The survivor

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Dying is easy; living is the hard part.

Homicide Detective Jacob Striker knew this too well. Although ‘surviving’ seemed a better word than ‘living’. How could it not? The past two years had been cruel. His wife was dead. His daughter was an emotional void. And now, just an hour into his first shift back from a six-month stress leave, the day was turning to shit. God, it was barely midmorning, just ten minutes to nine, and already Principal Myers had called about his daughter. The last thing Striker wanted to do was pull himself and his partner, Felicia Santos, from the road, but Principal Myers had been adamant. Striker had no idea what Courtney had done this time. Or what punishments her actions would merit.

But whatever the outcome, it wasn’t going to be good.

Striker steeled himself for more bad news as he marched down the mahogany-walled corridor to Caroline’s office — yes, they were on a first — name basis now, he and Principal Myers — passing under the fighting gold gryphons of the St Patrick’s High School banners.

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