It hadn't taken her long to pack. She managed to fit about half of her clothes into two suitcases and put the other half in a cardboard box which she labelled PLEASE DONATE using a Sharpie. Another box contained assorted items such as several paperback books, an old iPad, and a record player she'd once wanted to repair but never got around to. It was labelled the same way.
She had called Zack, fully aware that he was at work and would not be able to take her call. She left him a message that she now regretted as she wheeled her suitcases to the front door. It had been brief and even now, as she looked around at the house, unnaturally empty and cleaned, she wondered if she'd owed him more of an explanation.
That was ridiculous, though. If she owed anyone an explanation, it was herself, for staying stuck in this lifestyle as long as she'd had.
"I'm heading out of town for good," she'd said. "The house is paid for up until the end of next month. It's yours if you want it. If not, the lease will expire and become available. All of your stuff is still here, so come get it whenever you want. You can have the furniture, TV, and anything else we went halves on. I'm starting a new chapter in my life and it's clear that you aren't in it. Please respect my wishes and don't bother calling. Take care, Zack."
The bit about a new chapter was clichéd, but true. It was why she could so easily leave behind thousands of dollar worth of furniture and appliances. It simply wasn't worth the arguments she'd have with Zack over them. It was also why she was leaving half of her clothes. She could buy new clothes-clothes that she'd always wanted to wear but had hesitated to because of what Zack might think, or how Porter or Nelson might react.
This new life she was walking towards offered a new vision of herself that she had only dared to dream of before now. What was the alternative? Was she supposed to stay here and suck up her suspension, then return to work with one more mark against her in a sea of aging men that saw her as an empty threat?
No thanks.
The house had never been so quiet. It was nearly as serene and still as murder scenes she'd seen-almost as stoic as that first cornfield where they'd discovered the first victim. Anything of hers that remained in this house was dead. She felt that with certainty as she reached for the doorknob.
When Mackenzie opened the door and stepped outside, she felt an unseen weight dissolve from her. It only increased as she rolled her suitcases across the small yard and to her car. She put the suitcases in the trunk, slammed it closed, and got behind the wheel.
When she backed out towards the street, she didn't give the house a second look. Her future was in the other direction. All the house represented was a past that she could already feel sliding from her shoulders, a burden she had carried for far longer than she should have.
*
The papers had finally gotten tired of the story. Mackenzie had read it five different ways and no matter how it was told, she still felt as if she were reading about someone else. She had not granted interviews, allowing lazy reporters to assume things. She'd even gone online to the Oblong Journal to see if Ellis Pope had written anything about it.
He did not disappoint. He told a story about a violent young woman who thought she was the Punisher, going against her chief's wishes and nabbing the bad guy anyway. While the article had been scathing and hateful, the comments section tore Pope down, heralding Mackenzie as a bad-ass and, according to a few posters, a hottie.
She was reading that particular story on her iPad in the airport when her flight was announced. She grabbed her bags and thought about the call she'd had earlier in the morning with Ellington. It still felt like she had dreamed it all, even as she started towards the gate.
"I wanted to call to let you know that they've asked me to be a part of your initial meeting," he'd said. "Is that going to be okay with you?"
"Yes, that's fine."
"You excited?"
"I am. But I'm nervous more than anything else."
"No need to be. Everyone here is psyched that you're coming. And now it's more than just my praises. The news has been exceptionally kind to you lately. And the fact that you've been humble about it-that speaks volumes."
"Thanks again, by the way," Mackenzie said.
He'd chuckled then and said: "Special Agent White. That sound good to you yet?"
She began to board the ramp to her flight, and stopped to look back at the airport one last time. She expected to take it all in, one last look at her home-but instead, to her horror, she saw the moment she had slammed the killer's head into the floor again and again. She recalled how savage it had made her feel-how absolutely untamed and unpredictable. It had scared her in the days that had followed, but she also knew that it was a part of her now-a part she'd known existed ever since she'd found her father's body.
Now that she had let that part of her out and accepted it as her own, how would that alter the way she worked from now on?
She supposed there was no better way to tell than with a new job where no one knew her. While she wasn't na?ve enough to think that it could be a true fresh start, she did, for the first time, believe that she was capable.
She shook away the image and walked down the concourse. A plane was waiting for her.
And so was a new future.