Darcy flew into her bedroom and went straight to the loose floorboard, a new eye wrapped in cling-film in her pocket. Her hands shook slightly in exhilaration as she pulled the board up and reached in. She felt about, left, right. Stretching further in, but it was useless. The box wasn't there. It just was not there.
Someone found my box. It's over. She put the board back on carefully. Darcy couldn't feel remorse, or sorrow or even panic; but her stomach felt empty and void. Like the acid was gouging away the lining, leaving raw and clammy flesh behind.
'You're out of shampoo! Sorry I had to borrow some' a girl called Sophie called from her bathroom. Darcy spun around to see the new girl coming out of the ensuite bathroom, hair twirled up into a turban. Darcy never learnt how to do that. Her hair was short and dark, too short to put up properly.
'What are you doing here?' Darcy said, not bothering to put a mask over her empty sick face.
'My room isn't set up yet. That blonde care worker told me to share with you' the girl smiled brightly. She continued talking, but starting pacing back and forth over the board.
The police. They had been here earlier, to sort out one of the more troublesome care kids. Maybe they had searched randomly. Found her box. Her lifeblood.
Somewhere below them, there was a knock on the front door. Darcy was out of the room in an instant, tumbling down the stairs in frenzy. It was too late. An elderly care worker, Mrs Simons, had already opened the door to four black clad adults.
Darcy froze on the stairs, like a deer in headlights as the one in front pulled out a badge. Not just the police. The man said something, and the four piled into the hall. Darcy half hoped that if she stood still, they wouldn't see her. Like she was a chameleon.
'Darcy Morton?' A woman asked. Darcy straightened and nodded, too shocked to speak.
'You need to come with us' she said and Darcy walked to the door. Mrs Simons was kicking up a fuss, and Darcy wished she wouldn't.
Let me go quietly. She was escorted out, just like that. Still wearing the dark jeans and printed rock T-shirt and black jacket, a fresh eye still in the pocket. Her pale face blank and white as a ghost, her spiky black hair tussled and unattended.
I should be panicked. She was sat in the middle in the back of a federal vehicle. Terrified. I guess it was never meant to last this long for me. Just a short, adrenaline pumped half-life.
Darcy was too blank to be in awe at the huge Miami PD building. She was led up a maze of corridors and through a sea of offices, their occupants staring at her as she passed. She was led up a maze of corridors and through a sea of offices, their occupants staring at her as she passed.
They know. She was finally ushered through a door. Two men were standing at the end of it. A grey haired man, in a suit and a dark haired man in slacks. On the desk in front of them, in a large evidence bag, was her big mahogany puzzle box.
My signatures. Here to betray me.
'Please sit down' one of the men said. Darcy didn't see which. She sat heavily on a chair. 'We think we have a suspect in the Black Widow case. Put these on' a box of gloves were offered to her. She took two and slid them on.
'We need answers' one said, and Darcy look up at the man in slacks. Darcy looked between them, face still blank.
'Open it' the suited one said.
Darcy looked down at evidence bag, opened it and pulled out the box. She looked up, and a man nodded once.
She slid the panels back and forth, in the order than was burnt into her memory. With a final click, she opened the lid, and the trophies stared up at her.
In the box was a large jar of varnish and then there was an assortment of round spheres. Eyes, sat in a mound like marbles. Each coated in varnish and shining gently.
'Explain it to us.' The man said.
'Trophies' Darcy said gently, not looking up.
'That's what I thought.' The two men nodded at each other. Darcy leant back and was about to pull the new eye; a pine green iris speckled with brown, from her pocket, when the door burst open.
A tall, muscular man was standing in the doorway. He had rusty red hair and a strong jaw, but more importantly- in the subconscious world of evil, the beast that inhabited his soul growled threateningly. Darcy's own beast whimpered and withdrew. Her eyes mimicked and grew wide in panic.
Get out of here! She called mentally. The man swallowed.
'Sorry. I just . . . I just had a, a err, critical idea' he said.
'No shit, Morgan' one of the suited men growled. Darcy thought something stirred in his soul, but it wasn't even as powerful as her own beast, let alone this Morgan's.
'Well, when I was in care . . . you get crazy guys offering you all kind of deals. Drugs, Weapons. Shoplifting. . .' Morgan trailed of tactfully.
'Are you saying that someone might have paid her to keep them. . . somewhere inconspicuous. Away from them, but easily accessible . . .' the two men exchanged glances.
'Is that true Darcy?' the slacks man asked.
'Yes, sir. I mean . . . sort of' she said, flickering between Morgan and the man. 'He showed me them, and said that if I told anyone . . . that there'd be an extra eye in there, Sir.' Darcy swallowed dramatically and let the waterworks dribble a little.
'Okay, okay dear. It's alright. You're safe here. Now, Dexter, go and get her a drink. Doakes! We need to get an interrogation room set up for an interview. If this girl . . .'
Dexter Morgan smiled and offered his hand to Darcy, who got up, sniffed and took it. He led her out of the room silently, the door swinging shut behind them.
He looked down at her, and she smiled through her meaningless tears, and his beast swiped playfully at her, she giggled quietly as he led her over to the vending machine.