Marlo's Signs

Dating Marlo is a bit like dating an impaired person. An emotionally impaired person.

She has these signals. And I know what you're thinking: she's a homicide detective. You're her partner, so, of course you have signals. But these are different than when we wave at each other to hide, or be quiet.

These signals are reserved for when we get called onto a really intense case and it's too much for her to handle. If it's too much for her, it's generally too much for me as well. Usually the cases have to do with kids.

"... We assume that's when her body was left in this bucket. The fishermen reeled it in and called us." One of the policemen that initially arrived on scene tells us what he knows about the case so far. I'll spare you the gruesome, unthinkable details.

While the man talks, I feel like I'm going to vomit. And I really might. So, I look at Marlo. Her face is straight, her eyes are bored. She looks at me disinterested, like she's been told the tale of the young girl's torture everyday since she was born.

I used to find it unsettling.

Instead I swallow my disgust. I need to be more like her. 

The policeman walks us over to the body. It's different from what you see in the movie's. Because people in movie's don't cover their nose. There is an unmistakable stench of death the emanates from a decomposing body. You aren't human unless you cover your nose with your shirt and gag, staring at the body through squinted eyes.

Unless you're Marlo.

She stares down at the two year old like she's looking at her car keys, or a vase. She doesn't care. She doesn't even acknowledge the smell. She examines the body, and then nods at the police officer. And then we walk back toward the car. I look down at my notepad that fits in my hand. I haven't written anything down. I was too disturbed and too distracted.

I glance at her notepad. She already has several pages of notes. 

"This case can be open and close." She says blankly.

"Open and close?" I puzzle. I am always puzzled by her. And then she grabs my hand. It's a sign. I immediately push her hand away from me. I know I can't hold her hand to comfort her.

"The visions are very clear. I should be able to pick out something." She deadpans. I nod, still in shock that she grabbed my hand.

"Let's interview the fishermen. If we can't find any leads, we'll go back to the office, compare first impressions, and make a few calls." I divert.

There are no new leads.

Once back at the office, Marlo tells me some of what she’d seen in her visions thus far. While her visions are always correct, they don't hold up in a court of law. I labor over the files, reading and re-reading her first impressions, trying to connect what she’d seen in the girls memories to what we knew. We're the last one's in the office.

It’s obvious to me that without Marlo’s vision’s leading us to new evidence, or a miracle, this case will never be closed. 

"So, the bruises around her forearms and the blunt force trauma were from the same-" 

Marlo coughs before I can finish speaking. I look up with lifted brows and she is hiding her face behind her hair, facing away from me. I get the hint. 

There won't be any talking about this one. Not aloud, anyway.

"Sorry." I say quietly, in a whisper. The room is silent for a moment. She can't even look at me.

Then she grips her desk.

I say nothing on the off chance she's able to endure it, but she looks up at me and I know it's over. I know it's the end of the little girl's case. And it's worse, because Marlo will blame herself.

Marlo is crying. Not just a little bit. A lot. She begins to heave in air, her body convulsing.

I hate this part. More than anything I want to take the pain away. I squat down and turn her swivel chair toward me.

My knees hurt and she can tell by the way they crack. Sometimes that makes her laugh. It doesn't this time. She continues to sob. I want to know what she saw. But I can't ask.

I try to comfort her, grabbing her hands in mine and massaging the tops of them with my thumbs. I look up at her face. She's trying to stop crying. She's really trying.

"It's okay. We'll figure it out on our own." I say. We won't. I know that. There isn’t enough evidence.

We need Marlo's visions. We needed her not to feel.

"I- I-" Marlo tries to speak. I hush her. She's not making sense. But she wants to say it, whatever it is.

"I-'m so-rry." She struggles through the words. I know she is talking to me. But she's also talking to the little girl. And she's talking to all the people who cared about the little girl.

I can't take it. I lean my forehead against her hands. I don't let her see that I'm crying too. I want to be strong for her. I subtly wipe my eyes against my arm, hoping she won't see.

Her breathing is regulating.

"I really tried." She says, wiping under her eyes. My hands rest empty on her thighs, waiting for her hands to return to mine. They don't.

I reach up and wipe away a tear she missed, and then I grasp a tendril of her hair and move it from her eyes. 

"It's okay Marlo." I say softly. We both know it's not true, but it's what she needs to hear. "It's okay." I repeat, cupping her face and forcing a small smile onto my own. She can't look me in the eye.

When I first met Marlo, I thought she was a bi-polar genius. One moment she would be laughing, or mad, or sad. That was the part of her that I began to fall in love with. The next moment, or more specifically, when we would start a homicide case, she was more calloused and calculated than anyone I had ever met. That's when she gets the best results. 

That's why Marlo is assigned the difficult cases.

But the sacrifice she undergoes for her assignments is more than one person should bear. 

Marlo's power is tricky. When she sees a lifeless body, human or otherwise, she receives visions from the last week of their life. Sometimes those visions wake her up at night. It's worse when we have more than three cases at a time, because her visions can get mixed and jumbled. I assume that’s why she lives in this small town, where she is generally not too overwhelmed by the work. 

Marlo explained her power like this: a clock begins to tick down when she sees a lifeless body. She can experience visions for up to a month. But the clock stops when it's been a month since first seeing the body, or, more importantly, if she feels too many emotions. That's why she detaches herself from situations. It's why she asks me not to joke, or touch her when we're on a case.

There's no way to know the exact limit to the amount of emotions she can feel before the clock hits zero. Marlo can't always tell for sure if an insignificant emotion she experienced will make the clock tick down faster. But if she breaks out in laughter, anger, tears, or any emotion really- the visions stop. Every time.

She only had one afternoon with the little girl's memories before she broke down. That's when I know the case is bad.

"Let's go." I offer, standing up. My knees pop again, but Marlo still doesn't laugh. She's despondent, staring at the floor. She takes my hand anyway.

Sometimes I wonder if she'll leave me.

She once said, "any emotions are negative emotions when I'm on a case." That sentence haunts me at times like this. But that's not what keeps me up at night. 

I never ask her about it. I’m afraid of the answer. 

But I worry most of all that she hates herself when she allows herself to feel.

And when she can't feel, she sends me signs. Small ones, in her own language, for when she's unable to communicate what's happening within her, when she can't allow herself to feel yet. I try my hardest to pick up on them.

As I lock up the building, she's waiting for me in my car. And I know I'll be holding her tonight. And I feel so guilty.

As horrible as it is, I can't wait.

Because these times in between cases, are the only times I get to hold her.