A Mother’s Angel

No one should have to bury a child.

The words haunt as he sat across from her mother. Can you watch a person age? He has, he did as he recounted what happened to this woman’s daughter. Torture was written in the creases that lined her face more and more as they talked.

“Someone gunned down my girl, my angel. Why?”

He rubbed the back of his neck then toyed with the flowery tea cup she’d given him. “I don’t know, ma’am. I wish I did.”

Her eyes turned glossy and tears fell in small tracks down her face.

A ball formed in the pit of his stomach. He was shit at this part, but he’d insisted on taking lead on telling the mother. When he learned his angel’s name, he knew he had to be the one to alert the family.

The tears always wrecked him, but they were his motivation. No killer could walk free after taking the life of someone’s child. He’d make it his mission.

“You have to find them. You have to find who did this to my girl.” Her voice was strong and earnest, reaching across that scratched oak kitchen table and right into his heart. “Because if they can do this to my poor baby, they’ll do this to someone else.”

He knew in his heart she was right. This killer had the scent of blood in his nose, you couldn’t ignore the lust once you wake it. He was all too familiar with that truth.

“I’ll do my best to bring this person to justice, ma’am.”

“For my angel?”

He saw a flash of her laying in the grass, naked with bullet holes in her back. That image was burned in his mind’s eye.

“For your angel.” He gave her his promise as he rose from the table.

Black plus white

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