| Erin's Origin Story | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: May 5 2013, 05:34 AM (160 Views) | |
| Erin Daniels | May 5 2013, 05:34 AM Post #1 |
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Rising Star
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I've already written a chunk of Erin's backstory for another fed but I figure I should post those portions here in some form as well. Sunday September 2, 2001 Yankee Stadium The length of the sun's travel across the blue canvas of the sky, though barely noticeable, were growing shorter after each day. The boys of summer were still at play however. For as long as Erin could remember, she always liked the sport of baseball. Some of her earliest childhood memories where from the position of being perked atop her father's shoulders while he walked through the entrance gates. Her fingers and palm of a hand held tightly to against the sandpaper texture of the beard stubble on his face. Other hand ran along through the short brown hair on his head while he held onto her leg, she remembered laughing excitedly. At the time, she was not so happy about going to the game. In truth, she had no idea what was even going on most of the time. She only knew people, including her father, began to erupt with cheer every so often. The true source of her joy was the simple fact that she was with him. Years go by and things change while other aspects stay just as they are. At fourteen, it would be a hardy task for him to carry her on his shoulder. Though if anyone could manage it, she was confident that he could. The passage of years had not been as cruel as they are to some. If anything, he was in better shape than he was then. Although it was only a few years of age to creep into him. The one thing that had not changed in the years was her reasoning for the joy she felt whenever she sat in a seat beside him, a field of green and brown laying out before them. The sun's warm kiss touched the skin of her face. Erin glanced up from under the black bill of the New York Yankees baseball cap as he slid into the bleacher seat beside her. Her brown eyes caught his as she adjusted her blonde hair back behind her ears. "Thanks, Dad," she said to him with a smile as he handed her the cup. Cubes of ice sloshed around in the mix of water and caffeine as she took it close to her. "That line was fucking forever," he grumbled with a lean closer to her ear. "You still went," she quipped before she lifted the straw to her lips. "You're just like your mother," he griped still trying to sound like a man while doing as he was told by his teenage daughter, "You both got that look that just says 'shut up and do it.' How can a guy fight against that? It's some Jedi mind trick crap right there." A slight smirk crawled across her lips as the seats around them began filling as she looked down at left field, "What was that? Sorry. All I heard was a grown man whining like a baby." He did not bother with a witty comeback. She won the verbal dual between father and daughter. There was no need for him to add to the mountain he was burying himself under. Gone were the days of her being a small child that was in simple awe of the man but that did not change the fact that she was still daddy's little girl. There was no reason for that to change, nothing in the foreseeable future that would make their relationship turn from what it was. Men in their pinstripe uniforms began to pour out of the hole dug within the ground and onto the field below. The score was still tied which suited her just fine as she leaned back into her chair as the fourth inning was about to start. An arm draped across the back of her seat from his side. She could swear he was looking around in his usual cop fashion to see if anyone was paying her any special attention. An extra glance or two probably, something a protective father would read into that she would not think about. Feeling the palm of his hand against the black cotton of the t-shirt over her shoulder and upper arm, she nestled and inch or so closer to him. A slight vibration buzzed against her thigh. Frantically, almost anxiously, she dug into her jean pocket with her free hand to pull free the cell phone. A flip of it open revealed to her a message containing a picture, a motorcycle. "A boy?," her father queried with a hint of a protective tone in his voice. "Pretty much in mind anyway," she answered with a slight laugh as she eyed the picture for a moment before closing it, "Danny's latest project." Erin could hear the grumbling sound of the sigh filling his lungs. Her cousin was four years older than her. After barely graduating high school, instead of going on to a college of some sort, him and a few of his gear-head friends started working on their own garage. Her father did not approve to say the least but there were very few things that Danny did that someone like Sergeant Daniels would condone. To be stupid was one thing, but to have an intelligence and be a jackass by wasting it in his opinion was another thing entirely. She did not see it as a waste though. He was good enough at what he did and he enjoyed it. To Erin, she felt that was what really mattered. Besides, she happened to like the way he would take time to teach her the basics of being a car mechanic. "So some dickhead don't see a chick and rip you off blind," he told her once. "Well I'm just saying," he said to continue his original train of thought, "You know, if you're talking to boys... a boy, I should meet him. Make sure he knows I have a gun and know how to use it pretty well." She only laughed slightly and gave him a sidelong glance, "Dad, relax. I'm not having sex." He groaned audibly next to her, causing her to laugh a little even more at his reaction. Discussing his teenage daughter's virginity was clearly a topic he was unprepared for dealing with. When will he ever learn? "Where's your mother at when I need her?," he said to her humorously, "This isn't a fair fight when things get to you and dating." Erin looked to him for a moment, "Grandma always says I get my brains from mom." "Watch the game," he told her but could not hide the line of a smile set within brown stubble of a beard across his cheeks and chin. Even though it was only the hint of one, she thought he looked better with a beard. More handsome, though rough, in her eyes. Little did she know it at the time, it would be the last time she would be able to remember him smiling for a long time. Years would go by, in fact, before she would even see that tiniest shade of a grin on his face. They did not know what the future held, no one did, but their relationship would never be the same after the emotional pain and loss they were both to feel. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- October 22, 2011 51st Precinct 2:35 a.m. Just a routine Friday night. Well, Saturday morning now. The booking area had finally calmed down after she brought in the loud mouthed drunk that was now on his way to a comfy holding cell so he could sleep it off and deal with the arraignment judge in the morning. Erin half hoped it was the woman she was expecting it to be. That would only add further insult to his damaged pride. He got mouth and even physical with his, if she had any sense, now ex-girlfriend outside a bar on the Lower East Side. That was enough for Erin to step in as she watching from her patrol car in the usual spot for anyone that obviously had a bit too much and decided they were fine to drive. He was man enough to hit an intoxicated woman but not enough to swallow his pride when told to walk it off. His "friends" were there. He would be damned if he was going to take any shit from a woman even if she was in a uniform. She wondered how his pride was doing after being taken down by a woman half his size in front of his buddies. All he had to do was walk away but now he was awaiting arraignment for assaulting an officer. I'm your worst nightmare. A bitch with a badge. After four years on the force and daughter of a captain in a neighboring precinct, one would think Erin would not get stuck being up at the middle of the night to watch drunks stumble out of a bar. In truth, she really did not mind it as much as one would think. Sure, there were the occasional drunks that tried to get physical, stops with blacked-out windows and rap blasting hard enough for the beats to be felt through the asphalt that nearly always required a request for back-up and a canine unit, but the graveyard shift was quiet for the most part. And that is what she preferred most, the "calm" of a bar's exterior at 1 am. Worst case scenario, one of them would fall and smack their head on the concrete, but that would be the responded EMT’s responsibility once the call was made. Let the other “seasoned” beat cops take the busier areas of the city with its tourists, traffic and crowd control, she was perfectly fine with her routine. The final bits of information filled out in her report, she signed off on it at the bottom before sliding it over the wooden counter surface. "You've got some balls on you, Erin," said her Watch Commander as he strolled by. A blonde lock or two of her hair hung down in front of her face after having come loose during the brief scuffle that occurred at the desk. Nothing she could not handle within seconds before anyone else on the shift's skeleton crew could come to assist. Reaching back behind her head, she began to get her hair back into the neat ponytail with the elastic tie, "Bigger than his apparently. Takes a big man to hit a drunk girl." Snatching up the pen she used from the desk, she stuck it back into its usual place in her shirt pocket, "Time to head back out and keep the crazies from killing themselves." She turned to leave when a touch of familiar fingers on her sleeve stopped her. Looking up, she met the green eyes that looked down the few inches to her, "Hey, Erin. Mind if I get a minute?" "Sure," she answered with a surveying glance around the precinct's entrance. He led the way down the hall for a minute followed by another. She followed him through door after door, making sure to close each one behind her before proceeding. Booted footfalls thudded and echoed through the otherwise empty rooms they entered and left before they finally stopped when satisfied they were well out of any area someone would happen to see them. The kiss was nothing short of ravenous in its lust. Fingers ran along the NYPD stitching on the black cotton of the turtleneck wrapping smoothly around her neck, other hand planted firmly on a breast. She was not completely innocent in it herself. Her hands were on his chest. Digging her fingers into him somewhat as if she were scaling a sheer cliff face to keep a hold of him to keep him where he was if not pull him closer. A slight moan sounded deep from within her chest. "Wait," she stopped and pulled away, pushing his chest away rather than draw him closer now, "Place of employment." He groaned with an almost bounce in place as a scolded child would when told he could not play with his toys, "I know, I know, I just needed a fix." She reached up with her left hand to run her fingers through the short red hair before pulling it down to stroke his arm gently, palm resting on the three stripes over his bicep. Jerry Connelly had been her training officer when she was a green rookie and barely knew a damned thing about procedure let alone the best way to approach a stopped car. Their affair had not started back then but much more recently, only a matter of three months ago. He was much older than her, eight years her senior, but that meant almost nothing to her. She was in love and that was all she cared about. He felt the same as her, at least he said he did anyway. "So what's this I hear about you taking the detectives' exam?," he asked keeping the distance between them short. She was not all too surprised he knew about that fact since she had made no point of hiding it. It was almost expected that she would take a progressive step in her career. She was, as most of the precinct would say, her father's daughter. "I just think it's time I moved on with things," she told him sincerely with the hope that he would not take that to mean with them as well, "You can't honestly expect me to be satisfied putting drunks in cuffs for the next twenty-five years can you?" He nodded in seemingly resigned agreement. Her other hand drifted down his arm to gently caress the back of his hand, fingers against his knuckles. She felt the familiar though painful to remember touch of the golden band around his finger. "Have you told her yet?," she asked though she already knew the answer. "It's not that simple, Erin," he reasoned before she stopped him cold. "Yes it is," she told him with a determination that was reminiscent of her father, "Four words, 'I want a divorce,' that's all." She felt bad for Sam, his wife, and his twelve year old son. A year ago, if anyone had told her she would be in the position she was in now, she would have said they were nuts. "Home Wrecker," was not a title she was proud of but she knew he was not happy with the marriage himself. He told her even before the affair began that he only married her because she got pregnant and his son was the only reason why he stayed. She sensed his unease at being pressed on the subject, knowing it must be an extremely difficult bridge for him to cross even with her waiting on the other side, but it was time they abandoned any pretenses that what they were doing was merely harmless. "I'm tired of hiding, Jerry," she told him with a heavy sigh, "Why do you think I pushed to take the exam now? If I get it and transferred to another precinct, there's no reason we can't just let it be known. I'm tired of the lying, the secrets. I'm done being the other woman. Tell her or this is over with." She saw a sadness in those green eyes and it pained her but push had to come to shove with this. It was the only way he would take any action. His head nodded. They were in agreement, or at least she believed they were. On which side that agreement they were on, that he would tell her or it was over, she was not entirely certain herself. "Can I come by and see you in the morning?," he asked with a gentle squeeze of her breast again, a press from his thumb with enough pressure to be felt through the bulletproof vest underneath, "Your place?" She looked down and pulled his hand away from her chest, "I can't. I need to get some rest and work on some things before I take the exam. I'm serious though. With it, we can at least go forward with things." She honestly did not know what he would do. For the first time in years, she was filled with uncertainty and was in little control of the outcome. She could only make the decision to deal with either situation as she knew would be right in the end. One choice far outweighed the other, but she would make the negative decision if she must. Looking into his eyes, seeing the indecision, she feared it would come to that. "I should go," she told him as she pulled away from his completely. Turning, she began to head in the direction which they had come. Hand gripping the door knob at the first door, she cast a hopeful glance over her shoulder back to him, "Call me." ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- October 28, 2011 7:05 a.m. 22nd Precinct Brooklyn, NY "Why don't you start from the beginning," the gruff voice said in more of a statement than question. God, where do I even start? Erin was not entirely sure of the answer herself. The past couple days had been nothing but a world of pain and violation seen through a lens of blood red. The telling of the beginning may have been murky at best. However she told the story, it would end with her still being alive. Erin looked mournfully as Detective Vasquez finished sealing the final plastic bag containing the remnants of her torn and soiled uniform with a strip of bright red evidence tape. Having no choice but to change into a pair of navy sweat pants and matching department t-shirt, Erin sat in the interview room with the two detectives to give her statement before she was taken to the hospital. It pained her to even breath. She swore at least a rib or two was cracked. Hospital later. She insisted on doing this now while it was all still hauntingly fresh in her mind. She brushed at her filthy hair as she tried to think. Erin thought she saw even Johnson cringe and look away for a moment as she pulled the bit of hair away from her face. The right side of her face was heavily bruised, but it had nothing on her left. Dried blood clung to her skin as it was caked against her face to decorate the purple and black with a deep crimson. Some of it was her own, some not. "Jer-," she began with a painful intake of breath before she stopped herself. The statement was being recorded. She hated it herself when witnesses and victims gave more than what was necessary. She was the latter for a change. She took a second to compose herself and decide how to be as cut-and-dry about as she could. "Sergeant Connelly and I had been having an affair," she admitted with a pause, noticing the awkward look it got from the both of them, "He had been calling me for the last couple days on when he could see me again. Whenever I asked him about the ultimatum I gave him about telling his wife, he avoided it. I was tired of being the mistress so it had to stop one way or the other. He wasn't going to tell her so I was going to end it." Erin closed her eyes with a look down. She was going back into her memory to try to remember everything to it's fullest as to keep from making a mistake in the telling of what happened that night. That was only one reason, however. The other being to stifle the attempted tear that tried to break from her eye out of acceptance of what she was committed to do that night. "It was four in the morning," she continued with the strain of fighting the choking feeling in her throat, "I told him to meet me at a bodega on Canal. I was going to tell him it was over. Turns out we picked the wrong place and wrong time to meet. Though we didn't realize it until it was too late, we had interrupted a robbery in progress. Three men. Two white, one Hispanic. He never saw it coming with the shot in the back of his head. I took two in the chest myself but only knocked down and winded with my vest stopping them. I think they shot the owner too but I can't say for sure. I only heard more shots. They must've noticed I wasn't dead since one of them started kicking me in the chest and stomach." She rubbed a hand tentatively at her chest. The force of the shots and kicks still felt very much real an entire day later. Opening her eyes again, she looked up to see their attention was intently fixed upon her. Biting her lip, she continue, "I don't remember a lot, but I know one of them said something about me probably being a good fuck. That's when one of them starting going through the store's shelves and behind the counter to look for duct tap-" "That's enough," Vasquez interrupted her. The look on the female detective's face was nothing but sympathetic. Johnson looked filled with shock. Seasoned NYPD detectives horrified by a victim's statement. I must really look like shit right now. "The rest can be taken after you get to the hospital and take some time to recover," the woman pressed as Erin looked as she was about to argue she should continue while she remembered it all. Erin meekly nodded her acceptance. She knew it was probably for the best. Some time would be good. She was starving for one thing. "My dad," Erin looked at one of them then the other after she remembered him, "Where is he? Is he on his way?" "Captain Daniels will be meet us there," Vasquez answered, "You can see him before we continue if you want. Probably best if he waits until you get cleaned up after your rape kit is finished." Erin nodded again. She was eager to see her father after what she had been through but also dreading it as well. How would he see her? Daddy's little girl that just been through Hell or a disgrace to his reputation? She fought against the emotion she felt welling up inside her. Not in front of them. "Can I get a moment before we go?" "Of course," Johnson answered with a hard swallow in his throat. Whether it was from sympathy or he was not looking forward to dealing with her father himself either given the situation, Erin could not tell. Likely both. The two detectives looked at each other as Johnson stood while Vasquez still looked at her sympathetically before they turned to leave and said, "There's a memorial service scheduled for Sergeant Connelly in a couple days, Thought you might like to know." Erin watched them walked through the open door as she waited for it to close behind them. Only after it was fully shut and the reassuring click that it was so did she finally let loose. Tears streamed down her cheeks against her bruised and beaten face. Her palms cradled her head over her eyes. The sobs made the already difficult job of breathing all the harder as it was near the point of choking her. Stop crying and just breath! It wasn't supposed to be like this. He was supposed to go home to Sam and Jake. I should've acted sooner. If I ended it last week, he would've never been there. If I never fucked him to begin with, he would still be alive. Fucking selfish and now I've made a widow and a kid without a father. What've I done?" ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- December 19, 2011 Razzle Dazzle Laundromat The whirring of machines echoed in the otherwise complete silence. The relative solitude of the nearly empty laundromat suited Erin fine. She had enough of people with their accusing eyes, feigned sympathy or even outright mocking over the last couple months. She was not sure how it got out but her ignorance did not change the field day the New York media had with her story. The "whore cop," or so she was called now, had gained a certain level of infamy in the eyes of many. Even if she was healthy and ready to go back to work, she had failed the past two psychological evolutions since she was released from the hospital and put on inactive duty. She received only a slight reprimand but it was nothing more than a slap on the wrist. She supposed she had her father to thank for that, but a lot of the brass in the department just wanted this whole thing to go away. Go away?! Two of those sons of bitches are still out there! She did not suppose that she was in much of a position to argue the point. She was considering herself lucky that she was not fired outright. The fact that her leave was still paid was a small miracle. Still, it was not in her to sit around and wait for her mind and body to heal. Not when she felt she was capable of at least doing something. She was her father's daughter and never one to be content with doing nothing. Erin pulled the warm clothes from the dryer in silence. The only noticeable sound was the irritating squeaking of one of the rolling basket's wheels as she pulled it along with her laundry inside. There was almost no one else in the place. At two in the morning, a twenty-four hour laundromat was one of the few bastions of activity. The bright lights shining against polished machines and tiled floors kept the darkness at bay as it loomed just beyond the wall of windows at the front. There were only two others besides Erin. A man in what looked to be his early forties. Judging by his build and the scruff of a beard wrapping around his chin, he likely worked an overnight schedule. One thing she learned about her shift with the department was when you had to work at an odd hour like that, it was best to stick to it even on a day off because it was a bitch to get a sleep schedule back to it. The other, a woman or extremely feminine man judging by the slenderness of her legs, how she kept them crossed and obviously heeled shoes, kept her face and upper body veiled behind a newspaper held in front of her. Whoever she was, the tailor-made pants and expensive shoes screamed that she was the type that would not be the type do her own housework. People like her have maids and stuff to do that. Erin pushed it from her mind, wanting only to finish what she had to do and get back to the safety of her apartment where she did not have to worry about running into someone that recognized her face. The bruising was completely gone by then, but her unblemished face was about as known as her beaten one. Starting to fold the clothes at a table, she noticed movement from the corner of her eye. She turned her head with a speed that she almost forgotten she had. The woman was gone, or not where she was in her seated place near the windows. Clicking sounded against the tiled floor, a further turn revealed to her the woman she had spied moments earlier now walking towards her. Newspaper folded under her arm, she walked with a confidence Erin almost envied. She new she used to have that walk, but that was a couple months ago. Now she only felt... broken. "Are you really this much of a night owl," the woman said with purposeful strides to close in on Erin, "Or are you that desperate to avoid human contact?" She gave Erin a knowing look. There was something familiar about her. Brown eyes gazed at her from behind wire-rimmed lenses, brown hair framed her face. It took a few moments for Erin to think back. A tiled floor, much like the one beneath them now, but different, an ivory white. And it was wet. Erin's knees and calves moist through her uniform pants against the water flooding around her. The woman's body lay in front of Erin, nude and coughing up water from her lungs in fits. A child screaming from somewhere in another room. "You," Erin finally said with a look of realization filling her eyes. A knowing smile revealed itself on the woman's lips, a smirk even, "Me." Erin shook her, trying to make sense of why this woman was talking to her. It had been three years since Erin even saw her. After that incident, Erin never even met her again. She just kind of disappeared. "Miss, Mrs., Ma'am," Erin stumbled for words, "What are you doing here?" She smiled, showing a set of white teeth behind, "Straight to the point. Good. You saved my life three years ago. I'm here to return the favor." Save my life? Granted, it's been pretty shitty but I doubt my life's in any danger. "I'm not sure I understand, Mrs...," Erin hesitated, trying to remember her name. "Michaels," she finished for Erin, "How's things going with the department? Still not letting you back on the job? Letting you just sit around and wait, and wait, and wait while they screw around with politics bullshit. I even hear that the DA is working on cutting Payne a deal if he can lead to catching the other two and testify." "My dad, he wouldn't let that happen," Erin said, her voice filled with uncertainty. "He wouldn't?," she said with a cock of her head and giving Erin appraising look, "Don't be so naive, Erin. It's all politics. The quicker this whole thing just goes away, the sooner they can all go back to life as normal. Your fucking has made for bad PR and that's what they care about. Screw doing the right thing." It took all of Erin's strength of will to keep from hitting her right then and there. It wasn't my fault! Erin followed the path of caution though. If what she said was right, she was done with the department, done with her father, done with it all. Giving that cop killer and rapist a deal, even if it was life in a cell over a needle in the arm, was too bitter a pill for Erin to swallow. Erin face must have betrayed her with a look of uncertainty. It was as if she knew what Erin was thinking. She could see Erin's own doubts and fears. She pulled a small white card from her pocket and laid it out on the table in front of Erin, "When you see that I'm right, give me a call." Turning on her heels after backing away a step or two, Mrs. Michaels heading to the building front door. The man Erin was presuming to be just a patron followed behind the woman as she left. Who the fuck is this girl? Erin picked up the card from the table to look at it. A dragon lay inked in black against a white background, Erin ran her thumb over it. Thinking back to what she could remember about her mother and the business cards she would have collected, Erin knew that it was expensive printing. In inked script beneath the dragon was a name and title, "Melissa Michaels, CEO - Dragonkin Inc." There was a phone number and extension as well, but Erin knew that was not meant for her after she turned the card over in her hand. Written in a woman's handwriting was another phone number. Erin's first reaction was to ball the card up and throw it in the nearby trash can, but there was another feeling rumbling from inside her head. She had this bizarre feeling that she should keep it. She knew there was going to be a time when she would need it. Instead of throwing it out as she wanted to at first, Erin slipped it down into one of her jean pockets. |
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10:48 AM Jul 11