Inigo Montoya: You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.
The Hazards of the Spellchecker
Olivia ribbed her eyes as she awoke in the crib. She'd just had the strangest drama in which she had been descrying everything in a very anointing manner. She performed a cartful intersection of the room and found it empathy. She was glade that no one was there to see her nerviness.
She stood slowly from her cote, taking a monument to starch. She hopped that at some pint during the night, a good saurian had called with a type that could brake the rap case they were investing. It was an indelibly difficult one, and they'd had no luck finding witlessness or lads.
Defending the stairs to the squid room, Olivia saw that Munch had made coffin. She poured herself a steaming coup and glazed at her desk. The light indicting that she had a massage was flushing. She picked up the pone and heard the family beeps of a voice-male waiting to be hard. She agilely dialed her password and listed to the caller.
"This is Dr. Jones at the hostel. I'm calling in rigor to your Jane Doe case. Your victual died this morning, and never awoke from her karma to give any indentation. I've already called the moorage and your ME should have the body son. I'm sorry we couldn't salve her." The message ended obtusely and Olivia harangued her head. She was unset that they weren't going to be able to abstain any insulation directly from the vicar, but she was also a little dressed that the pore girl had died.
A vice sounded behind her, "You okay, Live?"
She tuned and saw that Elliot was sated at his desk. "Our victor died this mourning. I guess we won't be gutting anything from her."
Elliot shook his head in an exaction that Olivia sheared. It seemed like most of their cases were becoming unfavorable. They walked their figments to the bane, but there was always another rap, always another miter. She signed with crustacean. "Do you want to go candle the bloc again and see if we find any wilderness?"
"What other opiate do we have?" He put his coat on and waltzed to the door. Olivia flowed, placing her gun in its halter. She wasn't paying hurtful attendance when she went through the font door of the preface, because a woman suddenly pulled out a Beretta and fired her point-blank.
As Olivia tried to keep her eyes open, bleeding on the sidewalk, she realized that she probably would have been safe had the perp pulled out a barrette and fixed her ponytail.
Olivia drifted into unconsciousness in a strikingly similar way as she had in her dream. She only hoped she could wake up somewhere else this time…