, she threw her heart into the work. As the new detective, she drew the short straw and had to cover the dreaded night shift, an assignment no one ever took willingly. Still, Carrie wanted to make a good impression. Not one to mind the work, it gave her access to all the city's stranger late-night cases. She hated being away from home at night far less than her longtime boyfriend Dirk did, as he preferred to have her home at night.

While waiting at a red light, she checked her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her mother used to comment that her gray eyes looked troubled and stormy upon first glance and softer after you spent time with her. She once wanted to be a model, but being several inches short of the minimum ensured the runway was not a suitable career choice. Growing up in a cop family almost guaranteed her a spot at the police academy.

Crossing the intersection of Central Avenue and Fourteenth Street, she rolled down the window and breathed in the night air. It was intoxicating.

The police scanner had been eerily quiet while she dressed for work that afternoon. Any cop worth their badge allowed a sixth sense to inform them something was about to happen.

Dirk sensed it too. He seemed extra clingy this afternoon. She admonished him to stop pestering her so she could get on with her day, unwilling to admit to herself that she wanted him as close to her as possible. Without an active case to work, Dirk Bentley, in his role as private investigator, would not be allowed to ride along.

Carrie tried to calm her unsettled nerves. Outside the cars window, a light breeze rustled the autumn leaves. The smell of decay played in her nose forced thoughts of Dirk to give way to ideas of caramel apples and spiced cider.

The radio broke in with the calm, sardonic voice of the county dispatcher. "Attention, all cars in the vicinity of Central and Twentieth, Center Point Security is reporting an intrusion at twenty-twenty-eight Central Avenue."

Reflexively, Carrie reached for the radio while glancing up at the street sign indicating she passed the intersection of Seventeenth Street and Central Avenue. "Fifteen-seventy-one to base, responding. You can show me on duty and on scene. Will wait for backup. Advise, no lights or sirens." Carrie, being the on-call detective, was the ranking officer by default on the night shift. Lights and sirens spooked criminals, and she did not want to chase someone down a dark alley, at night, on the first few minutes of her shift.

"Affirmative, Fifteen-seventy-one, I show you on scene and on duty." After a brief moment she continued. "All units responding to twenty-twenty-eight Central Avenue be advised no lights or sirens."

A block away, Carrie brought her car to a stop several houses from the address. The building, a gothic church built in the early part of the twentieth century, dominated the area. Sodium-vapor bulbs bathed the front of the church in an eerie yellow glow. The light breeze sent leaves whirling along the sidewalk to undeclared destinations. Nothing living moved, and there was no sign of anything amiss beyond the morose night scene of the urban landscape.

A few minutes later, a crackle erupted from her radio. "Detective Pettygrew, Officer Collins and Sergeant Davis here for backup. What's your play?"

Davis, a veteran on the force and someone you wanted to have your back in a fight, stood out as the model of a great cop. The executive officer of the National Black Law Enforcement Officer Association, local scoutmaster, and chairperson of the PTA, his call sign on the department was All American. Carrie's nerves steadied slightly, knowing the caliber of her backup.

Officer Collins, in sharp contrast, glowed goth-white, loved grunge metal music, and weighed in at about one hundred and fifty pounds soaking wet with rocks in his pockets. The patrolman struck Carrie as someone in constant need of more food, more exercise, and more time in the sun. With an uncanny inability to fill out any uniform, no matter how tailored the fit, the kid looked perpetually like an intern on his first day. However, the young patrolman's reports showed him to be a competent officer, and when not working, Collins spent much of his leisure time studying police procedure, and Davis trusted the rookie.

"Davis, I think there are two entrances. Have the new guy keep an eye on the front while we check around back. You head around your side, and I'll cross the front. Meet me at the rear entrance." Carrie had reservations about taking a new cop into a potentially dangerous situation. She and Davis understood the layout of the building. After the all clear was given, she planned to take Collins through to check the place out.

"Ten-four, Detective," Davis replied.

She watched the light inside their squad car turn on and both men step out. The patrolman crept to the front of the church, avoiding the illumination of the streetlight and ensuring no one looking from the windows would see the wiry officer lurking in the shadows. Davis, also avoiding the light, turned down the alleyway opposite the one Carrie now made her way down.

Drawing her weapon, she took careful steps as she picked through the broken bottles and abandoned shipping boxes left to rot. The last thing they needed was noise to scare off any would-be suspects. Clearing the side of the building, she scared a cat and almost disturbed the peaceful slumber of a homeless man snoring inside an old children's sleeping bag.

In the darkness, she breathed a sigh of relief, making out the form of the sergeant standing behind the church. Someone had broken the streetlight covering the entrance, giving Carrie a good idea where they would begin their search for an intruder.

Sergeant Davis pointed down a short flight of stairs. Carrie could just make out the steel basement door of the church. Its metal frame had been pried open like a tin can, dispelling any hope she had of a false alarm. Approaching the steps, pricks of moisture broke out on her skin while her heart raced like it wanted to jump out and run away from the scene of the crime.