Thank you so much for all the amazing reviews.... *is in advanced puddle-of-
mush state* BTW, Bobby isn't going crazy--not yet, anyway--and it's not
Alex, as you'll soon see. Keep reading ;-)
Bobby woke up in the warm darkness; it was 6:00 in the morning, and the sky was just beginning to pale at the edges. A faint glow hovered around the horizon as the darkness started to seep away, the stars slowly fading.
He'd slept better than he had in weeks, and he felt ridiculously warm and cozy wrapped up in his blankets. Without opening his eyes, he yawned and stretched out languorously. His foot hit something hard and he sighed softly, he felt so sleepy... he turned his head heavily to one side and peered down groggily at the object, blinking his blurry eyes.
It was a knife. A sharp kitchen knife, stuck into the mattress just two inches left of his ankle. And at the same instant that Goren stared at it, something sharp whistled by his ear and hit his pillow with a heavy thud.
He rolled over and found himself face-to-face with the blade of another knife. The hilt was sticking out of the pillowcase at a crazy angle; the knife had completely sheathed itself in the pillow.
Goren yanked it out with an effort, gazing numbly at it in terrified disbelief. He shuffled out of bed and paced the floor, still holding the knife in one hand as he tried to think clearly. The metal blade felt cold to the touch, and there were long, thin scratch marks on the hilt.
He ran to the bedroom door and pushed it open. Peering around to the other side, he saw something that made his blood freeze-a knife buried in the door up to its handle, with the same scratch marks on the hilt.
Goren wandered through his apartment. Everything seemed vague, unreal... as he were walking in a very bad nightmare. Knifes were turning up all over the place... slicing through the cushions on the sofa, sheathed in the tabletop, even stuck in the ceiling around the overhead lights. The glint of steel caught his eye everywhere he turned.
He examined each of the knives he pulled out, his eyes wide and white in the distorted reflection of the blade. No blood, no strands of hair... nothing. The blade was as cool as ice, and every time he found spiky, threadlike cracks on the handle, too thin to be made by fingernails or even another knife.
He hurried to the front door and checked the keypad, expecting to find some record of an intruder... but then, wouldn't the alarm have gone off in the night?
No trace of a stranger entering the apartment. The console beeped away in its regular rhythm as he knelt to examine the lock on his door. No signs of forced entry... whoever did it had to have had a key, or...
Or what?
Goren found himself shivering uncontrollably as he dressed, and couldn't stop himself. He bit his lip, he ground his teeth, he swallowed hard, he clenched his fists...
And yet, as he looked at the scattered knives on the kitchen table as he prepared to leave, the shudder running down his spine could not be explained away.
Deakins listened to him in silence, the coffee on his desk forgotten as Goren talked in a low, unsteady voice. He examined the handle of the knife Goren handed to him, running his fingers over the deep gouges.
When he spoke at last, his voice was even. "Does Eames know about this?"
Goren started in his chair, jolted by his realization. "She's coming back tonight," he muttered to himself, and instead of elation felt a deep terror. "She..."
"So no," Deakins finished, dropping the knife with a clack. "You'd better phone her and arrange to stay somewhere else. I want to put your apartment under police surveillance."
Goren stared at him with an abstracted air as he went on, playing with the knife on the desk as he planned. "We'll set up cameras, we'll have officers keeping watch outside, we'll get your neighbours to move out as well. This is getting far too serious for my liking."
"What do you think it is?" Goren interrupted, his voice shaking.
Deakins gave him a swift glance of surprise. "Well--you've got a very determined, very smart intruder, that's obvious--"
"It can't be." The detective ran his trembling hands through his hair. "It can't be. I set up a security system last night... nobody got in. Even if somebody unlocked the door, I think the alarm would have gone off. It's rigged up to get the windows, too, every possible entrance."
Deakins spread his hands. "What do you think it is?"
Goren stared down at the floor. "I don't know," he whispered, closing his eyes.
Goren paced on the sidewalk, clutching his cell phone close, and paused to lean against the hood of a car. Around him, sirens were wailing and car doors slammed shut as officers filtered in and out of the building, chattering to each other. Goren's neighbours on his floor were streaming out of the front doors and scattering across the lawn, loaded with luggage and giving him bewildered looks.
"Here--" Goren rushed to help his right-hand neighbor, Sandro Martinez, load up the car. "Let me get that for you."
"No problem," and Sandro dumped the last bag in the backseat. His two young daughters, Alisa and Jenna, clambered in behind him. "We're staying at my parents for a while. Listen--what's really going on at your place?"
"I wish I knew," Goren answered fervently. He smiled at Alisa and Jenna, who squealed and shrieked back at him as Sandro started up the car, and waved to the family as they left.
His grin faded as he walked back up the path to the double doors. He'd been trying to reach Eames on his cell phone for an hour now, without success. She usually had her own cell on at all times, even when she was near a phone--"You'd wither away and die without your cell phone," he'd teased her one time; "Absolutely," she'd replied with a beautiful, entirely unrepentant smile--and a little twinge of anxiety was starting to gnaw away at him.
Deakins came up behind him. "Everybody's got their orders now. You have a place to stay, right?"
"I'll check into a hotel somewhere," Goren answered distractedly, tapping his cell into the palm of his hand. "I can't get hold of Eames..."
His captain shrugged. "Just tell me where you're headed, and I'll pass on the message if I see her. When's her flight due in?"
Goren was about to answer when shouts started echoing through the building. Two officers stumbled down the stairs, wheezing and choking and gasping for air. "Fire!" one of them yelled in a strangled, hoarse scream. "Fire--fire in Detective Goren's apartment!"
This author craves feedback... Review, please! :-)
Bobby woke up in the warm darkness; it was 6:00 in the morning, and the sky was just beginning to pale at the edges. A faint glow hovered around the horizon as the darkness started to seep away, the stars slowly fading.
He'd slept better than he had in weeks, and he felt ridiculously warm and cozy wrapped up in his blankets. Without opening his eyes, he yawned and stretched out languorously. His foot hit something hard and he sighed softly, he felt so sleepy... he turned his head heavily to one side and peered down groggily at the object, blinking his blurry eyes.
It was a knife. A sharp kitchen knife, stuck into the mattress just two inches left of his ankle. And at the same instant that Goren stared at it, something sharp whistled by his ear and hit his pillow with a heavy thud.
He rolled over and found himself face-to-face with the blade of another knife. The hilt was sticking out of the pillowcase at a crazy angle; the knife had completely sheathed itself in the pillow.
Goren yanked it out with an effort, gazing numbly at it in terrified disbelief. He shuffled out of bed and paced the floor, still holding the knife in one hand as he tried to think clearly. The metal blade felt cold to the touch, and there were long, thin scratch marks on the hilt.
He ran to the bedroom door and pushed it open. Peering around to the other side, he saw something that made his blood freeze-a knife buried in the door up to its handle, with the same scratch marks on the hilt.
Goren wandered through his apartment. Everything seemed vague, unreal... as he were walking in a very bad nightmare. Knifes were turning up all over the place... slicing through the cushions on the sofa, sheathed in the tabletop, even stuck in the ceiling around the overhead lights. The glint of steel caught his eye everywhere he turned.
He examined each of the knives he pulled out, his eyes wide and white in the distorted reflection of the blade. No blood, no strands of hair... nothing. The blade was as cool as ice, and every time he found spiky, threadlike cracks on the handle, too thin to be made by fingernails or even another knife.
He hurried to the front door and checked the keypad, expecting to find some record of an intruder... but then, wouldn't the alarm have gone off in the night?
No trace of a stranger entering the apartment. The console beeped away in its regular rhythm as he knelt to examine the lock on his door. No signs of forced entry... whoever did it had to have had a key, or...
Or what?
Goren found himself shivering uncontrollably as he dressed, and couldn't stop himself. He bit his lip, he ground his teeth, he swallowed hard, he clenched his fists...
And yet, as he looked at the scattered knives on the kitchen table as he prepared to leave, the shudder running down his spine could not be explained away.
Deakins listened to him in silence, the coffee on his desk forgotten as Goren talked in a low, unsteady voice. He examined the handle of the knife Goren handed to him, running his fingers over the deep gouges.
When he spoke at last, his voice was even. "Does Eames know about this?"
Goren started in his chair, jolted by his realization. "She's coming back tonight," he muttered to himself, and instead of elation felt a deep terror. "She..."
"So no," Deakins finished, dropping the knife with a clack. "You'd better phone her and arrange to stay somewhere else. I want to put your apartment under police surveillance."
Goren stared at him with an abstracted air as he went on, playing with the knife on the desk as he planned. "We'll set up cameras, we'll have officers keeping watch outside, we'll get your neighbours to move out as well. This is getting far too serious for my liking."
"What do you think it is?" Goren interrupted, his voice shaking.
Deakins gave him a swift glance of surprise. "Well--you've got a very determined, very smart intruder, that's obvious--"
"It can't be." The detective ran his trembling hands through his hair. "It can't be. I set up a security system last night... nobody got in. Even if somebody unlocked the door, I think the alarm would have gone off. It's rigged up to get the windows, too, every possible entrance."
Deakins spread his hands. "What do you think it is?"
Goren stared down at the floor. "I don't know," he whispered, closing his eyes.
Goren paced on the sidewalk, clutching his cell phone close, and paused to lean against the hood of a car. Around him, sirens were wailing and car doors slammed shut as officers filtered in and out of the building, chattering to each other. Goren's neighbours on his floor were streaming out of the front doors and scattering across the lawn, loaded with luggage and giving him bewildered looks.
"Here--" Goren rushed to help his right-hand neighbor, Sandro Martinez, load up the car. "Let me get that for you."
"No problem," and Sandro dumped the last bag in the backseat. His two young daughters, Alisa and Jenna, clambered in behind him. "We're staying at my parents for a while. Listen--what's really going on at your place?"
"I wish I knew," Goren answered fervently. He smiled at Alisa and Jenna, who squealed and shrieked back at him as Sandro started up the car, and waved to the family as they left.
His grin faded as he walked back up the path to the double doors. He'd been trying to reach Eames on his cell phone for an hour now, without success. She usually had her own cell on at all times, even when she was near a phone--"You'd wither away and die without your cell phone," he'd teased her one time; "Absolutely," she'd replied with a beautiful, entirely unrepentant smile--and a little twinge of anxiety was starting to gnaw away at him.
Deakins came up behind him. "Everybody's got their orders now. You have a place to stay, right?"
"I'll check into a hotel somewhere," Goren answered distractedly, tapping his cell into the palm of his hand. "I can't get hold of Eames..."
His captain shrugged. "Just tell me where you're headed, and I'll pass on the message if I see her. When's her flight due in?"
Goren was about to answer when shouts started echoing through the building. Two officers stumbled down the stairs, wheezing and choking and gasping for air. "Fire!" one of them yelled in a strangled, hoarse scream. "Fire--fire in Detective Goren's apartment!"
This author craves feedback... Review, please! :-)