Work Text:
Blanc held the phone against his ear with his shoulder. "Hello?" The frigid New York air caused the words to become vapor as they left his mouth. He unwrapped the cigar from its plastic package. Might as well have a smoke while he took the call. Most prospective clients were more interested in speaking about their problems than hearing about his.
A tinny voice rang through the phone's speaker. Female, with a familiar accent, though unidentifiable through the wind in the background. "Detective Blanc?"
"This is he." Blanc cut a V into the crown, then twisted the cigar and repeated the motion. "May I ask who's calling?"
"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry, detective." The noise cleared a bit, the sound of a door closed barely audible over the line. "This is Marta? Marta-"
"Marta Cabrera!" Blanc found himself smiling around the cigar now clenched between his teeth. "Yes, Miss Cabrera. I apologize for not recognizing your voice. Long-distance calls, you know." He waved his hand nonsensically, lighter in hand. "It doesn't make for clear communication."
There was a small huff from the other end. "I know." A sigh, further away from the speaker, as if Marta wanted to hide her hesitation. "Um, look, detective..."
"The family hasn't been botherin' you, have they? I know the lieutenant said he'd be keepin' an eye on 'em, but..." He shrugged, flicking the lighter's switch. The flame provided a painful warmth to the hand cupped around the cigar. "I'd be happy to help out, really."
"No! No, it's nothing like that. It's, um... I don't know how..." Blanc heard quiet rustling against the speaker, as if Marta was tucking her hair behind her ear. A nervous tic, maybe. "Have you- do you know many people who have seen... um, witnessed the murders you've solved?"
A beat of silence passed, during which Blanc took a puff from his cigar. "Quite a few, yes." He exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Many of them bribed into silence, threatened, that sort of thing. Comes with the job, I suppose."
"What about you?"
Blanc chuckled. "What about me?"
"Have you seen..." Marta trailed off for a moment, "You know."
"A murder?" The detective took another drag from the cigar, held his breath a moment, then released it. "Very rarely. Not in person, at least. And not for a very long time. I usually arrive after the crime has taken place, and the murderer is keeping their hands as clean as possible." He tapped his cigar against the ashtray, sending a tiny cloud of ashes into the air. "Why do you ask, Miss Cabrera?"
"My sister. She watches these... Shows. Movies, sometimes. Murder mysteries, whodunnits, true crime documentaries. Things like that." Marta took a shaky breath. "Usually, it doesn't bother me. It reminds me of him, you know? Of Harlan."
"Mm."
"But today... Earlier. There was an episode of this show, with a bunch of police pushing the killer into a trap, trying to arrest him. Then he- he... shit."
Through the rustling on the other line, Blanc heard the girl's voice wobble. "Marta?"
"I don't know why it's so hard to say," Quietly, quickly, as if afraid of the words leaving her mouth, "He- the killer, I mean- from the show- had a knife. And when the police." She cleared her throat, "When the police got closer, he... he cut his throat."
Blanc hummed in response, rolling the cigar between his fingers.
Marta pushed forward. "And it wasn't like... it wasn't like I had a flashback or anything. I was still in the living room, watching a TV show with Alice. It's just that… I could also see him, you know? Harlan, when he-” She cut herself off. “I don’t know. It's like it's burned in the back of my brain."
“I understand.” He paused. “Is there something you wanted to ask me, Miss Cabrera?”
“There’s no one else I can talk to. Fran saw him, after, but…” Marta paused. “My mom and Alice never saw anything like that, but I thought maybe you had.”
The wind from Boston hit the speaker with a low whistle. A corresponding breeze dissipated the smoke from Blanc’s cigar.
“I know what grief is like. My dad, he died when Alice was a baby. But I wasn’t there for that. This is something different. The memory- the one of Harlan- just shows up.” Marta cleared her throat. “And it doesn’t go away.”
After a beat of silence, Blanc spoke. "Miss Cabrera, what you went through that night, the things you had to see, the things you had to do, were things that a person could live their entire life without seeing or doing."
He softened his voice a bit. "You watched a friend, a dear friend of yours, die in an extremely sudden and violent manner. Anyone who experiences something like that would be affected. Even someone who’s spent years of their life exposed to stories and images of death, as I suspect you have been.”
A small noise came from the other end of the line. Blanc could picture her clearly, in an old sweater, wrapped in a blanket. Maybe nursing a mug of tea, surveying the massive estate from her porch. “I just want to forget it.” Her voice had broken. “Isn’t it enough for him to be dead?”
Blanc paused, then set his cigar in the ashtray at his side. “The human mind has a habit of remembering negative experiences with astounding clarity, most times with more clarity than anyone is comfortable with. A remnant of our more primitive selves, same as our fight-or-flight reflexes. Your brain thought there had to be something important in that memory, so it did its damned best to preserve it, in the possibility that you could use it in the future. In this case,” he continued, “it was sorely mistaken.”
“And it'll never go away.”
Blanc shook his head. "I am sorry, Marta. I've kept contact with a few of the witnesses to the crimes I've solved." He grimaced a bit. It was always a struggle to thread the needle of truth-telling and gentility in the quiet moments, when there was no guilty party to direct his ire at. "None of them came away unscathed. Some fare better than others, but..." He shook his head. "There's no changing what they've seen, what they've experienced."
"God.” Marta sighed. Something softly rustled against the speaker. “I hate this.”
Blanc hummed again, in a tone he hoped expressed sympathy. "It's not the answer you wanted, I know.
"But know this, Marta: every one of those witnesses, to this day, has found a way to survive their ordeal. Some can't get a good night's rest without checking the locks three times at night. Some have to get a pet to watch over them while they sleep. You may have to go the rest of your life without seeing another murder mystery or slasher movie. But you will make it. Because you have to,” Blanc picked up his cigar, “and because you deserve to."
“Alice is going to be pissed.” A hint of humor now laced her words. “We’ll never be able to watch Criminal Minds again.”
Blanc chuckled. “It was good to hear from you, Miss Cabrera,” he said. “I do hope you’ll stay in touch.”
Marta hummed in an affirmative tone. Blanc smiled to himself, setting the phone down as the call ended. He took a long drag from his cigar and settled back in his chair, turning his gaze to watch the sun set behind the city skyline.