~..~ Story Day - Read & Vote ~..~[CLOSED] (Page 3)

Using Excerpt #3

A/N:  Hello! (: Below is my entry! I could have written more. But I only just saw the post! =\  Oh well. I gave it a try anyhow. (:

It wasn't supposed to be like this. My original thought of not coming forward with the information had been the right one. But that ship had long sailed. I shouldn't have come and now it was too late. Too late to back out. Too late to save myself from the agony of having to remember the details of that dark, ruthless incident. Not an incident. That was putting it nicely. Murder. That's what it was. Not exactly reassuring thoughts but the entire scene just kept replaying over and over in my head. The horror of it etched into my mind.

Pressing both hands against my temples, I tried to dispel the fear that now churned in my gut, threatening to make its way up. But that effort also went in vain. If anything it only further intensified the explosion of light and pain that now was running through my head like arcs of swirling fire.

"Tell me more about the eyes." 

An easy question to pose. But Dylan Brody, the lead sketch artist at the police station, was definitely asking all the right questions. Standing in front of me with a brush in hand, alternating his hands to paint strokes across the canvas, he looked the man for the job. Everything about him commanded attention. His dark hair was crisp and close-cut, emphasizing his rough-hewn features and hard, hazel eyes.  So when he turned to direct his gaze at me, I couldn't help but flinch at the quick but thorough appraisal.

Passing me the glass of water, he pressed me for details, without a trace of urgency or haste. It wasn't a gesture of concern, because coming from him, it was like a receptionist's smile - something he was boringly and obligingly accustomed to doing, as part of his job. 

I wasn't mindful enough of his lack of sympathy, just right then. Quite thankfully instead, I drank in a large gulp of the chilled water. Then I took in a deep breath, and closed my eyes to remember what I would have given anything to forget - the sight of those eyes through the face mask ... The translucent hazel that turned to steel when they narrowed to focus upon ... 

My own eyes fell open with a start, a shudder passing through my spine. He sat looking at me intently, and the very distant comprehending part of my mind held onto the subconscious former belief - it wasn't out of concern, but routine. He was being merely patient with me, a crucial witness to this fifth murder case in the neighbourhood, that had kept their hands full here at Scotland Yard, this entire awful week of rainy afternoons. In this weatherly respect, today was no different. 

"They were cold," I whispered. My voice had refused to come full volume ever since the incident early this morning, sometime before the inset of dawn. 

"Blue?"

"Nuances of grey ... they turned dark ... very dark when he ... when ... " I inhaled sharply and ran a hand forcefully through the tangled mess of my long tresses. If I'd survived the sight of that ruthless stabbing, surely, I could survive speaking it out loud ... ?

"I see." 

Any other day, any other time, this man would have driven me over the edge. Why here I was, at all my nerves' end, and all he offer me was an 'I see'  ... ? Sure! He could see nothing at all. Nothing! Unknowingly, I had worked myself into something of a breathlessness. Unknowingly also, I was scowling deeply, staring, or rather glaring at him. Perhaps he sensed it, for he met my eye, interrupting his professional strokes on the canvas, sketching the murder suspect.

"Are you alright?" 

There it was, the water glass yet again, raised up for me. I wanted to scream the obvious 'no I'm not!' right into his face; instead I held back and re gathered my dissipating composure. I did however reject his attempt to drown my extreme discomfiture with mere cold water - what was I, a flushing system? 

"They were quite like yours," I told him bluntly staring into his eyes, and momentarily, the revelation of my own words shocked even me.

Heavy silence greeted my steely answer.

And I instantly regretted having said the words. The man was only doing his job. But it wasn't easy for me either. The whole ordeal had left me reeling. Reeling with pain. With the unfairness of it all. Looking up to finally meet his eyes, I found nothing in his expression. It was unreadable. Most likely another part of his job. He was probably used to dealing with people like me, drawing those sketches day and night or whenever the occasion called for it. Still, I thought I saw a flicker of something in his eyes. But it had come and gone so fast that I was beginning to wonder if I had seen anything at all. And suddenly I was at a loss of what to say. He had now turned back to his work, his hands making those familiar strokes once again.

The rapidly growing silence was beginning to gnaw at my insides. What was I to do? Coming here, at some level, hadn't been one of the smartest decisions. But justice had to be served. Justice. The word that could weigh down on your conscience. It was the perfect replay of a scene from one of those crime movies. Only I had never expected life to imitate art up so close. 

"I think you need to go home. You can come another time." I would almost have missed his words had he not been standing mere inches away from me. Those eyes, once again unreadable seemed to be beckoning me. If only unknowingly.

So the man had his own secrets.  Odd enough, that came as a relief. Maybe he would understand my plight. But then again, the word maybe was dangerous when spoken on its own.

My thoughts taking a new turn, I finally let go of a breath I hadn't known I had been holding. The panic from the ordeal still burned my chest. All I really wanted to do was crawl into a hole, never to appear again. But I wasn't the one to back down. Cowardice wasn't what defined us Sinclair women. We were everything but that. So it was time to push ahead and meet this giant of a beast head on. To get past my own fears.

"No. I will stay here. We aren't finished with the sketch."

He gave her a long, searching look before replying back. "May I suggest something?"

Okay, so I was so not ready for this. Because if not the eyes, take a look at the body language. And everything about Dylan Brody was screaming suspicious. "Ugh, yeah. What is it?"

"Maybe I could accompany you home? There you'll be much more um, comfortable."

So maybe I was wrong about the whole suspicious thing.

It certainly looked like it was the first time he had made such a suggestion. That long, searching look had really been him in deep thought. Great. At least the man was concerned. But I wasn't exactly sure about this whole go-home-and-make-a-sketch thing. Although, it definitely beat having to sit in this stifling of a police station. And I really needed to go home and down a couple of painkillers. That gentle bloom of pain threatening to metamorph into something more was indicative of a full-blown headache.

Plus, a whole load of anxiety and panic still in my system had my nerves all jumbled. The effect was only beginning to wear off. To be honest, I wasn't exactly sure of what I was feeling right now. The here and now. It was all so surreal.

"Lily?"

His hand was touching my arm lightly. The suddenness of it had me lurch from the chair and stumble against the desk table. He was quick and caught my elbow. "Are you okay?"

I tried to answer but never quite made it through. Darkness seemed to be creeping into my vision. And I swear I even spotted a star or two. No. Not good. I didn't need this now. And the man was too close. I could practically smell his aftershave.  This wasn't the time to notice the man's aftershave! Maybe this was some sort of post-incident thing. And I thought the day couldn't have gotten any worse. He wrapped his arm around my waist to hold me up. I could barely feel my own feet, mighty glad for the support. But melting into the arms of a perfect stranger wasn't my idea.

Using Excerpt #3

The Eyes

"Tell me more about the eyes." 

Passing me the glass of water, he pressed me for details, without a trace of urgency or haste. It wasn't a gesture of concern, because coming from him, it was like a receptionist's smile - something he was boringly and obligingly accustomed to doing, as part of his job. 

I wasn't mindful enough of his lack of sympathy, just right then. Quite thankfully instead, I drank in a large gulp of the chilled water. Then I took in a deep breath, and closed my eyes to remember what I would have given anything to forget - the sight of those eyes through the face mask... The translucent hazel that turned to steel when they narrowed to focus upon... 

My own eyes fell open with a start, a shudder passing through my spine. He sat looking at me intently, and the very distant comprehending part of my mind held onto the subconscious former belief - it wasn't out of concern, but routine. He was being merely patient with me, a crucial witness to this fifth murder case in the neighborhood, which had kept their hands full here at Scotland Yard, this entire awful week of rainy afternoons. In this weatherly respect, today was no different. 

"They were cold," I whispered. My voice had refused to come full volume ever since the incident early this morning, sometime before the inset of dawn. 

"Blue?"

"Nuances of grey ... they turned dark ... very dark when he ... when ... " I inhaled sharply and ran a hand forcefully through the tangled mess of my long tresses. If I'd survived the sight of that ruthless stabbing, surely, I could survive speaking it out loud...?

"I see." 

Any other day, any other time, this man would have driven me over the edge. Why here I was, at all my nerves' end, and all he offer me was an 'I see'  ... ? Sure! He could see nothing at all. Nothing! Unknowingly, I had worked myself into something of a breathlessness. Unknowingly also, I was scowling deeply, staring, or rather glaring at him. Perhaps he sensed it, for he met my eye, interrupting his professional strokes on the canvas, sketching the murder suspect.

"Are you alright?" 

There it was, the water glass yet again, raised up for me. I wanted to scream the obvious 'no I'm not!' right into his face; instead I held back and re gathered my dissipating composure. I did however reject his attempt to drown my extreme discomfiture with mere cold water - what was I, a flushing system? 

"They were quite like yours," I told him bluntly staring into his eyes, and momentarily, the revelation of my own words shocked even me.

He chuckled inwardly and repressed a smile. Her testimony would never hold in court, if it ever reached that stage, it was smooth sailing from then on. He straightened his face and looked her dead in the eye. "So apart from his irregular eye colour trick, was there anything else unusual you noticed?"

She looked at him exasperated. How could he be so offhand? She had escaped with her life and sitting here, in this room she could not shake the fear that next time she might not be so lucky. "I don't know, I've told you everything."

"Let's just go through it one more time" He turned to face her directly, subconsciously mirroring her movements.

She closed her eyes trying hard to keep her composure. Having to relive the nightmare when it was so fresh in her mind was absolute torture. "I was on my way to work. I was late because I had left my curling iron on and had to go back home to unplug it. When I got off at my stop I decided to take the footpath, I..."

"Do you normally take this route?"

"Yes, when I'm late for work"

"Why is it not your usual route, since it is much quicker?"

"Well... a local gang of boys like to loiter in that footpath"

"Loiter? Gangs? Do they make you uncomfortable?"

"No I just prefer to stay safe" the words sounded so hollow given the situation.

"So these boys are a threat?"

"No... no" she thought about it some more. Could it be one of those boys? But they were only children. Then again they had harassed her on more than one occasion. But it was just whistling and crude comments. They were just boys. The man she had seen, yes it was definitely a man. She shuddered as she recalled the sheer force with which he had dumped the body in a refuse bin.

He watched her intently as he could see every thought roll through her mind. Then her expression changed, he recognized it. She had remembered something. Most of the time the minor details would amount to nothing, he was not fazed.

"He was wearing one of those identity tag, the ones that soldiers wear."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm certain of it, I think it was an army issue one."

"An army issue one?"

"Yes my neighbour has one, I recognized it because it has the two tags but on two different chains."

He kept his cool, "It's not much but it could narrow down our search, that's only if it is a military identity tag."

She leaned back drained, running her fingers through her hair. "I know it's been a long day but let's just go through it one more time, make sure we haven't missed anything," he pulled in his chair and placed his hands on the table. "So then what happened?"

"I walked down the stairs towards the footpath and I slipped on something. When I regained my balance I look down to see a trail of blood" she paused and took a sip of water but could not get rid of the dry bitterness in her mouth. "Then I saw him drag the body from inside the footpath and I hid behind the bins."

"Why did you hide behind the bins? Why didn't you run away?"

"I couldn't," she looked at him holding back the tears "I was scared, I just...  I... hid behind what was closest."

She started to cry, loud muted sobs. Her body shook as she finally let the weight of what had happened sink in. She had escaped with her life. She had been inches away from becoming his sixth victim.

"That's fine for now" he stood up and walked towards her. He rested his hand on her shoulder, "We'll contact you if we need you again."

He walked out of the interrogation room. "Karen, finish that up will you love, thanks." He walked towards his car. He waited five minutes before he opened the glove compartment. It wasn't there. It must've been at home on his bedside table. Yes that's where it was. He drove home. He waited patiently in the lift. He opened his front door and walked calmly into his room. He opened the top draw of his bedside table. It wasn't there. The white hot anger that boiled in his veins erupted in a blind rage. After he was done tearing through his apartment, he went to the bathroom to clean up. And right near his toothbrush was his dad's identity tag. As he placed the tag around his neck he decided. He had found his next victim.