A/N: Hey everyone, A. R. here. This is my first ever non-crack piece… you should be excited! 'Cause usually, the only things I can right are random and nonsensical.
But anywho, I have very little idea of what is going on here… The idea caught me and wouldn't let me go, but where it's going I'm not sure. Also, some paragraphs seemed a bit awkward and forced to me, but I can't figure out how to fix them. I would love any critiques, comments or suggestions you have! Thank you.
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Disclaimer: NCIS, its format and its characters belong to CBS. I am not CBS.
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Dower (noun) - 1) natural gift or talent; 2) something given in a will
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*Black & white still of a young, blond man's face. His mouth hangs slightly open, and his eyes stare sightlessly. He is clearly dead.*
The light in the apartment stairwell was dim, making the walls look dirtier and dingier than their already deplorably grimy state. It also made it hard for the dark-haired woman climbing the steps to see where she was going.
She sighed as she mounted the third flight. The elevator was broken (again) and climbing apartment stairs in next to no light, at night, in a slightly-less-than-savory part of town, was not the place where she wanted to be. When the woman reached the top of the last flight of stairs, she stopped, took a deep breath, and sighed. Then she walked purposefully down to the door marked 304.
Or, rather, the door that had been marked 304. Time and ill use had stolen the "0" and the "4", leaving only a chipped "3" and a large, grimy smudge. The woman tossed her long, curly hair over her shoulder and pulled a key ring out of her pocket. She stared at it for a moment as if deliberating over some dilemma, then raised her fist to knock instead.
Instead of making the loud rapping noise the woman had intended to make, the knocks caused the door to creak inward, revealing that the lock on the door had been ripped forcefully from the inside frame. Whether from being forced open, or from an accident and cheap lumber, the woman couldn't be sure. Her brow furrowed in a mixture of concern and confusion.
"Jeremy?" she called through the half-open door, "Jeremy, are you there?" There was no answer. She pushed the door farther open and peered into the room.
The room was in shambles. It had clearly been a living room, furnished sparsely and cheaply. But now every piece of furniture in the room had been upended, and was lying haphazardly on the floor. Pillows had been torn from the couch, slashed open, and thrown across the room. Trails of white stuffing dribbled from the holes onto the floor. Other pieces of furniture had been smashed and broken to pieces. The room looked like a war zone.
"Jeremy?" called the young woman again, concern and anger coloring her voice. She picked her way across the room to a doorway on the other side.
She pushed the door open and walked into the bedroom. Unlike the living room, the bedroom was perfectly clean. The bed was made and the lamp on the bedside table was on. Across the room, sitting in a dilapidated armchair facing the window, the silhouette of a man was visible. The woman placed her hands on her hips.
"What the Hell was all that for?" she demanded, and marched around to the front of the chair, "Jeremy, I-" she stopped midsentence and clapped a hand over her mouth.
The man sitting in the chair had a gaping wound in the center of his chest. His white dress shirt was soaked in blood, which was beginning to dry to a rusty brown. His gray-green eyes were wide and staring, and his mouth gaped slightly. The woman stifled a scream.
*Black & white close-up of Jeremy's face*
*NCIS opening sequence*
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A/N: Ok, so I know the woman's initial reaction was a little strange, but, I promise, all shall be explained. If you would take a few moments to review, it would make me the happiest person ever, and it may even make me update faster!