Chapter 9-10 - The Rookie: Former Seal

Chapter 9 – The Last Vigil

September 23, 2015 – 6:37 AM

Los Angeles Islamic Cemetery – West Branch

The morning sun hadn't yet reached its peak. The low-lying mist hung like a silent veil over the headstones, and the air carried that bittersweet scent of damp earth, cut flowers, and suspended time. It was the kind of place that commanded respect not for its grandeur, but for the serenity that forced the world to whisper.

Angela Lopez approached slowly, her shoes sinking slightly into the grass. The black scarf draped over her shoulders contrasted with the formal uniform she wore in honor of the ceremony. In front of her, already standing rigidly, his gaze fixed on the freshly turned soil, was Derek Davis.

He wore no uniform.

He wore a simple dark suit, without medals or insignia. His hands were clasped in front of him, his spine straight, his face impassive but his eyes… his eyes were quieter than usual. As if the memories held more weight than words could allow.

Sami Noor's body had been found two days earlier, buried in a vacant lot in East Los Angeles, unmarked, wrapped in an old blanket, with strangulation marks and bruises. Dental records had to be cross-referenced to confirm.

His sister, Rana Noor, had arrived from Houston the night before. Young, in her early thirties, she wore a navy blue hijab and had her brother's eyes—eyes that knew more pain than any soul should. She stood beside a man Derek had met in Kandahar: Imam Khalid Safi, a spiritual leader who worked among Afghan immigrants in the United States.

"All set," Khalid said quietly, looking at Derek.

Derek nodded. Sami's body was wrapped in a white cloth, as required by Islamic ritual. No coffin. Just the cloth and earth. Just as he had requested on his immigration documents, should he die in the United States.

The small group gathered was made up of no more than fifteen people: some members of the Afghan community, two federal officers, Angela, Derek, and Rana.

Angela approached him silently.

"You came early."

"He deserved not to be alone."

She looked at the covered body.

"Do you think he knew? That he would be hunted for what he did... for those he helped?"

Derek looked at her, without anger, without regret, just with the firmness of someone who has carried many bodies and many absences.

"Yes. But he came anyway. He chose to help. And that makes him braver than most."

The imam began the funeral prayer, in Pashto and Arabic. Voices rose in reverent murmurs. Rana knelt beside the grave, her eyes fixed on the white cloth. She wasn't crying loudly. Her tears fell like rain on glass: slow but steady.

When the ceremony ended, the men approached to place the earth over the body. Derek knelt first, scooping up a handful of earth with his bare hands. The gesture was symbolic, but there was a reverence in his movements that made it deeply personal.

He spoke softly, in Pashto:

"Za ba ta khabare wom. Ma da maham khabar de, Sami. Staso haq ba da wa."

("I told you I would find you. The mission was important. Justice will be yours.")

Angela heard the words, even if she didn't understand. But she felt them. And perhaps that was enough.

8:02 AM – Cemetery Entrance

After the ceremony, most people dispersed. Rana remained. She approached Derek with short but firm steps. Angela stood a few feet away, giving him space.

—"Are you Derek Davis?"

—"I am."

—"My brother was talking about you. He said an American helped him once, in Bagram. He said there was a man who spoke Pashto better than many native translators."

Derek lowered his gaze for a second.

—"Your brother was brilliant. And brave."

—"He just wanted to live in peace. He thought that by helping, he was building a better world."

—"He was."

—"You... you were the one who found him, weren't you?"

Derek hesitated, then nodded.

—"Yes."

—"It was horrible?"

He took a moment to answer. Then she said firmly:

"It was cruel. But he didn't die as an unknown. He died as someone who will be remembered. And avenged."

She nodded. Then, without asking permission, she hugged him.

It was a brief hug, without despair, but filled with restrained gratitude. When she pulled away, her eyes were calm.

"Thank you for not letting him become just a number."

9:35 AM – Mid-Wilshire Police Station

Back at the station, the pace of the city seemed a stark contrast to the silence of the cemetery. Phones rang, keyboards were hammered, officers loudly reporting incidents.

Angela and Derek went upstairs to the break room, where they finally sat down with two cups of coffee.

"Have you seen many funerals?" Angela asked.

"More than I wanted. State funerals. Impromptu burials. Lonely burials."

She took a sip of coffee.

— "Never I understood how you carry so much. And yet you still seem whole."

"Because I refuse to forget. Every name, every face. I don't let them die in my memory. That… keeps me whole."

Angela nodded silently.

Then she looked at him, with a touch of lightness.

"Are you going to sleep tonight?"

Derek gave a small smile.

"Maybe."

"Because you're driving tomorrow. And if you take that wide curve again, I'll yell at you in front of the entire police station."

He laughed—a genuine, rare sound, and in that moment, necessary.

"Understood, TO."

5:47 PM – Cemetery – Silent Return

Later, alone, Derek returned to the cemetery. He was wearing dark jeans and a black t-shirt. He carried a small book: an old edition of Marcus Aurelius's "Meditations," in Pashto.

He knelt before the simple headstone, where only Sami's name was written in Arabic and English, along with an inscription:

"To those who listened and helped, even in silence."

Derek placed the book there, wrapped in plastic. He murmured:

"You were more than a translator. You were a bridge. And where there is a bridge, there is a path."

The wind blew through the trees. The leaves rustled with a whisper that, for a moment, seemed like an answer.

Derek stood and walked back. His steps were firm, but his gaze… his gaze now held a new kind of peace. The peace of someone who had kept a promise.

And he knew that, even if the world remained unjust, there was still room for honor.

Chapter 10 – The Voice in the Stillness

September 24, 2015 – 11:06 AM

Police Car 7-Adam-15 – Los Angeles University District

The late morning was approaching, and the police car's windows were already covered in small specks of dust and sun. The city was breathing a schoolboy rhythm, with cars slowing around busy intersections, pedestrians hurriedly carrying briefcases and backpacks, and the sound of traffic lights marking the rhythm of urban life.

Angela Lopez kept one hand on the steering wheel as she glanced back and forth between the sidewalk and the dashboard. Beside her, as always since the first patrol, Derek Davis seemed a living statue of focus and control. He gazed silently at the facades of low buildings, the schoolyards, the small coffee shops packed with college students with eyes sunken with weariness.

"Do you know this neighborhood?" she asked, calmly turning the corner.

Derek nodded, his eyes never leaving the street.

"Yes. My sister teaches in this area. Early childhood education. Preschool."

Angela raised an eyebrow. "Angel Davis, right? The one who's getting her master's in clinical psychology?"

"That's right."

"And she works with young children? Like... really young?"

"Yes. Three to five years old. And she loves what she does."

Angela smiled.

"It's hard to imagine anyone in your family being gentle. Even your voice has the texture of stone."

"Angel is the exception. She was born... sweet. It's not something she learned. It comes from within."

Angela laughed, but fondly. "Sounds like a proud older brother."

Derek didn't answer, but the corner of his mouth quirked up slightly.

No urgent calls were on the radio. The patrol in that area was on preventative duty. Angela decided to slow down even more when she spotted the small school at the end of the street: a colorful two-story building surrounded by a white fence with murals painted by children. There was chalk on the ground drawing spirals, and a group of small students were standing in a circle under the shade of a tree.

"Is this it?" she asked, already slowing down.

Derek glanced at the courtyard for just a second, and his expression changed. It wasn't abrupt. But Angela noticed. It was like seeing a mask being removed, revealing something lighter beneath. His eyes softened. His jaw relaxed. Even his shoulders relaxed a little.

"Yes."

"Want to stop for a minute?"

He stared at her for a moment, then nodded. "If it's not against protocol..."

"Relax. We're making a presence in the neighborhood. Nothing more human than seeing family."

Angela parked in front of the school, the patrol car's engine humming at idle. They left, the children's curious gazes immediately turning to the two uniformed officers.

On the edge of the courtyard, a young woman with curly hair tied in a light bun, dark skin, a welcoming expression, and intelligent eyes approached the gate. She wore a green T-shirt with a print of books and words in varying colors: Respect. Emotion. Empathy.

Derek walked up to her with a rare smile.

"Angel."

"Derek!" she exclaimed, opening the gate with a click. The hug was natural, affectionate, without exaggeration. "I can't believe you came by and didn't tell me."

"We're patrolling the area." He pulled away, nodding. "This is my TO, Angela Lopez."

Angel smiled and extended his hand firmly.

"Nice to meet you. I've heard of you. My brother doesn't talk much about people, but your name has come up more than once. Positively."

Angela laughed, squeezing the girl's hand.

"Look... so he really does have feelings and memories."

Angel looked at Derek with that glow of a younger sister full of hidden stories.

"He does. He just keeps them all in a box with an access code."

Derek just shook his head, resigned. But there was a warmth there, something you didn't see in him in the field.

"Do you have five minutes?" Angel asked.

"Sure," he replied, glancing at Angela out of courtesy.

"Go. I'll keep an eye on the patrol car. Go see what she does. I'm curious."

Kindergarten Yard – 11:18 AM

Derek entered the yard. The smell of crayons and gouache paint was comforting, familiar, and absurdly different from the dust of combat camps or the cold concrete of police cells.

Angel led him to a corner where a group of children were forming a circle with small pillows. She knelt easily between them and pointed to her brother.

"Kids, this is my brother, Officer Davis. He works protecting the city. Just like the heroes in cartoons."

A little boy with red hair raised his hand.

"Do you have a laser sword?"

Derek smiled.

"No. Just a very bright flashlight."

Laughter. Another boy asked:

"Do you arrest thieves?"

"Only the ones who hurt other people."

A girl with braids tugged at Angel's shirt.

"Does he have a fight scar?"

Angel looked at Derek teasingly.

"He does. But he doesn't show it. He's mysterious."

The children laughed even more.

Angel turned to him, his gaze now more serious.

"They live in a world where everything It's fast, violent, digital. I try to teach that there are good people trying to hold things together."

"And you do it better than I ever could."

She looked at him with affection and a touch of sadness.

"And you carry what no one sees. I just ask that you don't forget that you deserve lightness too, Derek."

He nodded slowly. His sister knew how to reach him on layers no one else could touch.

Police Car – 11:47 AM

Angela was still leaning against the side when Derek returned. He looked... different. Not exactly light. But something in his expression had changed. Maybe more presence. Less armor.

"So?" she asked as he got behind the wheel.

"She's all the good that's left of our childhood."

Angela stared at him carefully, noticing the rare vulnerability in that man.

"And you protect that good. With everything you have."

Derek glanced in the rearview mirror. Then he turned the key.

"Always."

And patrol car 7-Adam-15 continued down the quiet street, its two occupants carrying, that day, less weight than on previous days as if, for a moment, they had remembered that even in the midst of chaos, there was still room for bonds, for roots, and for a little peace.

Chapter 6 - Chapter 9-10