As the digital clock slowly changed it's last digit in the dark room, a light began to flash from the bedside counter, as well as a polytonal ring tone that sounded like some greatly distorted pop song from the 80's. As it vibrated against the wood, it made a strange buzzing sound. Whether it was the light, the vibration, or the twisted music, one of the three woke up Ms. Jordan Charity Barker.
Of course Jordan didn't introduce herself as a Miss. She was just 25 years old, and this was the twentieth century. She called herself J.C., and had since she could remember. She sighed and pulled the sheets up around her, sitting up and looking for the source of her wake up call, and found it was, ironically, a call on her cell phone. Flipping the small device opened, she pushed her hair behind her right ear to keep it from her hazel eyes. "Hello?" she asked groggily, having forgotten to check the caller ID to see who'd disturbed her.
"How long before you'll be ready, J.C.?" asked a voice with a familiar Texan draw.
Jordan used to have that very dialect, but she moved to New Jersey for college and lost the whole thing in her first year majoring in Forensics. She rubbed her eyes and peered at her alarm clock, who's bright green digital numbers changed, as if to scorn her. 3:47 pm. She flicked on the lamp beside her bed and climbed out of her warm blankets, bare feet hitting the cold wooden floor. She walked over to the window and peered outside, seeing a silver car double parked in front of her building. "Where're you? What d'you mean ready? It's 3:48, I'm not on duty."
"You promised..." he started, getting a little anxious. He didn't want to go to the scene alone, to tell the truth. He was never quite good at handling dead children on his own.
"Fine, fine. It'll be a few minutes. I take it it's you double parked outside?" she took his silence as a 'yes'. "Listen, come on up, make some coffee or something while I get a shower and dressed."
Nick Stokes had a key to Jordan's apartment. He was pretty much her closest friend in the city of Las Vegas so far. They'd grown up together; she was his little sister's best friend since kindergarten. And she'd actually lived with his mother and father for some time in her Senior year. Her father was an abusive alcoholic. He used to beat her mother near to death when she was younger. So her mother had left. And one night he turned his hand on her and ended up pushing her down the stairs. She had dislocated her shoulder in the fall, but had still managed to get up, mess his face up pretty badly, and walk herself to the house of her friend Elvira Stokes. Luckily, Nick hadn't been there. Her friend's mom took her to the doctor, got her fixed, and wouldn't allow her to return home for nearly 6 months after that.
Jordan took her shower and quickly changed into a pair of dress pants and a lavender dress shirt. She pulled on her dress shoes and her blazer and tied her honey colored waves up in a ponytail before heading out to find Nick standing in the kitchen, pouring two cups of coffee, and making some toast. He was simply amazing. He knew her routine, and had it down to an exact science. Maybe that was why they worked so well together, especially on field assignments. She shook her head and sat on a stool that was pulled up to the island, looking quizzically at him.
"What's the call?" she asked, as he put a lid on her coffee cup and wrap her toast and his toast in separate napkins.
"A mother called. Said she woke up and went to check on her six year old daughter and found her dead," Nick said, not looking at Jordan.
"Ooh," she said, biting her lower lip. "Kids are tough." She shivered. "Let's just go, ok?"
"Yeah. Good idea. C'mon." He carried her coffee and his own, and she carried their toast out of the apartment to the silver car, which sped away from the complex so fast it may have seemed as though it was never there in the first place.