Chapter one:

On Tremont Street

December, 10th

As the wind became stronger – blowing through her hair, sending icy chills down her spine – Maura huddled up in her coat and looked down at the shiny asphalt. The snow was glimmering like a million diamonds on the pavement, the low temperatures of the night frosting the transparent surface of an icy crust. For a few seconds, the scientist wondered what would happen to her muscles – her bones – if she suddenly slid and fell down. A broken ankle, a sprained wrist. All these usual injuries that filled the ER of the city by this time of the year. At least in her morgue, she avoided the screams; children crying.

Tremont Street was quiet at this late hour of the day. The stores were closing, people going back home in a last attempt to escape from the cold. Her steps slowed down, subconsciously enough. She was in advance, way too much to wait outside though. Her hazel eyes scanned the street in distress, stopping on the churchyard of King's Chapel.

John Winthrop – the first governor of Massachusetts – was buried there; his grave lost among old ones, some dating from the earliest years of the 17th century. She would have never said it to anyone but the honey blonde loved this place, enjoyed quiet walks through the alleys of the cemetery.

When life became too suffocating – too hard to follow – only the peaceful atmosphere of the dead had that calming effect on her; the relaxing shade of silence that spread over her soul – her mind – before rocking her peacefully and then she could go on again. Almost as if nothing had happened.

She was about to turn around again and stare aimlessly at the window stores when the soft murmurs of voices suddenly elevated in the street. It came from King's Chapel, the old Anglican church.

In the dark, its granite walls looked imposing; almost frightening. Yet the chants of the choir sounded inviting and before realizing what she was doing, Maura crossed the street. The smell of wax and old – damp – stones welcomed her as she stepped inside the chapel. Discreetly enough, she made her way to an adjacent bench and sat there – vaguely hidden by a pillar.

A dozen people were rehearsing Christmas carols in front of no audience but rows of empty seats and abandoned Bibles. Candles giving life to old paintings on the walls. Alone in such unknown world, the blonde focused on the choir.

"You should come back on Christmas Eve. We hold a concert at 9pm."

Jumping of surprise, Maura restrained a scream and turned her face towards the woman who had sit by her side on the bench. She hadn't seen her approach. In her sixties – curly silver hair framing rounded cheeks – she offered a peaceful smile to the medical examiner. Her cross caught Maura's eyes.

"I am uncertain to be available on that day but I will nonetheless keep it in mind. Thank you."

Unlike what many people assumed, the scientist hadn't been raised in a religious environment. She was not even christened. If she had been taught about the different cults, she hadn't been part of any nor had ever felt the urge to join one. Her only relation to churches and cathedrals was merely a touristic one, a surge of curiosity over these places that kept in their heart treasures of History.

"You can bring your beloved ones. I understand that you will probably celebrate the evening with them but a musical interlude – even if unusual to your existence – might be welcome. Isn't Christmas about sharing and loving?"

The last word ached, resounding loud in Maura's head. She might have been smiling, she nonetheless looked aside and bit her lower lip as if transparent – yet heavy – regrets were suddenly submerging her and she had no hold over them. The woman noticed the change on her face, her features deepening.

"Is everything alright?"

Feeling the weight of her interlocutor's gaze on her, the scientist stared down at her lap and swallowed hard. She couldn't lie, couldn't pretend anything in order to escape from the questioning and make the woman turn the page. Yet silence was loud. Too loud.

"Do you feel like talking? You are at the right place for it."

An ironic laugh escaped from Maura's lips. Unintentionally enough though. She rose a hand in the air to apologize immediately then shook her head. What was it that – at times – it seemed easier to not pretend before strangers? To not play that role one desperately tried to keep up all day long?

"I am afraid that you wouldn't approve."

The woman rose a dubious eyebrow but soon shrugged away Maura's comment. Her smile hadn't faded an inch since the beginning of their singular conversation; nor had her serenity.

"We don't judge people's confessions. Our only goal is to bring them advices, to guide them through their very own answers."

The honey blonde opened her mouth to reply but eventually remained quiet. Long seconds passed by – carried away by the choir up and close to the altar – before the scientist sighed and shook her head in a gesture of resignation.

"I should go. My friend is probably waiting for me outside, now."

The woman nodded. She didn't seem bothered nor hurt by the way Maura was obviously trying to run away from her.

"If you ever need to talk, please feel free to come back. My name is Myriam."

The honey blonde nodded – a pale smile lighting up her features – as she stood up, ready to leave. She had no intention on ever coming back and both women knew it.

"Maura. I am Maura."

The marble floor led her steps outside and as she found back the darkness of the evening, Maura took a deep breath; the cold air burning her lungs. Making her feel alive. Regrets secretly going away already.

She crossed the street and smiled as she noticed Jane on the sidewalk. The brunette was looking at the window stores absentmindedly; her hands deep inside the pockets of her winter coat. Playfully, Maura tapped her friend's shoulder to make her turn around.

Pink cheeks and dark eyes welcomed her, spreading a now usual warmth on her heart; the one that made it beat faster, way too much.

"At last! What happened to your punctuality, Dr. Isles?"

Maura rolled her eyes and grabbed Jane's arm to lead her towards Beacon Hill. It had started snowing again and she was too cold to stay outside. All she wanted was to spend the evening by the fireplace, a glass of wine in hand while enjoying being with her friend.

"I was at King's Chapel."

Her confession took the detective aback. Stifling a laugh of incredulity, Jane shook her head and passed her tongue over her lips. She was in a good mood, that evening. Which made Maura happy.

"Career changes coming your way?"

As much as she knew that Jane was joking, the honey blonde remained impassible. Her eyes staring at the sidewalk opposite the street; an invisible point where a thousand silent thoughts were fighting the delicate secrets of her soul.

"I just like it, there. It is peaceful..."

Jane tightened her grip on the honey blonde's arm. The gesture – if completely innocent from her part - still caused the same effect on the scientist and if it hadn't been for the cold, perhaps the detective hadn't missed the way her friend's cheeks reddened suddenly. How the beats of her heart sped up while a pair of hazel eyes focused on the pavement succumbing to a veil of timidity.

And all these untold things. All these feelings.

As the first townhouses of Beacon Hill appeared in front of them, Maura thought about Myriam and what the woman had said. In spite of all her kindness, there was no way she would ever understand what lay behind the medical examiner's loneliness.