Answer the Question

They are outside now, the press. They are going to want answers. They're bloodhounds, and they know a good story. But what can I tell them? How do you explain how an eight year old girl is thrown from a van into a ditch? How do you explain the bruises and wounds on her body? What can I tell them? That every time I see one of these cases, I think it's time to pack it in? That I go home and can't sleep for hours?

I look in the mirror in my office. My uniform is clean and pressed, presentable. The shield shines. It used to mean something to me, maybe still does. The man in the mirror looks old. His eyes are dark and hollow. I smooth out my hair, collect myself, and walk outside.