"Maura, you're doing it again..."
"I'm sorry Jane, but I can't really control this!"
Jane ran her hand over Maura's shoulder, well, actually she didn't even know whether it was still a shoulder or not.
"It's okay Maur, just calm down. I don't want you flying off on me."
She pushed down gently and Maura's sharp stiletto heels clicked back onto the floor.
"This has to be some strange dream, a hallucination of some sorts," Maura says, sorting out facts and figures in her head.
"I'm with you on that. This is exactly why you shouldn't keep food in the dead fridge."
"This is no time for joking, Jane!"
"Aw, c'mon Maur, I..."
Both heads shot toward the door as the knob started rattling. Suddenly, the pins fell into place and the oak entrance fell open.
"Oh, Jesus Christ." A stout man, sporting a clean, black mustache peers into the house. "It's bad boys, better hold your breath."
Jane tugged Maura behind her, taking a precautionary step away from the intruding male.
"Who are you and why the fuck are you in my house?" She spit out, her low voice raising.
"My house," Maura corrected automatically.
The man didn't answer, instead holding the door open for more uniformed figures to file in, complete with rubber gloves and yellow tape.
"Watch your step everybody, we don't want any compromised evidence on this one."
"Hey, stubby! Just what the hell do you think you're doing, having the Policemen's Ball at my house this year?"
"My house," Maura said, partly out of nervousness.
He ignored this once again. "Okay everyone, gather! Now I want a perfect sweep of this crime scene, every stone better be fucking turned, a cop's been killed."