Disclamer: Not mine, never have been never will be.
This storyline just crawled in my head and refused to leave. So I just had to write it out. I really enjoyed writing this, and I hope you will enjoy reading it!
Prologue
Tuesday, 7.15 am
Danny Messer had a funny feeling. Not the physical discomfort he was feeling from being currently squashed like a sardine among many more New Yorkers in the subway train on his way to work. It was a gut feeling. He got out of bed that morning under the impression that something out of the ordinary was going to happen today. Whether good or bad, he didn't know, but he couldn't seem to shake of the feeling that something was going to happen.
He didn't take it seriously. He was Danny Messer, plain and simple. He wasn't Spiderman, with a spider-sense that tingled. He wasn't a fortune teller (a fleeting image of those all time novelty 'Madam Zorras' from carnivals came to mind). He wasn't a Seer from all those fantasy stories. Danny felt it was nothing important so he shoved it to the back of his mind. He had other things to worry about (like the short guy with a really nasty bout' of flu who was practically welded to Danny right now and firing sneezes like a cannon in his direction).
Thankfully, his stop came. Danny expertly navigated his way past the throng of standing people and got out of the train. Feeling like he could breathe normally again for the first time in a long while, he set off towards the building where the crime lab was located, only a couple of blocks down from the subway.
The lobby was bustling with activity. Somewhere along his way towards the elevator, Danny accidentally bumped against a guy who was reading the floor directory. Quickly, Danny turned and said, "Sorry."
The guy looked to be well into his 50's, with short salt and pepper hair (mostly salt) and he wore a dark jacket and a serious expression. He ignored Danny and continued scanning the floor directory.
Far used to this kind of attitude from most strangers, Danny entered the elevator with yet another throng of people and pushed the floor button with the number 35 printed on it.
It was time for work.
7.37 am
Howard Jones turned away from the floor directory. He had found exactly what he was looking for. Now all he had to do was to wait for the perfect time.
Now was not the perfect time.
He walked out of the building. Several people brushed lightly past him. They all had a reason to be at this very place, at this very time. So did he. He believed everything in this world happens for a reason. He believed everything that people do is done for a reason.
As he entered the cool early autumn air outside, he shoved his hand into his pocket. That hand gripped a photo in his pocket tightly. It was a photo Howard Jones took by himself. The man in the photo had no idea he had been photographed.
However, Howard didn't really need the photo anymore. He had the face memorized. The image was imprinted in his head.
The face was a handsome young face. He had dirty-blond, almost brown hair, cut close and neat. His eyes behind his silver half-framed glasses were bright blue and he had a goatee that was not very obvious but at the same time, gave him an attractive rugged look.
He had stared at the face on paper for weeks but just a moment ago, Howard saw the face in real life. Howard was content, satisfied. He knew when he'll see that face again and he knew what will happen when he does.
Howard Jones believed in one thing above everything else he believed it.
Howard Jones believed in justice.
TBC