CHAPTER 6
HANDOUTS

IRIS really didn't expect to get yelled at by both Mr. Angeles and the owner of St. Anne's come Monday morning. Well, with the Chief, she realized it might've been deserved. He obviously found out she wasn't working with the other lead detective on cases – or Dick ratted, which was also a possibility – and he most certainly wasn't happy about it. Whatever. Wasn't like she hadn't gotten this lecture before, and she didn't plan on changing her ways now.

However, the conversation with St. Anne's owner, Meleesa Hayward, ended in a screaming match, simply because she wished she would've been warned that an attack would be happening in the first place. Clearly, Meleesa didn't really understand the definition of a "surprise robbery," but Iris wasn't interested in the woman arguing with her for an hour. She didn't blame her. Iris was sure she'd probably act the same way if her pride and joy was broken into. She at least expected a thank you, since she kind of – you know – saved Meleesa's business. But all Iris received from the owner was a frustrated scoff and the telephone line going dead.

She just needs to calm down. That's what Iris told herself. If she didn't justify the rude woman's actions, she might've just punched a hole in the wall.

After a few days, Iris decided that maybe she would pay good ol' St. Anne's a visit, just to check up on things and make sure nothing strange had happened since the break-in. Iris tried to mentally prepare herself for an outburst from Meleesa while on the way there. She hoped the older woman wouldn't say the wrong thing, because there wouldn't be a phone line separating them anymore, and Iris was known to act with her fists. She hadn't done that in years, but still ... it was always good to expect the unexpected.

The outside of the building almost looked brand new when she pulled up. New sign, new windows, new painted finish ... you almost wouldn't believe that this place was a crime scene nearly a week ago. Iris stepped out of the cruiser she borrowed during her lunch hour and stared at the fresh coat of bright blue paint that now accompanied the outside. She nodded her head in admiration. For a small second, she had to hand it to Meleesa. The woman sure did know how to cover up an almost-tragedy.

The bell rang above her head as she walked through the front entrance. The air smelt fresh and clean. Iris looked to the corner of the room, down where the jewelry section was located, and noticed most of the glass boxes were now brand new. Not one crack, not one shard. Iris shrugged, turning her head in the direction of the cash wrap. A grumble echoed at her feet, and sure enough, she found Meleesa rummaging through the mess below her register.

Iris leaned over the counter. "Meleesa?"

The owner glanced up, immediately bumping her head on one of the shelves as she got to her feet. Iris winced, even though she didn't feel the pain. Meleesa rubbed at the throbbing pain that erupted within her forehead. "Jesus, what a way to start off the morning," she huffed, eyeing Iris with a sudden curiosity. "What can I help you with?"

"We actually spoke on the phone a few days ago," Iris said, approaching the subject gradually. She lifted the side of her jacket and revealed the police badge hanging on the inside. "I'm Detective Kingsley with the Detroit PD. I was there on the night of the break-in, but ..." She glanced around the area. "It almost looks like there wasn't one at all."

Meleesa nodded. "Yeah, we shut down for a few days to repair all the damage done. It finally gave me an excuse to sharpen up the place." She turned to face the detective, a soft smile gracing her thin, aging lips. "I'm sorry for the way I acted on the phone with you. I was under a lot of stress and –"

"No need to apologize. I would've acted the same way."

There absolutely was a need to apologize, but Iris needed to learn how to be the nice cop once in a while.

"I really –" Meleesa huffed, taking a moment to collect herself. Her gaze floated around the room. "I really want to thank you for helping to catch those criminals."

Criminal, Iris corrected in her head, but she refused to speak it. "It's my job," she replied with a shrug. "I just came here to check up on things and –"

Meleesa began shimmying from the cash wrap and gestured with her hand for Iris to follow. "I've been thinking of some ways to repay you!" She exclaimed, sprinting over to the jewelry aisle. "And I think I now know exactly what will fit."

Iris shook her head, hesitantly stepping over to meet Meleesa at the large glass case in the corner of the jewelry section. The first rule of police work was to never take handouts, especially from a victim of a crime. There weren't any particular rules written down in the handbook for it, but ... morally, it was wrong.

"Seriously, Meleesa," she continued, "I don't need anything."

The middle-aged shop owner didn't listen, and instead, unlocked the glass case with a tiny key mixed in the dozen hanging from her key ring. Meleesa lifted the top with ease, eyes glistening with excitement as she plucked a necklace from the satin cushion. Holding it out in front of her, Meleesa grinned, "I want you to have this."

Iris' eyes went wider than ever before. The necklace was definitely an antique, but she couldn't guess how old. The thick, silver chain looked like two chains intertwining with each other, wounding together to create something whole. A light shade of blue reflected off of her grey irises as she took in the pendant. It was made from some old shard of turquoise, with flecks of silver and gold littering the surface, as a frame that looked like the sun held it in place. Iris looked back at Meleesa, who was smiling from ear to ear. "I can't take this."

Meleesa lifted a brow. "Legally?"

"No, morally I can't take this," she clarified. "I was honestly just doing my job. It's wrong of me to accept a gift for that."

"I understand," Meleesa sighed, lowering the necklace just a bit, but Iris' stare was still trained on it. "I think the burglars were trying to get to something in this case. Maybe this necklace, but I don't know. I thought giving it to you was the right thing to do ..." She grinned again, holding the necklace up to Iris' neck. "And see how nice it would look on you!"

Iris' hard expression softened. "Meleesa –"

"Please, Detective Kingsley," she begged, rattling the large necklace in her hands. "Don't think of it as a gift. You'd be doing me a favor. The sight of this thing only reminds me of the nightmare that happened here, and I've been trying to sell it for weeks with no luck. It came from an anonymous benefactor and I can't contact them to take it back. Please. Just take it."

Iris looked back down at the stone. She licked her lips, imagining how it would look on her. She really didn't have a lot of necklaces that she liked, and turquoise was her birthstone. The look in Meleesa's eyes was truly pitiful. Iris felt her hand twitch, wanting to reach out for the necklace, as if it was calling out to her. This was morally wrong, but ... maybe because she was helping Meleesa ...

With a loud sigh, Iris said, "Sure, I'll take it."

Meleesa squealed, already running behind the detective to clip the piece on. Iris inwardly chastised herself for her stupid decision and shook her head, but still held up her hair. Meleesa lifted the necklace up and over Iris' head, allowing the pendant to collide with her chest, as if it was connected by a magnetic force. The shop owner brought the two ends of the clasp towards each other, but it linked together easily, surging towards each other before she could even blink. Meleesa released a humph, but paid it no mind.

She guided Iris towards the dusty mirror right next to the glass case. Their stares met in the mirror, and Meleesa's pearly whites sparkled. "It's like it was made for you!"

Iris forced a smile onto her lips, fingertips brushing against the stone laying delicately on her chest.

There was no way she could be seen with this in the office.

•••

Lucky for Iris, she had worn a turtleneck that day, so she was able to hide her newest jewelry piece underneath the collar of her sweater. No one suspected a thing. She didn't even want to imagine what Mr. Angeles would say if he saw it. He would've known straight then that she accepted a handout. (He wasn't always that clever, but sometimes, he allowed his brain to work overtime.)

Dick hadn't even questioned her for coming into the station way later than usual and the fact that she wasn't in too much of a hurry to get to her seat. He hardly looked up from his computer as she waltzed into the office, taking her seat casually. Iris cast a quick glance in the direction of his office – the fastest she had ever turned her head – and noticed that he was hard at work, the blinds closed on every window. She frowned and walked to her cubicle. He hadn't acknowledged her since their argument at the St. Anne's crime scene.

The day went on as scheduled. The Chief suggested a new case for her to work on. Something about a body found by the creek near the outskirts of the city. An empty bottle of Captain Morgan was found right near it. She began her research, as requested, but it didn't take an idiot to realize what had happened. The person obviously got way too intoxicated on that bottle of rum, fell in the creek, and was too drunk to pick themselves up. They drowned. Easy as pie.

Her night was spent on the usual train ride. The usual screaming commenced. The old man sitting at the end of the cart continued with his usual, manic laughter. And Iris drowned them all out with a mere swipe of her headphones. She trudged up those rickety stairs again, looking towards Josh's front door. A sickly feeling plummeted in her stomach and crawled all the way up her throat. His whole door was perfectly intact, as if no one had ever lived there. The only evidence left of Josh Zuma was the weird symbol still hanging underneath his apartment number.

Iris sighed as she shut her door, immediately turning on an old episode of Friends from her mom's Netflix account that she didn't know she still used. After rummaging through her fridge for fifteen minutes, Iris settled on three-day-old, cold pizza. Dinner of champions. She stuffed her face while watching the rerun she had seen about a hundred times, washing the meal down with her favorite whiskey.

Nothing was out of the ordinary that whole day. Nothing at all.

After quickly washing her face, Iris tugged on an old men's t-shirt and decided to retire for the night. She'd shower in the morning. Pulling her hair up into a messy ponytail, she looked in the mirror and realized she totally forgot her new necklace had been on this entire time. It was like she hardly felt it at all. The weight of her own guilt of accepting it masked the existence of the necklace as a whole. Iris bit her lip while looking at it in the mirror. It did look really pretty.

"You can't wear this anymore, Kingsley," she told herself. "No more handouts."

Reaching around to the back of her neck, Iris began to fumble with the clasp to take it off, but she could hardly get a grip on the thing. "Goddamn nails," she whispered, looking down at her short cuticles, still half-painted. Iris huffed and reached back again, finding the clasp and playing with the opening.

She then realized that she couldn't feel it. The clasp felt like a solid bead holding it together, unwilling to break. Iris lifted a brow. She played with it in her fingers before eventually spinning it towards her collarbone, to get a glimpse of the clasp in her bathroom. Surely, there had to be a way to get it off. I mean, how did Meleesa put it on in the first place?

But there wasn't a clasp. There wasn't a damn clasp. A solid, iron bead held the necklace together, locking it around her neck. Iris started to sweat. She tugged on the chain hard, using all the strength left in her body to rip the necklace right off. But it wouldn't. The necklace was unwilling – no, refusing her. She pulled and she pulled and she pulled, but it stayed in place. The stone glowed hazily with each tug.

Was this the universe punishing her for taking a handout? Did she really do something that bad?

She didn't have time to answer those questions, because her hands started to burn.

Iris felt it immediately. The burning started at her fingertips, spreading all the way down to her palms. Her whole hand felt like it was on fire. It pulsed and ached and felt like a symbol was being branded into her, like in one of those weird cult movies. She winced in pain and brought her hands back in front of her eyes. A scream clogged itself in her throat.

They were glowing.

Her hands were fucking lighting up.

A bright, turquoise-blue light flooded her whole vision. It radiated across her stare, reflecting through her grey irises. The light was so blinding that she could hardly look at it, and she didn't want to. She didn't want to acknowledge it – a new change creeping its way into her life – but her palms were burning and pulsing with goddamn lights. How could she possibly ignore something like that?

Iris sunk to the floor. She only had on a thin pair of shorts, and the yellow tiles felt cool over her bare legs. Iris pressed her palms into the cold surface to gain some equilibrium, but nothing would stop the burning. Nothing would stop the lights. She heaved and heaved and smashed her hands against the floor, begging for the lights to cease and go away forever. She clenched and unclenched her fingers. She turned on the bathtub faucet and ran her hands underneath the water. But the lights never wavered. They didn't even flicker.

The necklace wouldn't come off, and now her hands were lighting up.

How could this night get even worse? Very easily.

Iris felt a wetness on her cheeks. She had been crying, but she hardly felt a thing while trying to cease the blue strobe igniting her entire palm. "Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god," she sobbed, pressing her hands into the tiled floor, begging for release.

There was no way out of this. There was no one that could help her. She didn't have a neighbor anymore. Her family lived all the way in another state. And she wouldn't dare call Charlie – not like she had her number anyways. She was completely, utterly alone.

Unless ...

Iris lifted her tear-streaked face towards the toilet, where her phone sat on the edge of the closed cover. She blew a wandering strand of dark hair out of her face. Maybe it was time to go with her last option. It wasn't like she had anything left to lose.

Wiping the leftover mascara from her tearful eyes, Iris sat up on her knees and reached for her phone. She fumbled with it for a few seconds, struggling to even unlock it with the blue light covering her fingertip. Eventually, she got it open, and hurriedly searched through her contacts list until she landed on the D section.

Iris groaned loudly. She looked to her palms, the light pulsing as she stared at it more and more, letting it blind her into oblivion. With a shake of her head, Iris sucked up all her pride and pressed her finger down on the call button.

Calling Dick Grayson ...

•••

A/N: DUN DUN DUNNNNNN