She remembered how he leaned in and kissed her that first night. “I like your stories,” he’d said. It wasn’t just some line he fed her. Christian was innately curious. He wanted to hear about Becca’s classwork, her family, her dreams for the future. She’d been so isolated and alone, never letting anyone get close. She sensed Christian was someone who wouldn’t judge her. After three dates, she told him about Robbie. She wanted him to understand what her brother meant to her, the void he’d left in her life, the guilt she felt over not being able to save him. He understood that feeling of helplessness that gripped you when someone you loved was hurt. Originally from San Diego, Christian went to UCLA on a soccer scholarship. His junior year in college, his girlfriend Annie was assaulted on her way home from working a late shift at a Brentwood bar. The police never caught the guy, and after a few months she ended the relationship and moved back home to Michigan. Christian saw how the officers treated her, their harsh and dismissive questions, the lack of compassion they displayed. His guilt and helplessness fueled his desire to join the LAPD. He vowed that he would do better. Violence had touched both of their lives, and they grew even closer. A bond formed and after a while, Becca believed that Christian would always be a part of her life.

She was still holding his hand, relieved that he was here and at the same time wishing she were alone. She was used to that, used to doing these things herself. Surviving by herself. Becca gently withdrew from his grasp, leaning her head against the window, the glass cold against her cheek. Somehow, in spite of all the thoughts swirling around in her head, Becca drifted off. The next thing she knew, Christian was gently shaking her awake.

“We’re here,” he said. She jolted up. They’d arrived in Venice Beach, the entire area lit up by the flashing red and blue lights of half a dozen squad cars. Floodlights illuminated the crime scene in the distance. A nearby ambulance sat parked alongside the coroner’s van. Police tape covered a large surface area of a parking lot, lookie-loos and reporters huddled together, separated from the scene by two officers and a barricade.

Christian and Becca’s silent pact continued. He led her across the parking lot toward the beach, an innocuous stretch of Venice, away from the bustle of the boardwalk, set apart from the bars and the overpriced memorabilia shops, their gates pulled down for the night. In a few hours, shop owners would raise the barriers to welcome a steady stream of tourists. Nobody would ever know that a few short feet away a life had been extinguished.