Gingerbread Man

them both like a physical blow. Jerry turned his back on it, a knee-jerk reaction. A second later Vince heard his partner's staggering footsteps as he headed back through the house and out the front door, then he heard him retching someplace beyond it. Hell, it looked like Vince would be doing this alone after all.
    Stiffening his spine, Vince pulled the lapel of his coat up over his nose and mouth, pulled out his flashlight, and flicked it on.
    The beam pierced the darkness, the floating dust specs, the invisible veil between blessed blindness and hell. The pale light spilled onto the bodies of Kara and Bobby Prague, and Vince turned away, but not before the image had burned itself into his brain. He lurched out of the room, and a second later he was outside, on his knees beside his partner. He wasn't puking. Just kneeling there, ice cold, his entire body rigid, eyes wide and unable to erase what they had seen. Unable to silence the voice in his mind telling him he had failed. He'd promised to find those kids—but not like this.
Goddamn,
not like this. He kept seeing Sara Prague's eyes, the hope he had put in them.
    "Vince? Vince, what the hell was it...
?
Jerry wiped his mouth with a handkerchief, getting to his feet to lean over him. "Was it the Prague kids? Was it them?" When he didn't answer, Jerry swore and turned to go back inside.
    Vince got up, grabbed his partner, jerked him around. "Don't go in there."
    "The hell I won't." Jerry pulled free.
    Vince punched him. Just like that, he clocked his partner in the jaw, knocked him flat on his back. Jerry lay there, blinking up at him in shocked silence.
    "No man with kids has any business seeing what's in that room," he muttered. Then he stepped over Jerry to reach into the car for the radio mike, and, keying it, requested a coroner and a forensics team.
    Three days later, Vince and Jerry sat in Chief Rogers' office. Jerry and the chief seemed to be taking turns shooting worried looks Vince's way, but he did his best to ignore them.
    The chief didn't waste a lot of time before coming to the point. "You two are off the Prague case."
    Vince surged to his feet "What do mean? Jesus, chief, we don't even have the autopsy report yet!"
    The chief held up both hands and kept talking. "The FBI has it. They've taken over. They have three other cases with what they say are striking similarities in Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, and Jersey. They've got a task force in place to deal with it, and they don't want any locals stepping on their toes."
    "That's bullshit," Vince snapped. "I've been working this case for almost a month, dammit. I have to get this guy."
    "You're off the case, O'Mally."
    "
I
have to get this guy."
    The chief glanced sideways at Jerry, then focused on Vince again. "Sit down."
    Vince sat, but stiffly. He braced himself on the edge of the chair, his hands balled into fists on his knees.
    "When's the last time you shaved, O'Mally? Huh?" The chief eyed him, looking more concerned than stern. "How long since you've eaten a full meal, or had a few hours' sleep? Have you walked by a mirror lately?"
    Vince averted his eyes. "I've been busy."
    "You're running on empty. You can't possibly be thinking clearly. Now, I know that crime scene got to you. It got to all of us. The forensics team that went in there is undergoing group counseling, and they admit they're having trouble. And these guys have seen damn near everything."
    "I'm fine," Vince insisted.
    "No. I don't think so. Do you think he's fine, Jerry?"
    Jerry shook his head. "No sir, I don't think he's fine at all."
    "Jerry, for crying out—"
    "I'm sorry partner, but you've been messed up since you came out of that room. I don't know what the hell to do about it. You insisted on talking to Sara Prague yourself—breaking the news, when I begged you to let someone else do it. When you came out of her house that day you looked... dead, Vince. You looked dead. You're drowning in this case, man, and I don't know how to pull you out."
    Vince tipped his head back, rolled his eyes at the ceiling.
    I’m gonna give you a choice, O'Mally," the chief said slowly. "Take a thirty-day leave, get out of here, get away from this thing, and see if you can shake it off."
    "No way. I'm seeing this thing through to the end, Feds or no Feds. What's behind door number two, Chief?"
    "An hour a day with Dr. Feltzer."
    "The shrink from hell?" The chief nodded. "For how long?" Vince asked.
    "Until she says you're passably