I unfolded the picture of my birth mother one last time before I stepped into the police headquarters. I folded it back up and put it in my wallet, placing that in my back pocket. I looked around at all the rest of the people dressed in black pants and button downs, following with a look at my own outfit. Glad I changed the purple long sleeve tee from under my vest!
I pushed up on my bun, forcing bobbi pins into my head. I winced, regaining my composure immediately.A curved section of my bangspartially obstructed my sight, leaning to rest on the flesh of my cheek. I ushed it aside, suddenly hearing a man behind me say, "Miss Falcon?"
I whipped around, ramming into a mixed looking dude. His looks were...okay. His body was...nice. But something about him was mesmerizing. I jumped away, blushing. Behind him was Mac Taylor, the guy I had my interview with.
"Detective Taylor!" I exclaimed.
"Please, call me Mac, Elizabeth," Mac said.Another boss mispronouncing my name. Perfect.
"Um...it's Elsiebeth, but you can call me Elsie. Everybody does."
"I'm sorry." God, why did I have to say anything? I should have been happy it wasn't Lilu, like my 7th grade global studies teacher did.
"It's alright. It happens all the time."
"May I ask, why did you move from Smyrna?"
The world melted away as my mind took me back to the last punch, the clout to the ear before I left. My hand instinctually went to my left eye, almost wiping the concealer off my to reveal the bruising.Luckily, I snapped back into reality.
"Um, not enough cases. 3 or 4 doesn't cut it." I lied quickly. I couldn't give Matthew away. I couldn't give away the fact that I wasn't smart enough to leave him before now. "We do only have a population of 241...er, 240."
"Well, your first crime scene is at the Plaza, Elsie." THE PLAZA?
I wrinkled my nose as I stepped into room 107 of the Plaza hotel. It smelled of decomposition and puke. I covered my nose with a handkercheif, my eyes watering. Sight confirmed what I smelt: there were 2 partially decomposed bodies, and 2 piles of puke. The first responder, Don Flack, must have seen my face as I looked disapprovingly at the puke, because he said, "People who took them out puked when they saw what the killer did to 'em. Guess they don't get too many bodies with their throats ripped out here."
Stupid guys these days: weak stomached, even mainenence men. What has this century done to men?The Flack guy was right: their throats had been torn right out, and the bodies had been stuffed in the air ducts. Good thng I have a stomach made out of stainless steel! The bodies- one male, one female- were naked.
I looked at Flack asking, "Can you hoist me up there?"
"Not with those shoes on." he answered, looking down at my heels.
I rolled my eyes, bending down to take my shoes off. So there I stood, barefoot, and he nodded. He knelt down, lacing his fingers together. I snapped on booties and a mask and stepped one foot into his hands. He started to stand, and finally I was at the duct. I climbed in, yelling, "Just leave a chair under the duct. I can get down that way. I needed something taller to get up here."
I heard a chuckle, and I exclaimed, "What? I'm short!" There was no blood in the vent, signaling that they were shoved up here after they were drained. I processed for a while, not expecting what would happen.
Flack's P.O.V.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I had placed a chair under the duct like Falcon told me to, and a while later, I saw another officer move it, so I assumed she was down and gone, so I left too. The drive back to the station was weird, like I forgot something. I hadn't noticed that her car was still there, but I guess it was.
(Back at the station)
Mac came to me, saying, "Where is Miss Falcon?"
"I thought she was here!"
"She's not!" Hawkes said from behind Mac. They looked at eachother, seemingly having a conversation in their heads. Creepy.Th ey just walked out.
Elsie's P.O.V.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I tried to get out an hour ago, but was my chair there? No! I was halfway out of the duct, and I couldn't get out or back in. I had started out screaming for somebody, but I got tired of it, so I stopped. Suddenly I heard the door, so I started talking, not yelling. Just talking. "Guys, if this is some kind of initiation prank or something, it's not funny! Come on, Flack! I have to pee!"