Chapter 47: The Proposition
[Mid-Wilshire Station, Break Room — July 1, 2019, 12:17 PM]
The vending machine ate my dollar for the third time.
I slapped the side panel. Nothing. The Snickers bar hung there, mocking me, caught between the spiral and the glass like it had personally decided to ruin my lunch break.
"Mercer's luck finally running out?" Lopez appeared beside me, coffee in hand, grin on her face.
"This machine has been broken since I started here. Someone should file a complaint."
"Someone did. Three times. Requisitions denied it as 'non-essential maintenance.'" She leaned against the counter, watching me struggle. "Speaking of luck..."
I knew that tone. The one that meant Lopez had been thinking about something and had finally decided to act on it.
"What?"
"I've been keeping track." She pulled out her phone, scrolled through notes. "Since you started as a permanent boot with Tim, you've made seventeen calls that shouldn't have worked. Seventeen 'instinct moments' that defied statistical probability."
"I pay attention. That's not luck."
"The home invasion crew. You predicted their target neighborhood three days before they hit."
"Pattern recognition from academy case studies."
"The domestic call last month. You knew the husband was lying before he opened his mouth."
"Body language."
"The convenience store robbery in April. You cleared the building in a direction that made no tactical sense—and found the second gunman hiding in the stockroom."
"Good hearing."
Lopez set down her phone. "Ethan, I'm not accusing you of anything. But your 'instincts' are impossible. And I want to prove it."
The break room door opened. Nolan entered, followed by Jackson and Lucy. They must have sensed something interesting happening, the way cops always did when drama was brewing.
"Prove what?" I asked, though I already suspected where this was going.
"That you can't turn it off." Lopez's grin widened. "Whatever you're doing—lucky hunches, photographic memory, psychic powers, I don't care—I bet you can't go one month without using it."
"One month of what?"
"Normal policing. No miraculous saves. No impossible instincts. No 'Mercer's Luck.' Just regular boot work, same as everyone else."
Nolan leaned against the doorframe, interested. Jackson found a chair. Lucy already had her phone out, probably preparing to document whatever happened next.
"And if I can do it?" I asked.
"Then I'll admit you're just that good. Publicly. In front of everyone." Lopez crossed her arms. "But if you fail—and you will fail—you swap houses with me for a month."
"Houses?"
"Your mansion for my apartment. You get to experience how the other ninety-nine percent lives."
Wesley appeared in the doorway, drawn by the commotion. His eyes lit up when he heard "mansion."
"Wait," he said. "Are you betting Ethan's house?"
"For a month. If he loses." Lopez looked at me. "What do you say, Mercer? Think you can be normal for thirty days?"
My danger sense stayed quiet. No immediate threats. Just the ambient noise of a station full of people going about their business.
Could I suppress my powers for a month? They weren't skills I activated consciously—they were always on, always feeding me information. Trying not to use them would be like trying not to hear sounds or see colors.
But maybe that was exactly what I needed. A reminder that I wasn't dependent on my gifts. That the real Ethan Mercer—whoever that was—could function without supernatural advantages.
"Starting when?"
"Tomorrow. 0600. One month from then, if you haven't had a single 'Mercer moment,' you win. One slip-up, any slip-up that can't be explained by normal police work, and I get your house."
"Who judges what counts as a slip-up?"
"Tim. He's your TO. He sees everything you do." Lopez glanced at Tim, who had materialized in the doorway with perfect timing. "Bradford, you in?"
Tim surveyed the scene—Lopez grinning, me considering, the others watching like spectators at a tennis match. "This is the stupidest bet I've ever heard."
"That's not a no."
"Fine. I'll judge." Tim looked at me. "But Mercer, if you get yourself killed trying to prove you can be normal, I'm putting 'died of stubbornness' on your tombstone."
"Noted."
I extended my hand to Lopez. She shook it firmly.
"One month," she said. "No luck. No instincts. Just regular policing."
"You're going to lose," Nolan whispered as Lopez walked away to share news of her victory-in-progress with Wesley. "You can't help yourself."
"Ye of little faith."
"It's not faith. It's observation." Nolan patted my shoulder. "I've watched you for over a year. You notice things before they happen. You react to danger before it arrives. That's not something you can just turn off."
"Maybe. But I have to try."
Lucy had started a side betting pool. Jackson put twenty on me lasting a week. Nolan bet I'd fail by day three. Tim refused to participate on grounds that gambling on subordinates was "ethically questionable," then quietly slipped Lucy a ten for day one.
I pretended not to notice.
That Night — Ethan's Mansion, 11:34 PM
The house felt too big. It always did when I was alone, but tonight the emptiness pressed harder than usual.
I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, consciously trying not to listen to my danger sense. The low hum was always there—background noise I'd learned to filter. Threats in the distance. Potential problems hours away. The constant awareness that something, somewhere, could go wrong.
Tonight, I tried to turn down the volume.
It didn't work. The sense wasn't a dial I could adjust. It was more like peripheral vision—always present, impossible to ignore completely.
My phone buzzed. Emma: Heard about the bet. Lopez seems very confident.
She should be. The odds aren't in my favor.
What happens if you lose?
She gets my house for a month. I get her apartment.
That sounds... almost peaceful, actually. Less space to rattle around in.
I smiled at the screen. Emma understood me better than I sometimes understood myself.
Maybe that's the point. Learning to live smaller.
Or learning that you don't need advantages to be good at your job.
That too.
Get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be interesting.
I set down the phone, closed my eyes, and tried to rest.
My danger sense hummed quietly in the background, cataloguing threats I couldn't stop tracking. A car accident three miles away. A domestic dispute in the neighborhood behind mine. The distant pressure of violence somewhere in the city.
Tomorrow, I'd have to ignore all of it.
Author's Note / Promotion:
Your Reviews and Power Stones are the best way to show support. They help me know what you're enjoying and bring in new readers!
You don't have to. Get instant access to more content by supporting me on Patreon. I have three options so you can pick how far ahead you want to be:
🪙 Silver Tier ($6): Read 10 chapters ahead of the public site.
👑 Gold Tier ($9): Get 15-20 chapters ahead of the public site.
💎 Platinum Tier ($15): The ultimate experience. Get new chapters the second I finish them . No waiting for weekly drops, just pure, instant access.
Your support helps me write more .
👉 Find it all at patreon.com/fanficwriter1