Sigh No More

 

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Introducing...

Dear reader,

This story is the first installment of the Kyle Henry series – a single, divorced FBI agent trying to find a balance between his private and professional life. I have been working on this series for quite a while and currently have 4 installments on the go, none of them really finished yet. I'm always trying to perfect my writing, always editing, but I wanted to start sharing them with more people.

Kyle Henry is a character I'm trying to develop. I'm personally drawn to the male characters in books and movies who are tough, and manly on the outside, but in the end have to deal with personal struggles like we all do; they have a story, maybe they're a little mysterious, maybe a little hard to grasp. That's who I want Henry to be. I have written fanfiction in the past, and Henry was the first character that was all my own -- he is special to me. The stories are a mixture of crime, drama and a bit of wit, sarcasm and dark humour. 

Please, leave a comment if you'd like. I'm completely open to constructive criticism and feedback. Oh, and if you find any mistakes, please bear in mind that I am not a native speaker of English -- I'm only trying to be. 

Now, without further ado, I'd like to introduce you to Kyle Henry, and I hope you enjoy, and if you do, please press that like-button!

(c) Saskia Tempert, 2015.

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One

Kyle Henry. Thirty-five years old. FBI agent. Homicide Department. Not in a partying mood. Yet here I was, at Liz's fancy, perfect wedding reception. Ex-wife. Ex-love of my life. Ex-everything. Currently married to my ex-best friend, Jones. Jones, currently very drunk and convinced he was showing off some of his best moves on the dance floor. He was clearly not as easily embarrassed as I was. I was starting to have a hard time remembering why I'd accepted the wedding invitation. The pile of hearts that had fluttered to the carpet when I'd opened the envelope six months earlier had nearly made me gag. So corny. And to see their names scribbled in Liz's own neat writing – apparently handwritten invites were more personal, she'd talked about it for hours on end when we were planning our wedding – had felt unreal, like I was dreaming. I'd instantly picked up the phone to tell Liz I wasn't going, but she'd beaten me to it. The phone had rung at that exact moment, and she'd been very convincing. She'd apologized for the pink paper mess on my floor, which I'd trampled on shamelessly before scooping it all up and throwing it in the trash – childish, I knew. Liz had told me that she'd wanted to invite me in person, but Jones had insisted on treating all of their potential guests equally. I still wasn't sure what to make of that. I had to admit, though, that it was a good excuse to spend an extra day with Jamie, my – our – five year old son. Usually I had him over the weekends, but they always flew by so fast. I'd wanted to ask Liz to let me watch him for the night, after the wedding ceremony and the reception, but instead she had asked her mother; a woman who was the sole person to never make me regret our divorce, as horrible as that sounded. I knew a lot of people complained about their mothers-in-law, but this woman took the cake when it came to making people's lives miserable. She was impossible to impress and she had been disapproving of me from the start. I'd tried my very best to be a good husband and father, but nothing I'd done had ever earned her approval. In fact, to this day she seemed to enjoy reminding me of the things I'd done wrong. I doubted Jamie would choose spending the night with her over spending it with me, but she was his grandmother and who was I to say anything? Liz never really listened to me any more. Not since I'd delivered the divorce papers to her doorstep.
    Sighing, I downed the last remnants of my drink – I didn't know what it was exactly but it held some type of alcohol – and placed the glass on the bar. The bartender asked if I wanted some more. I shook my head no. The last thing I wanted was to get as drunk as husband number two, who was now performing the Macarena. Either that or he was having a seizure. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hoping for the latter. Okay, maybe not, but I wouldn't mind waking up tomorrow to find out that he hadn't been able to consume the marriage on their wedding night. At least my mother-in-law seemed to disapprove of him too, she sure didn't look happy when he bumped into her on the dance floor while performing a horrible version of the Running Man. Ex-mother-in-law. Yes.
    Just when I'd decided I had better find Liz to tell her I was leaving an arm slipped through mine, accompanied by a strong perfume. Surprised, I looked to find a blonde girl standing next to me. High heels, short white dress, curls and all smiles. The perfume was a little overwhelming. A little was probably an understatement. Her nails were long and red and digging into my bicep.
“Hey, Kyle. Having fun?” She drew the bartender's attention, held up two fingers. A minute later he served us two shot glasses filled to the brim with a clear liquid.
“I'm at my ex-wife's wedding reception. Define fun.” The blonde girl with the lacquered nails was one of Liz's cousins. Once removed, maybe twice. I'd seen her before at family gatherings, but I couldn't remember her name. I was sure it started with an 'L'. I'd never paid a lot of attention to her, but I remembered her love for alcohol and it seemed like she was planning to uphold that reputation.
“That's what I thought. Have a couple of these and you'll feel much better, I promise.” She handed me one of the shot glasses and downed her own. The smile never left her face. What a professional.
“Thanks - ” Every single braincell in my head searched for her name, but I still couldn't seem to remember it. I suddenly felt very old. Compared to her I probably was. “ - you.” Charm smile to distract her from the fact I was old and had forgotten her name. It seemed to work. “I really have to go, though. I have to work in the morning. I should get some sleep.” For a moment it looked like she was on to me, then her grip on my arm tightened.
“Come on, Kyle, that's a lame excuse and you know it. One or two shots more won't hurt. Live a little, what's the worst that could happen?” I looked at my drink and sighed. There was some truth to that. One more drink couldn't hurt. It wasn't like I was driving tonight, I'd booked a hotel room upstairs and that worst that could happen was a slight headache in the morning. Maybe some nausea. The blonde cousin was still looking at me and I did something I shouldn't have done. I downed the drink. The liquid burnt a path down my throat. After a second shot, and maybe another one, the rest of the night passed in a blur.  

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Two

I was startled awake by the shrill ringing of my phone, so loud it sounded like I'd been using it as a pillow. Upon closer inspection I realized that was exactly what I'd been doing. My eyesight went in and out of focus, and I couldn't make out the name on the screen, but the phone kept ringing. I finally woke up enough to grab it and sit up and I almost threw up right there and then. Headache was the first thing I could think of. The non-stop jackhammer kind. Gaps had formed in my memory and I was having difficulty retracing last night's steps. The stale smell of sweat invaded my nostrils. And something else that I couldn't quite identify. I drew in a breath in an attempt to keep my nausea under control, took my sweet time trying to figure out how to hold my phone the right way, and clicked on.
“Henry, where the hell are you? You're half an hour late and we've got a new case. Cullen's practically got steam coming out of his ears.” I had to keep the phone a couple inches away from my ear while my partner's voice barked down the line. It wasn't much of an improvement from my ring tone. Tiny little men were kicking repeatedly and ferociously against the back of my skull. I glanced at an unfamiliar alarm clock. It flashed 8:29 PM. Crap. I really was late.
    “Shit, Mike. I'll be there in twenty.” I clicked off without waiting for a reply, knowing he'd be annoyed. Michael Cassidy had been my partner for almost six years and we usually worked well together. Really well, actually, because we'd become good friends over the past couple of years. We usually met up for Friday night drinks, and he'd even attended my wedding, but I'd managed to oversleep several times in the past couple of months, and he wasn't liking it. I couldn't blame him. Being a special agent, you had to be able to count on your partner, and lately I hadn't been very reliable. I was aware that I needed to fix this problem as soon as possible.
    When I put my phone back down I finally had a chance to take in my surroundings. My vision was a little less blurred, and without the ringing of my phone and my partner's angry voice screaming down the line the headache wasn't as bad. I stretched, back popping, and swung my legs over the side of the bed. The furniture with the beige upholstery informed me that I was still in the hotel. I was not in my own room, however, because I was currently sitting in a double bed, while I was sure I'd booked a single. My feet were bare. Upon closer inspection, so was the rest of me. Potential problem. Next to me a much too familiar blonde head moved. Alarm bells. Definite problem. Some of the previous night flashed through my head. Alcohol. Manicured hands pulling on my tie. Kissing. Very drunk. Very naked. Suddenly the headache and the nausea made a whole lot more sense. And the smell I hadn't been able to identify earlier on, was, my hungover nose now found, the unmistakable smell of sex.
    “Shit.” Under my breath.
    “Mm. Morning, handsome.” Lily – I had remembered her name about the fifth shot in – had opened her eyes and looked... content. For lack of a better word. I sat there for a moment, unsure of how to respond, thinking about what to do next. Make a run for it? Naked? And risk bumping into a chamber maid in the hall? Naked? I didn't think so. I didn't even know what floor I was on, so I opted for the bad excuse. Which wasn't really that much of an excuse, considering it was the truth.
    “Hi, Lily. I'm late for work. I'm so sorry.” I was moving, getting out of bed and throwing my clothes on quickly. Underwear backwards, tie crooked, I didn't take notice. Didn't care. Shoes on. Laces tied. Over all it probably took me less than two minutes to get dressed and fix my hair into a decent shape. Lily had reluctantly pulled herself into a sitting position, the sheets covering her body, although apparently it was nothing I hadn't seen before. She was definitely not a shy woman, that I remembered. Not unlike Liz, my brain involuntarily made the connection. Why did I have to go there?
    “What about last night?” I looked at her, her face was innocent, big, round, questioning eyes. What about last night? I forced myself to tell the truth.
    “It was fun, we should definitely do it again. I'll call you.” Or maybe not. I hadn't had a one night stand in a long time, or whatever this was supposed to be. Not since my twenties. I was supposed to have closed that chapter, wasn't I? I was 35 now, closing in on 40. Lily couldn't be a day older than 25, I wasn't sure – I'd never asked. More reasons the whole thing shouldn't have happened. The door shut behind me seconds later and I hurried down the hall, nearly bumping into a chamber maid. She gave me a dirty look which I tried my best to ignore. All I could think was: at least I wasn't naked.

*

“Well, well, well, someone's doing the walk of shame.” Mike's feet were resting on my desk when I entered my office and I knew I probably looked worse than bad. My tie was still crooked and my shirt had creases all over it. Knowing Mike, he'd be rubbing it in my face for the rest of the day, if not the rest of the week.
    “Shut the hell up, Mike. And get those feet off my desk, has Cullen stopped by yet?” I rounded the desk and pushed my friend's feet out of the way. The leather chair spun to the right and Mike had to set his feet down in order to stop it from going all the way around. He turned back to face me and gave me the look he usually saved for his kids. Mike was someone who liked to wear bright clothing in his spare time. Very brightly colored. The crazier the better, like Hawaii shirts and ridiculous caps. Since the FBI's dress code was strict and required most of us to wear plain suits, he chose to express his love for color through his ties. Today's pick was pink. Bright pink. It hurt my eyes and it made me regret last night's alcohol even more. The tiny little kicking men returned and I pinched the bridge of my nose in the hope to relieve it. Mike pulled himself out of the chair and straightened the offending piece of accessory.
    “You know he has, and he's not real happy about you oversleeping again either. Told me to ask you to stop by his office as soon as you got in. And when you're done getting yelled at, come and find me. New case, it's a gory one.” Early forties, married with children and a special agent for the past twenty years. I had never quite understood the fascination Mike had with gory cases. I'd learned not to eat big breakfasts on work days, due to the considerate possibility of having to inspect dismembered and putrefied, bad-smelling remains. Throughout the years I'd discovered that even eating a plain bagel was risky. Those rules didn't apply to Mike, however. I figured he either had an incredibly bad sense of smell or he somehow managed to distance himself from these victims better than anyone I'd ever met.
    “Great, thanks.” My sarcasm wasn't lost on him. He clapped me on the shoulder before he exited my office. I made another attempt to straighten my tie and took a breath.

    Five minutes later I found myself in deputy director Cullen's pristine office. I'd been sitting there for over a minute and he had not yet said anything apart from telling me to sit down. The antique clock that hung on the far wall ticked softly. The noise of that morning's traffic drifted in through the open window, doing absolutely nothing to improve the awkward silence between us. There weren't a lot of things that made me nervous, having seen so much in my line of work, but this definitely did the trick. My hands were in my lap and I impatiently picked at one of my cuticles.
    “You know you're one of my best agents, Henry,” he finally said. Well, I did now, although I felt like I hadn't earned the compliment. “However, it has come to my attention that since your” – he paused to find the right words - “family situation, you've come to work late several times and haven't been meeting my expectations.” The family situation I suspected he was referring to had started a couple of months ago. The finalization of my divorce. The realization that Jones and Liz were really planning to get married. I knew it didn't look good. I'd been letting people down for too long, and I hated it.
    “Sir, I -” I'd opened my mouth to respond, but he held up a hand that cut me off.
    “Now, since there haven't been any problems before, and considering your outstanding record with the FBI, I am willing to give you a couple days off to get things sorted. Buy a new alarm clock if you need to, or go to therapy, sort things out with your ex-wife to find closure, but when you come back I want you to be back on your game. I cannot have a distracted agent out in the field, and if you do not do as I say I will have no choice but to report this. From there on you will either be restricted to doing paper work, or, if they're having a bad day, you might even be suspended. I won't have a choice, Henry.”
    “Sir, I can assure you, I do not need time off. I apologize for being late, several times, it will not happen again.” I'd straightened in my chair, so had Cullen. His elbows were resting on the mahogany desk in front of him, fingers interlaced. The wood looked recently polished. A moment passed in which neither of us said anything. Finally, Cullen nodded his head.
    “Fine then, I'll take your word for it, but this is your last warning, Henry. There's a new case waiting for you and Cassidy, go find him and then make your way to the crime scene, he's already been briefed and will fill you in on the details. Gibson's team is already there..” He leaned back in his chair, indicating the conversation was over. I stood.
    “Yes sir, thank you.”As I exited the office I realized that if it had been anyone other than Cullen, they would've suspended me already. And I couldn't help but wonder how I'd let it get this far.

*

ONE YEAR EARLIER

I was in a good mood when I pulled into the driveway. It was the first time I'd managed to go home early in weeks. It wasn't even dinner-time yet. I'd bought Liz's favorite flowers to make up for all the times I'd had to work late and I suspected she was cooking something extra nice for dinner as it was a Friday, maybe even my favorite meal. Locking the car behind me, I took the steps two at a time up the front porch and found the door unlocked.
    “Liz? Guess what? We finished up early.” The door shut behind me and I waited for a reply, expecting it to come from the kitchen. It did. A smile tugged at the corners of my lips and I made my way down the hall. She was going to love my surprise, I was sure of it. I'd bought her pink roses, the same roses I'd brought her on our first date.
    “I got you these flo—wers. What's going on?” I found Liz sitting at the kitchen table. She wasn't alone. Her hands were resting on the table in front of her, fingers tapping on the wood slowly. Beside her was Jones, my best friend since childhood, who seemed uncomfortable, nervous almost. Liz looked serious. My neck hairs rose. Something was wrong. Jamie. Oh God.
    “Kyle, I -” she glanced in Jones's direction - “we need to talk.”
    “Talk about what?” I wasn't so sure I wanted to know.
    “I think you better sit down for this.”
    “What? Liz, you're scaring me. Is something wrong with Jamie?”
    “Jamie is fine, Kyle, maybe you should sit down.” Jones. Why was he here in the first place? It had to be something bad. Really bad. But if it wasn't Jamie, then who? Liz? Was she sick? Was Jones sick?
    “Liz?” I refused to sit down, I couldn't. My legs wouldn't move. I wanted them to, but they wouldn't. So I shook my head, looked at her expectantly. The next words she spoke would remain etched in my memory forever.
    “Kyle, I want a divorce.”

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