14/12/2016 7:24 AM Manhattan, New York. NYPD.

"Urgh," I groan exhaustedly at the constant, unrelenting squeaky noise Joshua Diaz makes from his holding cell, by trying to dismantle a loose screw that connects his "bed" to the concrete floor.

From where I sit hunched over my desk, in the golden hue of my lamp, I glare at him. Then he glares back at me, and goes back to being nuisance, sitting on the floor like a whining child. He's deliberately making as much noise as he can. The second he arrived and Spencer called me down to inform me that she did what I said, I refused to let him out of my sight. Therefore, I had some of my friends, long-known colleagues, bring my workplace to me. They dragged over some old mahogany wooden desk, threw a lamp on it and got me all my files. I'm not leaving this room. Especially not with his past records of escaping custody. It's been a few good years since he's ever been arrested but old habits die hard.

"Can you not?"

No answer.

"Listen, you prick. Ever since Spencer dumped you here and I've had to baby sit you, I've got no sleep whatsoever. And from memory, neither of you. How about you do both of us a favour and take a nap?" All I get is silence again. "Cut it out!"

Much to my approval, he does and takes a glance up at me with slightly reddened eyes. "Where's Spencer?"

I furrow my eyebrows at this random question. "Not here. She's probably sound asleep, like I'd love to be as she couldn't take any more of your nonsense. I can't either. Back when the 'Diaz' case was actually alive and running, it was a pain in our asses. Now, even with the Aldira Brothers dead, you pop up from the ashes and still want to make it a pain in our asses. Congratulations, you've become a pain in my ass, I can tell you that. I could've spent my weekend working on anything el-" I begin to mutter angrily under my breath, but Joshua's voice interrupts me.

"They're not dead," he states simply.

"Yes. They are!" I exclaim through gritted teeth. "If you want to stubborn and delusional, I can even grab you their autopsy reports from the morgue. We took photos of them at the actual location of the car wreck post mortem and their DNA was tested when they were brought in. Guess what? The DNA, it was theirs! I know! What a shocker."

"It wasn't them," he persists in the same monotone voice as before. As if he's repeated this a thousand times.

I snicker and shake my head in sympathy. "You've clearly got a few bolts loose."

Aggravatingly and with haste, Joshua pulls and tugs at the loose screw in one of the legs of the old, musty bed until it pops out with a squeak. The silver, slightly rusted screw rolls along the concrete ground and Joshua just stares at it, studying it with disappointment. I shake my head once again whilst I loosen up my ocean-blue coloured tie around my neck. If he's sent to prison rather than the mental hospital he was in before, I'll feel somewhat sorry for the poor guy. He's going to have a hard time in the not-so-peanut gallery. Those men there would smash him to a pulp if they saw what he acts like. Biting the inside of my mouth, I force myself to concentrate back on my work but accidentally find myself reading what I had just read only a moment ago.

Softly, Joshua whistles himself a happy tune whilst eyeing the cell over once more. This time, kneeling before the unpleasant-looking, steel criss-cross-wired bed frame with only a thin plastic beige-coloured mattress over the top of it for minimum discomfort. My eyes bore into his every move, peeking over the lid of my laptop. It isn't too long before he catches me and throws me back the same glare. Whilst partaking in a staring competition, he straightens himself up on his knees, resting his elbows on the mattress of the bed, clasping them together as if getting ready for prayer. His eyes seem to say, "I'm just praying. How about a little privacy?" and I roll my eyes and glance back at my glowing computer screen.

I tell myself I'll only glance away for a minute and begin furiously typing on my open document with lightning fast fingers, glancing down at the on-paper information on my desk beside me. Then, that one minute turns into two minutes, it isn't long until another one passes. Hastily, finishing off a paragraph, a bell rings in my head, reminding me to check the time. With strained eyes, I look at the tiny white numbers in the top-right corner of the screen. 7:32 AM!?

The second I look up, I see Joshua standing at the cell door. Lock-picking away with a long strand of steel wire, casually with one hand resting in his pocket.

Immediately I shoot up, almost stumbling out of my chair exhaustedly in the process and march over. This gets his attention but he still continues as if he's got a chance.

"If you don't give me that immediately, I'll go in that cell with a taser and get it myself." I arrive at the thick, metal bars. "Hey! Did you seriously thin-" I bellow at the guy whilst reaching through the gaps in the cell to snatch wire out of his hands but out of nowhere, the unexpected happens.

I'm frozen in shock, my mouth agape, like a deer caught in the headlights.

Lightning quick, a cold, silver contraption locks around my right wrist, condemning my right arm to be forever attached to a pole of the holding cell. With alarmed eyes, I switch between Joshua's face and my hand, the expression on his face, back to my hand. Trying to process what just happened. I yell profanities in his face but all he does is laughs.

"Sneaky hands," he says, holding up his hands and twinkling his fingers.

They must've been from Spencer when she hurriedly escorted him to his cell.

At the same speed as before, he snatches the keys to the holding cell door, right out of my tuxedo pocket, dangling them in front of my face, on my right side, of course.

"Whoops! Got you again!"

I have never felt more hatred for a man in my life, I ponder as he unlocks the cell door by snaking his around around the outside. He pushes it open slowly.

"Do you wanna know what I despised most about that day?"

"About what day?! Un-cuff me now, you bastard!" I exclaim with pure vexation, glancing over my shoulder.

He shrugs as if it were the least of his problems, curling in his lips sympathetically. "Whoops, sorry. No can do, I had no reason to grab the keys. One of your buddies will have to find them." He begins to ramble on about some unknown date, "The journalists and news reporters arrived before the cleanup personnel did. The police force that arrived at the scene had to hold back and barricade the way into the factory to prevent people from taking candid photographs and violating the privacy of the deceased." Not until he uttered the word 'deceased' do I realise that he's talking about the day his little sister was found murdered.

"The police force arrived earlier than anyone else, and you didn't even catch them! After that, they may as well of been as important as the gum on your shoes. You did not only do me and Evelyn an injustice, but whoever else ended up suffering at the hands of them afterwards! Like, oh well! Didn't catch them today boys, looks like we don't bother again!" he spits, mocking me in the last few words of his sentences, speaking in a similar New York City accent.

He reaches behind him, taking my radio and my phone in his hands on display before carelessly dropping them on the concrete floor. They smash to pieces with cracks in their screens, pieces missing, but Joshua steps on both of them to finish the job.

He stalks back over. "Hmm, you look tired. Why don't you do us both a favour and take a nap?" he questions cheekily, patting my back lightly.

I can no longer see him, my blind spots betraying me but the echoes of his footsteps along the concrete tell me he's starting to stroll away.

"You so called "protectors", you saw what they did to my little sister. You had them in your fingertips and you failed me. So if you want something done right I guess you've gotta do it yourself. Since you won't do your bloody job, I'll do it for you."

"You're not some righteous vigilante!" I shout at him. "You have no cause! You're fighting a fight with no enemy!"

All I get back is a snicker, and his footsteps get ever so lighter, softer, further away.

"H-hey! You can't leave me like this you prick!" I find myself starting to stutter at the stress of it all.

Furiously, I fight against the handcuffs.

"Just watch me," he calmly replies back, now a far distance down the hallway. I dread for the sound of the entry to the holding cells opening and closing behind him. Two minutes later, that exact sound echoes down the hallway, bouncing off the walls.

But it's no use, I stare at the cuffs in defeat. "God damn you, good quality handcuffs," I mutter under my breath.

Stressed as stressed could be, I glance around my surroundings, only to see nothing of any use. That's when I let out one last infuriated scream. I doubt Joshua Diaz is even in the building anymore.