Last Voice: A Concerto
7: Tempo Primo
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I walked wearily and warily from my car to my building. The sun was coming up.
Bedtime for me.
I looked around, increasing my pace.
It was strange. Less than twelve hours ago, I had sauntered in the opposite direction, completely relaxed. After all, it wasn't like I lived in a bad part of the city.
All the parts were bad.
And now I had seen first hand what happened in the shifting shadows.
I opened the door and climbed the stairs, feeling my consciousness already going into coma.
Next thing I knew, I was at my door. I hadn't even gotten my key out, I was so tired.
Coffee was wearing off.
I unlocked my door, making a mental note to buy a deadbolt for it sometime tomorrow.
I remembered my earlier "mental note", about the spider guts on my wall.
Decided I didn't care.
I relocked the door once I was inside. Kicked off my shoes, stumbled across the carpet and collapsed face first onto my bed.
It had been a long day. Or night, however you wanted to say it.
I felt a small vibration in the bed springs.
A light tap on my cheek – the familiar sensation of a cat paw.
"Hi, Miki," I said, reaching up and scratching her ears without opening my eyes.
"Mee?"
"Yeah, it wasn't much fun at all. I got my first homicide."
"Rroow."
"Yeah. It wasn't pretty. I've been shoving it to the back of my mind all day."
Or night. Whatever.
Miki started to purr. I took her furry cat body into a hug and hid my face in her fur.
"It made me sick. Literally. The vic had been there for a couple days. Just lying in an alley. Remind me never to be murdered, okay?"
Miki just kept purring.
"She was twenty-seven. I'm only twenty-eight. She didn't even live as long as I have. And the case is linked with another murder – another beating – with some DNA from what we think might be the murderer."
Miki made a tiny squeak in her throat.
I groaned as I rolled over, pulling Miki with me. She took up residence on my chest, kneading the collar of my shirt.
"I've been talking to the others about certain things. I guess I never realized that they had issues, too."
Miki licked my chin. I looked at her, into her blue feline eyes. She looked back intellectually.
"I know. I've gotta go get clean."
"Mrr…"
"And feed you."
She used me as a springboard to hop off the bed and trot toward the kitchen.
The kitchen that looked almost identical to Kasey Kinsey's.
I shook it off.
I set out Miki's dish again. With the medication. I sighed and dumped three different pills into my hand.
"You know, Mik, sometimes I really with I could drink."
She stopped crunching her dinner (or breakfast) and looked up at me.
"Yeah, I know. You probably wish the same thing sometimes."
The cat rubbed her cheek against my ankle. Like I've said, I'm convinced she understands me.
I poured a glass of tap water and used it to take the pills.
"I've told you before: No pity parties."
Miki gave me her cat version of a smile and padded back to her bowl.
I sat on the stool by my counter.
"I can handle it though, Mik. Don't think I can't."
She didn't look up. Didn't even stop eating. But I understood, loud and clear.
I know.
A/N: Look at this – it's so short! Barely 700 words! Sheesh! And no story development. Just angst. Hmph. Oh well. And a cute kitty.
