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Assistant: Title: I've Been Ready For You (For So Long)
        Author: hayloftown hayloftown 
        Chapter: 4/30 
        Summary: Distrustful and disheartened, Lucy Chen has been betrayed by her home department and has now found a new station to call hers. In order to truly settle in, however, she must find a way to learn to trust again. Her first choice? Someone just as skeptical as she is: Sergeant Bradford.Title (and fic) inspired by the song Orange Juice by Noah Kahan
        Contents: Chapter 4: Visitation
    

    


      
        
          
          (See the end of the chapter for  notes.)
          
      
  

  
  
    
    
  “It’s the third Thursday of the month.”

  Tim nodded, not lifting his gaze from his bowl of oatmeal he had instinctively made for Hallie this morning. He was never the biggest fan of it, but she was. She especially loved if Tim mixed in mashed fruit and drizzled honey on top. And, like every morning for the past several years, he had woken up, made it, and went to retrieve his daughter from her bed, forgetting that she wasn’t there. 

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Same way I always feel,” he murmured between bites of sloppy mush. How does Hallie like this sh@t? It’s awful. “Annoyed. Angry. Sad. Is there anything new?”

  “Tim…” 

  Looking up from the bowl, he met his mother’s eyes. 

  It didn’t matter how long he’d done this dance– he would never be used to it. Never be accustomed to the custody and visitation schedule, never be used to his wife’s inability to actually come half the time, and insistence on being punctual other times. If Tim is five minutes late to drop off, then he is a monster, but if she is missing for four months at a time, then that’s just Isabel. 

  God, he missed her. 

  Both of them. 

  “She showed up this time,” Tim murmured under his breath. “And I should be happy, because it means she remembered her daughter. Remembered she had a family. But eventually, I stop wanting her to remember us, and start wanting to just… have us all put out of our misery.”

  They had discussed this before. Mom nods solemnly. 

  “I want to hope that Isabel is trying to start fresh,” Genny stated, closing Tim’s fridge. “And that she is using Hallie as her inspiration and token to get clean.”

  “There’s a lot of things I want and hope,” Tim replied with a groan, running a hand over his face. “But we all know how this will end up.”

  The same way it ends every other visit. 

  Isabel showed up yesterday. The social worker drove her and showed proof of housing. According to the courts, with a place for Hallie to sleep, there is no reason Isabel 
  
    can’t 
  
  have her overnight. Tim has to transfer the car seat from his truck to the social worker’s car. He has to pack Hallie’s bag. He has to promise to get her Friday morning, with a kiss on the head. He has to watch her thrash and cry, surrounded by strangers who are supposed to be family. 

  On Friday morning, he will pick her up. 

  Her things will be destroyed. Her clothes will be tattered, stained, ripped in some way. Her carseat will be covered in something or another. Hallie’s hair will be matted. She will not have bathed since Tuesday night. She will be hungry, and scared, and yet, she will be afraid of leaving Mommy. She will beg Tim on the drive home to bring Mommy home with them. She will be angry, and scared, and hurt, and they will have to work all of next week to rebuild that trust, all over again.

  And then, they will rinse and repeat. Isabel might show. She might not. And they have to live with it. 

  His youngest sibling, Emily, strolled in, her toddler on her hip. In a terrible way, he hates when Emily comes over on “Third Thursdays”. He hates the reminder that his little sister had the perfect life, the perfect family. He hates that she so easily kept her son on her hip, safe and sound, and that she will go home to her husband later and have dinner as a family. He hates that she can stand in his kitchen and console him about his broken family while living in a perfect one of her own. Hell, even her upbringing was 
  
    perfect
  
  . Her dad was a good man. Their mother and Emily’s father stayed together. She went to a private school, and had all three meals every day, and never wondered if it would be safe to go home. She was everything Tim ever wanted. 

  “I’ve spoken with the lawyers,” Tim confessed, sighing. “And we think we might…I might contest the visitation order at the next court session.”

  “Oh, God…” Emily murmured, sinking down next to their mother. “Do you think they’ll drug test her?”

  “Maybe?” Tim sighed. “But there’s not a soul who wants to charge her with possession. No one wants to see her fail. I-I just…” 

  “Want Hallie to be safe,” Mom said for him. He nodded. “Like every other parent. You want your baby safe. You’re not wrong for wanting that.”

  And yet, despite all his resentment for his little sister, he still turned his gaze to her, as if searching for her approval. 

  She’s young. She’s so, so young. She’s barely in her mid twenties. Tim had already graduated high school by the time she was born, and yet, he looked for her approval. As if her history of being the epitome of a healthy family gives her the ability to be the judge of his. 

  “Two cops going head to head in a court seems like… a nightmare. Especially with your situation,” Emily sympathized. “But if you think that’s what you need to keep my girl safe? You do it.”

  The family ate breakfast together and tried to distract Tim from his worries on what Hallie could be doing right this moment. Did Isabel take her to daycare? Will she keep Hallie home? Will she call the school if she does keep Hallie home? What is his daughter eating for breakfast? Did she have dinner last night? Did Isabel give Hallie her medication, her vitamins? Has Hallie needed her nebulizer at all? 

  He wonders if this worry is justified, or if it’s the manifestation of betrayal. 

  When Isabel had first found out she was pregnant, when they first discovered they would be parents, there was a lot of complex emotions. Bad histories with bad influences. Parents who instilled complicated feelings about parenthood. Feelings of inadequacy, and fear, and concern over their involvement with both their jobs and their personal life… But there was one thing they knew for certain: that this baby wouldn’t know the horrors they experienced. 

  And yet… well, you know the rest. 

  Long nights in the NICU when Hallie was first born. Isabel, checking herself out AMA and leaving her phone behind. Picking a name by himself. An open heart surgery on his newborn. Failed health screenings. Asthma treatments. Cerebral Palsy screenings. Bi-annual full-body exams at their local children’s hospital. No contact with her mother for the first six months of her life, and patchy at best visitation ever since. Hallie wasn’t just experiencing that hardship– she was living it tenfold. 
 
  Another month. 

  Lucy finds the time passing faster than ever before. 

  Perhaps its work keeping her busy. It’s learning the ropes of a new division, and making friends there. It could very well be that Lucy was, almost, maybe, 
  
    happy
  
  . 

  And as she dressed herself this morning, as she covered up the cut on her head from her takedown last week, and put on a face of bravery, she found herself wondering how another month had come and gone. 

  Seven now. 

  She spent three in, and now seven out. Somehow, though, it still feels so fresh. It’s almost been one year. 

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Jackson asked quietly. Lucy met his eyes in the mirror and gave him a sad smile. “You know I’ve been dying to yell at him.”

  “I’ll be okay,” Lucy insisted. “It’s just another visitation.”

  “That he doesn’t deserve.”

  “It’s not for him,” Lucy reminded. Jackson nodded. “You’re gonna be late.”

  “You’ll call if you need me?”

  “Jackson.”

  “Just say yes.”

  “Yes, I will call you if I need you. But I won’t,” Lucy declared. “Now go.”

  “Okay,” he sighed. “Be safe.”

  “You too.”

  A few seconds later, she heard their apartment door shut, and Lucy let out a shaken breath. 

  She doesn’t blame Jackson for worrying. Not at all. Those first few visits were… hard. Jackson used to sit in the car for hours waiting for her, unable to even turn on the radio out of fear he would miss something going down on the other side of the prison doors. He used to wait for her to come out, and when she would, he would hold her while she sobbed uncontrollably about how f@ck@d it all was. And when she finally felt ready to tell him the new information that was promised at the end of each visit, he was first to take charge. 

  It would be different this time, though. She doesn’t need to hand her caseload over anymore. She can get justice for herself. 

  Opening the medicine cabinet, she stared down the empty pill bottles from the incident. She never found it in her to toss the bottles, even after their reason for use had come and gone, even after they were long since emptied. She might not need the Xanax and Misoprostol anymore, but there is a memory in the orange plastic that doesn’t exist anywhere else. 

  She reached for the escitalopram on the top shelf, recently filled, and pulled her once-daily pill out, swallowing with a rinse cup full of water. 

  Just like every month, she arrived at Bauchet Street with an elevated heart rate. She parked in the same spot she did every month. She reapplied the perfume that sat in the center console to cover the scent of her anxiety-induced sweat. She never wears this perfume anymore. Only on visits. Only to make him insane. 

  She walked in and smiled at the woman she sees every month behind the desk– a sweet older lady named Jackie. She gave Lucy the same smile in return. 

  “How’re you doin’ today, sweetheart?” Jackie asked, already buzzing her through the first door and holding out a bucket. Lucy pulled all her items out of her pockets and put them in the bucket. 

  “Getting better each month,” she said back. “Who do you have today?”

  “A new girl, Greta. Already told her to be sweet on you.”

  “Where would I be without you?” 

  “Not sure, honey,” Jackie chuckled. “You got your gun or badge on you?”

  “No ma’am. Left it at home this time.”

  “You really are getting better,” she commented with a smirk as the next guard came to retrieve her. “See you in an hour, Lucy.”

  “See you.”

  The search goes the same way it always does. First, a metal detector, then a pat down. Greta apologized under her breath as Lucy winced, and once the search was through, let her proceed. The next guard to take over was a different regular. They make small talk as they drift through the entrance of the prison and make their way toward the private room on the base level. Lucy finds herself adjusting her shirt, messing with her hair, trying to appear as normal as humanly possible. As healed as possible. As 
  
    moved on
  
   as possible. 

  As normal, when she reached the door, she hesitates. The accompanying staff wait patiently at her side. She stared through the one-way glass and frowned. 

  Perhaps, one day, this will all be just a memory, like all those orange bottles. 

  She opened the door, and he sat up swiftly. 

  “I was starting to think you weren’t coming,” he said, smiling as Lucy approached. He rose, reaching to embrace her. She didn’t so much as smile. Just sunk down into the chair opposite him. “How are you, Lucy? You look good.”

  “You look like Hell,” Lucy said back, hesitant to make eye contact. When she did, she was flooded with memories. Nights out, and nights in. Smiles and tears. Laughter and pain. Today, they are dawned with two black eyes. “So much for protective custody.”

  “This is nothing,” he murmured, scanning her face. “It’s easy in comparison to solitary. Can’t say I don’t deserve it.”

  “I can agree with you there.” 

  There’s a silence that falls between them. Lucy, as bravely as she can muster, staring straight through him. Him, at ease in her presence. Those black eyes, once a sweet brown with long lashes and easily glazed over with tears. He used to cry at any movie with emotional undertones, and now he’s in a prison jumpsuit. 

  “Enzo. It’s the third Thursday. I’m here. Time for your side of the deal.”

  “I get an hour,” Enzo recalled. Not to be rude– not to throw it in her face, or to hurt her. He frowned. “You got hurt.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “You have a bump on your head.”

  “I also got stabbed nine times and lived to tell the tale. I don’t think a little head injury is anything to fuss over.”

  Enzo’s shoulders drop. Lucy wondered what he was thinking– she wondered if he was thinking at all. If he ever really thought about her, about them. If he thought about the consequences, or the suffering, or the pain. 

  “So you’re back in the field?”

  “Yes.”

  “Which division?”

  “You’re hilarious if you think I’ll tell you the truth,” Lucy responded. He gave her a half smile. 

  “Figured.”

  “Yes. I’m back in the field. Got signed off after my visit last month by my psychiatrist and primary care. My new sergeant offered me the job without meeting me. Apparently, almost getting killed by your fiance makes for a desirable detective.”

  “Lucy…” Enzo frowned. He looked down at her hands, folded on the table, then fleeted them to her neck. She hadn’t worn a lick of jewelry today. “Did you sell the ring?”

  “It’s currently sitting in evidence with the rest of my clothes,” Lucy responded simply. “If I get it back after the trial, I plan on selling it, yes. Might as well make my time worth something.”

  “It cost a pretty penny, so try to get it’s full value. I think I have the receipt at our apartment.”

  “You’d think if you spent that much, you wouldn’t waste it,” Lucy muttered. “Whatever. It’s done now. I don’t care.”

  “Can’t you just pretend to-”

  “Did you really think cutting a deal with the DA would make me any less p@ss@d at you?” Lucy spat back, interrupting him. “Think about it from my perspective for five seconds, Enz. I want you to really think about it. You almost got me killed. You lied to me for 
  
    years
  
  . You used me, used 
  
    us
  
  , for the miniscule possibility of not being discovered. You 
  
    killed people
  
  , Enzo. I don’t care what you’re doing to assist the DA, you are a 
  
    murderer
  
  .”

  “I didn’t mean to hurt-“

  “But you 
  
    did,
  
  ” Lucy replied coldly. “I don’t care what the intentions were. I don’t care what you meant to do. People are dead. I have lost… 
  
    everything
  
  , Enzo. I lost my fiance, my job, my home, my-my-“ her voice broke, just as it did every time she got too close to the touchiest subjects. The things she couldn’t bring herself to address in therapy, much less to 
  
    Enzo Morelli. 
  
  “At the end of the day, you are going to be convicted for murder, and I will never have to look at you or your stupid face ever again.”

  Sometimes, she missed the old days. 

  She missed waking up in the mornings to fresh brewed coffee. She missed wearing nothing but his t-shirts. She missed having someone wait to see if she’s coming home at the end of her shift, someone to wake up with in the middle of the night when she needs a midnight snack. Someone who held her hair when she threw up, who poured her another shot at the bar after a long day, who tucked her in when she was too tired to reach for a blanket. 

  But as she looked at the man she once loved, who she planned to spend forever with, all she felt was hatred. 

  Anger. Pain. Hatred. She was torn piece from piece because of this @ssh@l@. He ruined her life— more than just some breakup. More than just a job. Her 
  
    life. 
  
  Her 
  
    purpose. 
  
  Her 
  
    existence 
  
  and 
  
    future. 
  

  All because he wanted a quick buck. 

  “Angeles Crest Highway,” Enzo finally said. Lucy spared a look up at him. “A mile following and two miles north of the trail.”

  “You realize I have no obligation to stay once you’ve given me this information?” Lucy asked, eyebrows furrowed. 

  “I have no interest in torturing you.” Enzo hesitated. Lucy frowned. “You have the information. You… you can go.”

  “What’s the catch?” 

  “No catch,” Enzo insisted. His eyes skimmed her over slowly. “I’ll see you next month, Lucy.”

  Enzo stands and knocked on the door. The guard glanced in and nodded, waving down another prison guard to take Enzo. Lucy sat, stuck in place, watching her ex walk out. The man she was supposed to be marrying soon. The person she planned to grow old with. 

  Orange was not his color. 

  When she walked out, Jackie made a subtle comment— 
  
    quick this week? 
  
  But Lucy just shrugged it off and walked out. 
 
  She arrived at Wilshire angry, hurt, and confused. 

  “Detective Chen? We weren’t expected to see you for another hour,” Lieutenant Grey said as she walked into his office, interrupting whatever meeting was happening between him and Sergeant Bradford. “Are you alright?”

  “I’m on the clock and I have a location,” Lucy stated, heart in her throat. “I’d like permission to take a team out to the mountains.”

  “A location?” Bradford repeated. “For what?”

  “Not sure,” Lucy said. “Either a body or a safehouse. Either way, I don’t want to be alone out there when I find it.”

  “Do you think Morelli is still identifying bodies?” Lieutenant Grey frowned. 

  “Morelli, like, Enzo Morelli? The Topanga rat?” Bradford scowled. “Isn’t he in prison?”

  “Twin Towers Los Angeles,” Lucy confirmed. “Each month he provides me with new details to either prosecute or bring clarity to a family. Over the past seven months, we’ve turned up twelve bodies and halted production in two warehouses.”

  “You?” Bradford said back, raising an eyebrow. 

  “Me.”

  Bradford shared a look with the lieutenant, who nodded in approval. 

  “Screw it, I’m in,” Bradford determined. “I’ll round up some patrol and a couple Metro units. Meet you in the port in thirty.”

  With that, the sergeant stood and marched out. Lucy looked at the Lieutenant with a less than pleased expression. 

  “Respectfully, sir, but Sergeant Bradford has been the ultimate pain in my ass. The last thing I need today is his snide remarks,” Lucy stated. “I will take anyone over him.”

  “Chen…”

  Lucy was still reeling, though. Reeling from her fiance being in a prison jumpsuit. Reeling from his black eyes and scruffy face. She’d never seen her clean cut man so unlike himself. So unreal. She ran a hand over her face, pacing over to the very chair Bradford sunk into only seconds ago. She was enveloped by his abandoned warmth and basked in it for a semblance of comfort. 

  “Tell me what you need,” the Lieutenant requested quietly. 

  “I need my fiance to not be a criminal,” Lucy exhaled shakily. “And for my deepest cover to not be blown. I need to-to have survived it all and come out better. Sir, I have tried so hard these past couple weeks to prove myself worthy of the opportunity I was given, and Sergeant Bradford has dismantled that at every turn.”

  “Respectfully, detective,” Lieutenant Grey murmured, sitting forward so he leaned his elbows on the desk, hands folded tight before him. “Bradford is well aware of what you’re capable of.”

  “Then why is he an ass?” 

  Grey cracked a sad smile, raising an eyebrow. 

  “Probably the same reason you don’t trust anyone else to take point.”

  Lucy’s face fell. Her shoulders dropped, too. She glanced out the window in the direction Bradford had disappeared to start rallying a crew to go out to the mountains, frowning. 

  She wants to argue– it’s different for her. She’s been through Hell. She wants to remind Grey of what was at stake, of what happened last time she placed her trust in another officer. She wants to be independent, and to call the shots for herself. 

  
    Probably the same reason you don’t trust anyone else. 
  

  Is the lieutenant trying to say Bradford got kidnapped and tortured by his own fiance? Trying to say Bradford lost all sense of self, life, and existence at the hands of someone he was supposed to love for the rest of his life? 

  She supposed, just like Enzo was her secret, Tim’s own backstory was a secret, too. 

  Fine. 

  “I hate when you are compassionate,” Lucy declared. The lieutenant chuckled as she gathered her things. “I have the go-ahead?”

  “Long as you bring Bradford.”
 
  Lucy has to take a few minutes in the locker room to settle down before they leave. 

  Her heart was still in her throat. The guilt eating her alive, the ache of loss just as fresh as day one. She wondered if this is what Enzo felt like, day in and day out, rotting in his cell. She wondered if he thought it was worth it, if he lives in regret, if he thought it would end different. 

  She knows she did. 

  When she emerges out of the cave she was hiding in, Bradford is addressing the team. They were loading shops and trucks with tactical gear and backup artillery, as well as preparing for a dig. 

  “Alright,” Lucy announced herself as she stepped in. “The information from Morelli was vague, so I need us all to prepare for the worst. We could be met with heavy fire, or we could be met with nothing.”

  “Detective Chen will be taking the lead on our trek. Much of this is a hike and not drivable,” Bradford announced from her left. “Prepare for a long day.”

  “Respectfully, Detective, but should the tactical teams move in first?” one of the sergeants in Metro asked. “What if you’re under fire?”

  “Then shoot back,” Lucy deadpanned. “This is my op. I’ll go through first, and you will be on my heels. Remember that all evidence needs to be categorized under the Topanga case, so it is of utmost importance that we handle it all with care.”

  She’s met with some nods and confirmations and clapped her hands together. 

  “Alright. Let’s move.”

  Her and Bradford take the front shop together. Lucy managed to climb into the driver’s seat without argument from Sergeant Bradford. Maybe Lieutenant Grey was right– maybe he needed this distraction as much as she did. As she turned the ignition over and pulled out to the street, there is an air of confidence and comfortability. 

  “You knew Morelli?” Bradford asked only a few minutes into the drive. 

  “I thought there was no personal talk in the shop,” Lucy said back with a subtle smirk. Bradford shrugged. They returned to quiet for a long few moments, listening to the radio as each unit announced their departure from Wilshire. “I guess. As much as anyone else knew him, right?”

  “Fair enough,” Bradford murmured. “I suppose none of us really know each other.”

  “You and Lopez seem to be plenty close,” Lucy said back, sparing a glimpse at his face. Bradford scoffed, shaking his head. 

  “Not like that, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Bradford argued. “Her and I came to Wilshire within a year or two of each other. Made us close. Everybody has their few.”

  “I have Jackson and Nolan,” Lucy confirmed. Bradford chuckled to himself. “What?”

  “Nolan,” Bradford murmured. “He’s a bit old for you.”

  “Oh, come on,” Lucy rolled her eyes. “We graduated from the academy together. We’re friends.”

  “Mhm.”

  The drive was beautiful– a highway through the mountains and canyons like she used to do daily? It was like a breath of the past. If she tried hard enough, she might even be able to forget the reason she’s taking this trek again. 

  The teams are split up when they pull off the highway. One team stays at the lot with all the trucks and shops to hold their fort, and the rest will be following Lucy up the mountain. 

  As she walked up the trail, she was confronted with the years worth of memories. The hunt for flowers off the trail, the accidental poison ivy, the admiration of pretty rocks. That’s the spot she used to take photos to post online. That’s the spot they used to sit and have picnics on nice spring days. That’s the spot they would stop and skim through the water and look for frogs.

  “Do you need a compass?” Bradford asked as they finally reached the location they needed to walk off-trail. Two miles north. It’s marked by a big rock split down the middle. 

  “I know this walk like the back of my hand,” Lucy murmured. “Thanks, though.”

  They are slowed down by being off trail. Lucy knows how to scale the rocks and hills, knows all the perfect footing and round-a-bouts to higher ground, unlike the rest of them, so she would have to stop and instruct the teams the best way up. She took Bradford’s hand and helped pull him up the hill with an awkward half-smile. 

  “Christ, I’m out of shape,” Bradford murmured. “How are you so good at this?”

  “I’ve been here a hundred times,” Lucy confessed. “Before Topanga went down.”

  “You’ve been there?” Bradford frowned. “So you know if there’s… a building? The landscape?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then what are you expecting?”

  “I don’t know.”

  They take a break once all the men have scaled the first of the three hills. Everyone stops to drink water and breathe. Lucy found herself staring up the mountain in the direction of the spot Enzo had led her to. She supposes she shouldn’t be surprised he chose here. None of it was ever real, she realizes. Not even their happiest moments. 

  The second hill is easier. The first one must’ve shown the crew the most effective ways to climb, because they scaled the second one with ease. The third, however, would be the hardest, being made purely of steep rocks, loose dirt, and a small waterfall. 

  “I can appreciate the beauty of it all,” one of the officers muttered. “But he couldn’t choose something more convenient?”

  “Right up there,” Lucy pointed. “Stay on me.”

  It’s like muscle memory. She knew exactly what ledges to reach for, which stones to step on. It was invigorating. For the briefest of moments, it felt like that beautiful spring day all those years ago. Excitement coursing through her veins. Enzo, anxious to see the view. Anxious to meet her at the top. 

  She caught her breath as she stood atop the mountain. 

  A few clouds in the sky. A cool breeze whispering against her skin. The city below them– hell, the world below them. 

  Now that she was here, she dreaded what she would find. 

  She approached the edge of the rocks, and she slowly sank down, kicking her legs over the side. She scanned her surroundings, trying to remember that day all that time ago. 

  “Be real with me,” Bradford requested, standing behind her. “Why are we here?”

  Lucy pursed her lips. She was enjoying not having herself attached to him anymore. She was enjoying the few weeks that no one looked at her and thought about Enzo. She was enjoying the simple life of being alone. 

  “Chen.”

  “This is where Enzo proposed to me,” Lucy murmured. A breeze blew through. She breathed in the clean air, exhaling her past. “He made a deal with the DA when he was arrested. He will cooperate so long as I visit him at least once a month. Every visit, he gives me new information.”

  “You and Morelli…?” Bradford slowly sank down onto the rocks beside her. Lucy nodded to herself. 

  “We were supposed to get married in a couple weeks,” Lucy confessed, glancing over at the sergeant. “Obviously, that’s not happening anymore. It takes all my willpower not to scream during visitation.”

  “So he tortures you? Planted evidence of his crimes all over your past?”

  “Sometimes,” Lucy nodded. “Sometimes it’s places like this, where I would hope he… he only had his best intentions. Other times, it’s something… obvious, like a known drug lord’s estate. Either way… I hold up my end of the deal, and families get closure.”

  “Except for you.”

  “Except for me,” Lucy confirmed. 

  “Is this your first one you’ve led?”

  “First one since coming back,” Lucy said. “If I’m honest? I’m relieved.” Lucy glanced at Bradford with a sad smile. “It’s easier to come to terms with the idea that he never thought I was real and just brought me here to keep an eye on his operations than to think he loved me and did it anyways.”

  “Unfortunately,” Bradford exhaled, frowning. “The people we love can be sh@tty.”

  “Amen to that.” 

  And finally, Lucy spotted it. 

  “There,” Lucy pointed. “Mass grave.”

  Tim narrowed his eyes in the direction of Lucy’s point, seeing the ditch that was dug into the ground a few hundred feet north of their location. It was wide and long, and almost mistaken as natural. It’s at the base of the mountain– a spot no one would simply stumble upon. A spot that blended into the nature so effortlessly. 

  “7-L-100,” Tim murmured into his radio. “We have eyes on a mass-burial site. Please send forensics to our location and inform the watch commander. This is now considered an active crime scene.”

  
  

    
      
        
        
          Well, ladies and gents, meet our main villain: Enzo Morelli, the Topanga rat, serial criminal, and worst of all: Lucy's ex-fiance.I hope this is helping yall start to put the pieces together. The details will become clearer as the story goes on, but I think it's pretty clear now what happened between Lucy and Topanga, and a fairly decent idea on Isabel and Tim, too.Next time: It feels wrong to want anything after everything.'
User: Summarize the chapter based on the content provided, ensuring to follow the set format and emphasize key aspects within the specified length.
User: Summarize the chapter based on the content provided, ensuring to follow the set format and emphasize key aspects within the specified length.
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