The Mistake
Chapter 1
Goren had done it again. His head was so wrapped up in the case that he barely remembered to eat. He'd gotten his days all mixed up, missed a dental appointment, let the produce in the fridge expire, and wasn't even finishing his sentences anymore.
Eames couldn't help but worry about him, but she knew she had to give him his head, so he could make sense of it all. She watched him wander out of 1PP; purpose in his stride, but not in his eyes. His eyes were somewhere else, probably probing the mind of the killer.
Once he was out of sight, she sat down at her computer and continued reading.
Bobby charmed the receptionist into answering a few more questions for him. She was startled that the detective would be so interested in the kinds of buttons on her boss's shirts, but then again, that's what detectives had to do, right? Show an interest in everything.
"Iridescent Lavender," he repeated to himself as he walked down the short flight of stairs to the parking garage. He'd barely stepped through the door, when he found himself confronted by two men. The one on the left was wearing a hoody that was too big; his face was in darkness. The one on the right was Ron Kitchum, one of their suspects. Bobby had effectively been yanked into the present moment. He took them both in. Hoody was bigger, as big as Bobby. Suddenly, Bobby chucked his binder at Hoody's face, causing him to back out of the picture for a moment. Simultaneously, he reached for his weapon and turned toward Kitchum, but too late. He felt the sharp slash of the knife into his side. Bobby lashed out, grabbing Kitchum by the neck but then slid to his knees and crumpled on the concrete. He felt hands on his holster. He reached back, but his reflexes were too slow. The footsteps of the two men faded into the distance and Bobby gasped, trying to keep his breathing steady in spite of the pain.
He reached a bloody hand into his jacket pocket and got his cell phone. As he pushed the numbers, the slimy blood caused it to squirt right out of his hand. The phone lay only a few feet away. Goren summoned his strength and lunged forward, only to fall hard on the cold concrete. "Bleeding," he whispered to himself, trying desperately to keep his wits about him. He cried out as he leaned hard on his right arm, hoping his body weight would supply enough direct pressure to slow the bleeding. With his left, he reached for the cell. His index finger managed to touch it, but couldn't quite get it. He shook his head, trying to clear his vision. Bobby grunted again, leaning hard on his arm to stop the bleeding. He listened to his cries of help echo through the garage until he felt himself slip into the blackness.