Vicki Nelson was a latch key kid even before her dad left. Her mom went off to work every morning before Vicki left for school or got back home long after Vicki was in bed. She was a self sufficient kid, but some nights the silence of the house would get to her. Then she’d get up and turn on every light and the television as loud as she dared to and not disturb the neighbours.
When she grew up and joined the police academy it was like all the noise of having a normal family was returned to Vicki tenfold. In the station there was always a dull buzz of chatter: cops coming on and off duty, perps being lead back to interrogation, the phone ringing off the hook at all hours of the morning.
After she received her retinitis pigmentosa sentence and was forced out of the one place she’d felt like she’d belonged Vicki had often felt like that same scared and lonely ten year old haunting the rooms of an empty house as she wandered the rooms of her too quiet office where the phone rarely rang and the only chatter was when she talked to herself.
With the addition of Corinne the empty echo of her footsteps disappeared. Henry’s presence filled the space to over brimming whenever he appeared and Vicki could not deny his force was enticing, but it was really the return of Mike’s teasing, laughing, scolding, voice to her rooms that brought Vicki back to the copshop she’d spent too much time in, was really what brought her home.