Last Goodbye in Pieces

Half a month ago, the killer appeared out of nowhere and found my boyfriend.They had snatched Nancy Lewis, the girl he had never gotten over.“Hey, Green, the great artist, recognize this one?”Nancy was ghost-white, clinging to hope like it was a lifeline. Tears streaming down her face, she begged for rescue. “Patrick, please save me! I’m terrified! Can you take me home? Please?”I had never seen Patrick lose his composure before. His eyes, usually so calm, were filled with worry—something rare for him. Patrick was always the stoic one, his emotions carefully hidden behind a mask of calm. The only other time I had seen him so rattled was when I threw him a surprise birthday party. That day, the rooftop was battered by fierce winds, and he was overwhelmed with work at the station, completely forgetting his own birthday. I waited for him until well past midnight. When he finally returned and saw the spaghetti I had made, his eyes filled with gratitude.However, with Nancy in d

Patrick was sitting by Tracy’s bedside in the hospital when a soft knock echoed at the door.He opened it to find a delivery man, who whispered, “Hey, your flower order is here. Mind leaving a good review?”Staring at the flowers in the delivery man’s hands, Patrick’s face froze in shock.That’s when it hit me—I had ordered those flowers by phone, worried that Patrick might see me at the hospital. They were meant to be a sign of my feelings. I had even asked the florist to include a note: “Wishing Mrs. Green a speedy recovery.”However, as Patrick read the note, his anger erupted. He tossed the card straight into the trash.“Yasmine, you think a couple of flowers will settle your debt to my mom? No way! Forget it! Unless you come and apologize to my mom face-to-face, I’ll never forgive you!”In a fit of rage, he threw the flowers into the trash can next to him.I instinctively reached out to stop him, but my transparent, ghostly hand passed right through the flowers, touching no

When Patrick arrived at the station, there it was—the body on the autopsy table.The medical examiner had pieced the face back together.The captain clapped Patrick on the back, concern in his voice. "Maybe you should continue this tomorrow. You're not looking so hot."However, Patrick shook his head. "Better to get this done sooner, for the family's sake. I'm okay, really."That was Patrick—always all business when it came to work, returning to the icy persona everyone knew. The captain didn't have much of a choice. He had to let him have the room.Nobody could question how good Patrick was at his job. Even I was blown away when I saw him work his magic, turning a pile of bones into a face from the past.Patrick holed up in that room for a full day and night, barely pausing for a four-hour break. By the end, his eyes were red, and his hand clutching the brush shook uncontrollably. Sweat dotted his forehead.Then he saw the face he had drawn and freaked out. He chucked his pen a

"Patrick, you need to swing by the station. There's something you gotta see."Looking like he'd been through a storm, Patrick showed up at the station.The detective chief handed him a newly arrived package."No clue who sent it, but it's got a portrait inside," the chief said. "It's got your style written all over it."Patrick's eyes widened in surprise as he finally took in the sight of the painting before him. He was utterly dumbfounded."Where did this painting come from?"The team leader shook his head. "No clue. We've grilled the delivery guy, but he's just as clueless about the sender. No return address either. We think this painting might be tied to the killer's motive."However, our digging turned up nothing. We've got photos of Yasmine as a kid, but that's it. No information about her parents. So, I kicked it upstairs and put in a request to pull the classified files."When they hit a dead end on the parents in the files, it usually meant one of two things: either the

Patrick’s tenth year undercover marked a turning point. His face became a constant on wanted posters in every precinct. The man named Patrick was no longer remembered; his past was erased. His name became synonymous with crime and filth. He had become the face of the underworld.Yet, that so-called monster was out there, fighting battles all alone. He gained everyone’s trust. In a twist no one expected, he took down the enemy’s hideouts one by one. By the time reinforcements arrived, Patrick had vanished into the chaos of the brutal showdowns.The world cheered, thinking they had rid themselves of a menace. Behind closed doors, though, the cops prayed for his safe return.That following autumn, Tracy found Patrick at my grave. There he was, a solitary figure slumped in front of the stone. A mess of a man, staring at the black-and-white photo on my grave. Patrick cracked a goofy grin and whispered, “Yasmine…”He had completely lost it.When they rushed him to the hospital