C. Adams: Version 2.0

2013…

Officer Amber “Birdie” Farran was running steady in pace, but quite fast in pursuit of a young man suspected of bringing cocaine, among a long list of other things, into her quiet little hometown of Dagsboro. The fact that the kid was running spoke for itself. She’d simply approached him in Glata’s Diner, where she happened upon him drinking a cup of black coffee at the bar. As soon as he’d seen her uniform and the fact that she was obviously approaching his direction, he scurried off as if he was a garden rabbit who’d just been spotted by a house cat.

Artie Finkle. That was the kid’s name. Or at least that’s what the high school boys told Birdie when they approached her with the information. He went by “Ice King” now (though the boys referred to him as ‘Icing’, which apparently was more acceptable for the kid’s personality), and it was deftly obvious that he, himself, was using his product, to have come up with such a ridiculous nick name. Although his given wasn’t much better.

Finkle was born and raised in Dagsboro. He’d moved about a year ago to The Big Apple, and clearly had become influenced somewhere along the line. He was a good kid; used to be, anyway. He’d been gifted from a young age, in art. Beautiful sketches and paintings still decorated some of the halls in the local school. Artie had left Delaware to go to the big city and become famous. Certainly, that hadn’t worked out as well as he’d planned.

Birdie was saddened by his case in particular. It reminded her of everything she’d come to this town to escape from. Amber Farran had, at one time, been an officer with the Federal Drug Enforcement Agency. She was good at her job. Great, even; one of the best. Something happened, however, five years ago, that changed her life forever…

2008…

“Brian! You need to stop ignoring me, jerk,” Birdie spoke playfully, into her cell phone, wedged between her ear and shoulder as she balanced a paper cup of coffee and juggled with her keys to get into her car. “I know you work like crazy on the weekends, but seriously! It’s been two days. Call me!” She ended the call and stuck the phone into her jacket pocket, allowing her to get her car door open.

Brian was Amber’s younger brother. He’d been the one to give her the nickname, “Birdie”, at a very young age. Their mother always assumed it had been easier for him to say in his toddler years, and the name was sort of picked up by everyone around them. That aside, the two were the best of friends their entire lifetime together, which at this point was a mere twenty-seven years.

Though their career choices were vastly different, Birdie being a DEA Agent, and Brian being a freelance writer, almost every other aspect of their interests, likes and dislikes, were similar, or at least arguable and respected by both parties. In other words, even if one of them wasn’t much into something the other was, if they were doing said thing with the other, it was mutually enjoyable.

Brian loved his sister; looked up to her, yet stayed respectfully and stubbornly away from the aspects of being “wholesome” or “safe”, as he’d call it. In the same respect, Birdie loved her brother; sometimes more than anything else in the world. He drove her mad, at times; did things that made her want to scream in frustration. Things like taking drugs, prescription or not, in order to get his work done. Yet, even with the power of her job title, she let him do as he wanted. A firm “talking to” now and then, trying desperately not to sound like a parent. But trying to use his respect for her, however much there might be, to maybe get him to realize that it scared her for him to do things like that. Especially with the things she saw on a regular basis in her job.

At this point, Brian had been clean for a good while. It was nice to see him back to his normal, non-drug-induced self. They’d even taken the previous weekend off and driven up to visit their parents together. Leslie, their mother, and their father, Brian Sr., were separated. Senior was in a home; had been for years. Visiting him had not been on Brian’s list of things to ever do again. To him, his father was already dead. He’d done his mourning and he didn’t want to do it again.

Senior was essentially dead to the world. His mind was so far lost in the depths of the seas of dementia, that it’d been two years since he was even able to realize someone else was in the room with him. It had been hard enough knowing he didn’t really know who they were. But not even being able to have some sort of conversation, was a different story. So in a way, Brian was right. But Birdie wanted to go and see him for the simple fact that it had been two years, and she felt like a neglectful daughter. She wanted to go alone. But once Brian got wind of this, he insisted on going with her.

Why he seemed so adamant about that, she would never know. He’d said it would make her sad to see him, and he wanted to be there for her, which was understandable. But Birdie was a strong person; never showed when it really hurt. So it was a bit of a lost cause for someone to want to tag along in the event of something that she was always determined never to expose.

He went with her anyway. Senior was as they’d expected, though Birdie had hoped for a moment of recognition. Just one. There was nothing, however. They left that place and got into the car. Brian turned to his sister in all seriousness, “I want you to put me out of my misery if I ever get like that.” Birdie scoffed at the request. Brian had always been terrified to end up like his father. Mortified of the day that his brain would start to deteriorate and he’d no longer be able to write. “I’m serious,” he continued.

“You want me to assist you in killing yourself,” she replied, not so much as a question. “You realize I could lose my job; go to jail…”

“So do it without getting caught. Can’t be that hard. You’re a Federal Agent. You know what they look for.”

“I’m a drug enforcement agent, not a murder investigator!” she looked at him, incredulously.

“Yeah, but you’ve gotta know something about this stuff!” he retorted. She did, of course. But she’d wanted the subject to be dropped. “Either way, I’m sure you can figure out something before then.”

Birdie shook her head, rolling her eyes as she let out a frustrated breath. “You’re an idiot, you know.”

“Just promise you’ll do it,” he sternly voiced.

“Fine,” she replied, looking out the window.

“Say you promise!” he raised his voice.

“Fine! I promise!”

“Look at me and tell me you promise me that you’ll kill me if I get like that.”

Birdie took a couple of breaths, angered at the fact that her brother knew without a doubt that she’d never break a promise; especially not to him. She turned her head and met his eyes. “I promise, I’ll… kill you, if you ever get like that,” she recited.

“Thank you,” he replied in an impatient way as he turned the ignition to start the car.

“You know, you’d probably do a better job of avoiding destroying your brain if you stay off the drugs,” she chided, playfully.

“I know. Shut up,” he put the car into reverse.

Brian had dropped Birdie at her mediocre apartment in Georgetown, and headed back to Arlington where he had a nice town home, much bigger than he’d ever need. The point in having it, he’d said, was to entertain guests when the time would arise. In the three years he’d lived there, two such occasions had ever occurred.