Author: Angela Evans
Email: Angel33296@aol.com
Feedback: Yes, please, oh yes, harder, more – I am a feedback slut.
Distribution: Ask me first, please!
Disclaimer: I own them. Not.
Summary: Now that'd give it away….oh, alright. Sydney gets into trouble.
Spoilers: Umm, technically none, but it does deal with a certain 'theme'
Rating: R
Classification: Alternate Universe
A/N: Thanks to Jada Lynne for telling me it didn't suck. Also, don't be surprised if updates are few and far between.
There is no perfect place,
Forget what you been told,
Take a good hard look at the hand you hold,
Then put on your poker face,
No, there ain't no perfect place…~ Pancho's Lament, "Perfect Place"
It was only the start of the third watch, only the start of the night, but Det. Kenneth Marino knew it was going to be a long one. He could tell by the way the coffee felt like slime going down his throat, by the tall stack of papers sitting on his desk, awaiting processing. And by the Jane Doe in lock up.
He leaned against the wall and watched the girl with the cherry-red hair. She didn't move, she just sat and stared at the floor, thick lashes hiding her eyes. She was probably a junkie whacked out on smack, he thought, some poor chica who'd gotten strung out and got caught breaking into a pharmacy, looking for another hit when she started to sober up. Kids these days, he thought, breaking into drug stores and taking meds instead of the money. What was wrong with the world?
The girl's heavy-lidded eyes rose up to meet his gaze. Behind the sheer anger, he could see pain in her dark eyes. Somebody had hurt this girl bad.
The thunk of papers landing on his desk broke the spell the heavy-eyed girl had on him. He looked up at his partner, Det. Joanne Thatcher. She had followed his gaze and was watching the cherry-redhead.
"Poor girl," she said, shaking her head. "She was probably looking for a fix when she killed the guy."
Marino looked up, surprised. "She killed a guy?"
"Yeah. 9 mm, close range. Professional-style. Hooking must be getting lethal," Thatcher commented.
No wonder the girl wasn't doing much. She was in shock. "She's a hooker?" Marino asked. "I thought she was a junkie."
"Probably both," Thatcher said, flipping open the file folder. "Kate Jones," she read, "arrested in 1998 for possession, '99 for prostitution, and '01 for a smash-and-grab."
"Pity, isn't it?" Marino said. "Pretty girl like that." He shook his head.
"Yeah. But just the same, Cap'n wants you to process her," Thatcher said, wandering off to get coffee. Marino couldn't understand how she could like the stuff.
Sighing, he got up and made his way over to the lock-up pen and opened the door. The cherry haired girl didn't look up. "Kate Jones?" he tried.
She didn't respond. He moved closer, careful not to spook her, also careful to stay at a safe distance in case she jumped him. It had happened before – about a year ago, a buddy had his eye scratched out when a Jane with long nails had attacked him. That was the last thing Marino wanted.
"Ms. Jones?" he tried again. He took a step closer. Her mouth was moving, the purple-red lips forming words he couldn't make out and she was rocking back and forth, shivering. He hoped to go she wasn't crashing.
"Santa Maria," he whispered as he stepped closer until he could make out the words she was saying, over and over and over again.
"My name is Sydney Bristow," she was muttering, "my name is Sydney Bristow."
//end part one