Campanelli: Sentinel by Frederick H. Crook

before the report of thunder, counting three before it rumbled.
                  “What do we do now?” Tam asked as she moved closer to him.
                  “Wait for our clothes to dry.”
                  “They’re pretty soaked,” she replied, tilting her head and implying a long wait.
                  “It might take all night,” he said and kissed her. It was then he discovered that a chill was creeping into her. “You’re cold. You know, I have a pretty warm blanket in the bedroom.”
                  “Really?”
                  “Yeah. Come help me find it,” he said as he took her hands and led her from the couch.
    ***
                  Frank awoke some hours later, having slept a most satisfying sleep. He wondered what had awakened him and was quickly reminded of the thunderstorm that was still assaulting the city beyond his walls. The roof hummed with the persistent rainfall, sounding rather pleasant in its rhythm. He lay awake in his natural state of darkness, where the flashing of lightning could not be perceived, but was proven by the thunderclaps which followed. In between them, he could hear Tamara’s light snoring beside him. An exceptionally loud and close thunder strike startled him, but the woman’s breath missed not a beat. Over time, Frank had discovered that Tam could sleep through almost anything.
                  Realizing that he needed the bathroom, Campanelli rose gently and scooted his feet along the bedroom floor to find the robe he had so quickly discarded. The room was chilly and Tam had once again thieved the blankets for herself in her unconsciousness. His little toe located the robe, so Frank put it on and quietly left the room, navigating along his practiced path to the toilet without his implants activated.
                  He took a detour on the way back to the bedroom, heading instead to the patio door. Its glass thrummed with the blasts of raindrops, hitting the panes at a harsh, wind driven angle. This too, was a soothing sound to a normally preoccupied mind, so Frank placed a hand out in front of him to meet it gently. The glass was cold, giving witness to the low temperature beyond. Thunder rolled almost continuously, giving Frank the idea of activating his implant to view the light show. He was not disappointed by the brilliant blue and white flashes that he discovered.
                  He passed his eyes from one part of the room to the other, seeing the entire place catch the light from the electrical storm. Unconsciously, his mouth dropped open in delight of the display. At that moment, he felt utterly at peace as he witnessed the storm. He had no jurisdiction over it, had no responsibility for it and, even if someone said that he did, he was powerless to affect it. Frank was free to enjoy it and he did so happily for several minutes before heading back to bed. The thoughts of Sam Whethers and his daughter would not return until the morning.
    ***
                  The rest of Campanelli’s weekend had slipped leisurely by, giving him the rest he had needed. His tenacious thoughts of the shooting incident persisted, however, and the guilt remained painfully strong. Eventually, he hoped, he would come to accept Jimmy Antony’s role in the man’s death.
                  Monday, the twelfth of May, was sunny and already warm by seven that morning. Frank prepared for work and drank his coffee at his dining room table as he perused his messages on the CPD server. Marcus Williams had sent a message the previous afternoon and Frank cussed to an empty room. He wished that he had checked the server, but at the same time, he was grateful that he had not for it would have ruined the day.
                  Dmitri Vanek had thought it wise to assign detectives to keep Jimmy Antony under surveillance in an effort to keep the man from