Another Place to Fall
The Police Constable walked down the same corridor towards the same room. Blanketed by oppressive artificial lighting and muted by nonspecific carpet, Danielle Ferrington shuffled quietly, eventually reaching Room 203 at the end of the hallway. Glancing down the passage, it remained deserted, disturbed only by the quiet beep of the keycard unlocking the door and closing once again.
She hadn't wanted to return so soon after her last visit. The room had taken on a mystical association since she was there. Tainted by the last movements of Ben Olson, a man swept away from his family and the physical world forever, Ferrington was tethered to his last hours in this room, and by extension, the woman who occupied it too. By removing evidence of his presence within the room, she felt she had scrubbed away his last moments of life before the bullets ever penetrated. Whether she should have eradicated his indiscretion had plagued her mind ever since, tempered only by the quiet appreciation which went unsaid but understood from Detective Superintendent Stella Gibson. She tried not to dwell on the reasons for her recent promotion, and as she moved around the hotel room, she wondered just how her boss always managed to elicit Ferrington's complete devotion.
Ten days had past relatively quietly for the Task Force. Annie Brawley was slowly recovering. Paper work was caught up on. Her superior hovered nervously throughout the station, itching for progress; searching for answers in a mutable darkness. Whenever she was able she stayed at the hospital, petitioning for any time at all with Annie. Dani continued to aid her in any way she could, passing messages, locating files, refreshing tepid hospital coffee. Until today: this time, she had the task of transporting the superintendent's belongings to a new hotel. The Hilton had no longer become convenient, especially after Belfast's top journo decided to shamelessly picket the foyer. Transferring to the Victorian splendour of The Merchant Hotel, Dani repressed the urge to dwell on the image of Stella Gibson reclined in new luxurious surroundings.
She wandered to the window and enjoyed the unique view of Belfast by day. She had spent all ungodly hours at the station, staring at uninspiring computer screens or long days in hospital corridors tuning out Stella's tapping foot on linoleum. She shared her boss's faith in their task but envied her tireless stamina. Until now she never appreciated how much of the outside world replaced a stuffy office whilst in uniform. Dani turned towards the room and to the task at hand. She began at the wardrobe, removing carefully chosen outfits and silk blouses that slipped from her clumsy fingers as she removed them from the Hilton-embossed hangers. She laid them on the bed, buttoning each blouse in turn, folding and imagining the pop of plastic slipping from silken loops as she did so: silk pouring over skin onto the floor, fingers raking over collarbones and smoothing over arms. To the beautiful enigma underneath, laid bare, blue-eyes silently offering herself to Dani...
She moved to the bathroom, packing the unessential items she had neglected to collect the first time she had visited it. She checked the bin again, not entirely sure what she really expected to find this time. It would be remiss not to, she thought.
There was nothing.
She audibly sighed, irritated at how relieved she was. Stella was entitled to her private life and yet Dani was letting her stupid crush cloud the task in hand. If there had been 'signs of company' she would have removed them again without question, Dani reassured herself. 'You would have protected her privacy whether she asked you to or not. You didn't judge her then and you wouldn't have again. Your schoolgirl blushes grant you no claim over this woman.'
Nearly finished, the constable did a cursory trip around the suite, picking up odds and ends, books and stacking a cup and saucer for housekeeping. Finally she checked the bedside tables, ignoring the Holy Bible and the pamphlets for Belfast tourism. On the cabinet closest to the exposing windows, she noticed a folded piece of paper. Excusing her curiosity for policing instinct, she opened the innocently white note. It read:
"DIDN'T WANT TO WAKE YOU.
MUST GET BACK TO MY GIRLS.
THANK YOU FOR LAST NIGHT,
T. xxx."
Dani knew instantly who the note was from. She silently returned to the bathroom. Moments later, as she clicked the travel suitcase into position and scrambled for the keycard in her back pocket, the sound of a stalling flush could still be heard.
