10-16-2012, 01:33 AM
Amalia scratched her head. She was bent over her work in an awkward and uncomfortable-looking position. She had been staring at the paperwork she'd been delivered for hours. 'No trace...' 'euphoria..' and'Sudden death' were the words that were colorfully strewn about her report. "What the hell am I missing?" a vial of hair, blood, and urine from each of the murder victims were placed in a rack on her desk, labeled to her satisfaction, along with pictures of every contusion and laceration that medical examiners could find on the bodies. Pictures of the victims' faces were included, she chose not to concentrate on them too hard.
Sighing, she stood and walked out of her office and down the hall to the break room. A fresh pot of coffee was sitting on the counter, surrounded by other hospital employees, but she wasn't interested in either of them. Caffeine was a toxin, and her co-workers thought she was frigid, and tended to avoid conversation with her. She reached inside the fridge and pulled out a bottle of red grape juice, also labeled. She poured a cup and headed back to her office. She refused to leave until she'd developed an idea of what kind of drug could have killed these people, and she knew that meant it was going to be a long night.
Chase tapped his pencil on his chin. The loud music around him, mixed with the sweet smell of sweat and alcohol, that formed a cloud over the gyrating bodies on the dance floor, made concentrating on his work very difficult. He watched mouths move around him, and noticed each time one of them formed the syllables to his name 'Chase Neale' he said to himself. He liked the way it rolled off his tongue, and the tongues of young and beautiful girls. He shook his head, 'Need to focus. My deadline to develop an idea for a new novel is less than three days away, and so far I have nothing.' He thought that the lights, sounds, and outlandish clothing of the club scene would help him get his creative juices flowing, but they just made him want to goof off. He stood up, finishing off the last drops of his drink and made a beeline for the side door.
He pulled a cigarette out of the pack in his shirt pocket and lit it. He took a long drag, held it for a moment, before exhaling steadily, sending streams of smoke from his nose and mouth into the sky. he rolled his neck, trying to relax enough to think. He had just gotten his mind clear of all of the club distractions, which he could still hear going on behind him, when the sound of rustling trash startled him. He let out a soft yelp, tensing up a bit, before relaxing again and going to find the source of the noise.
His journey took him just shy of the mouth of the alley, where a Man's body was poised on top of a pile of garbage bags. He immediately assumed that the man was drunk, and a wave of pity washed over him. He reached out to the man, "Hey, buddy. I don't think it's smart for you to sleep here. Do you need a ride or something?" as he neared the man, he noticed a large black eye, and fat lip developing on the man's face.
Chase began to mumble to himself,"Man beaten and robbed by club-owning mob family that killed his wife. Man vows revenge on said family. He lost the first round, but he'll be back. The next time it will be wit heavier weapons, and aid from a group of gang members." He pondered this idea for a while, "Nah, it's been done too many times before." He huffed, for a moment he thought that he'd finally found his story line.
He shook the man again, "Hey, buddy... you alive?"
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