Author's Note:
Dear Readers,
Again, I apologize for an odd posting date. In the words of the infamous Diva "dese things do 'appen!" And, I know it's shorter than the rest have but I wanted to get out there since I've haven't given y'all anything in forever.
In my defense, I've been on a trip! So, there were ten days missing already.
sarahandmarquis
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Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera. I do not! I do own Dalir Gul and this story plot.
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Reviews:
Lunacat (Guest): Jealous Erik is so adorable! And, we'll see what Nadir does... I hope this chapter follows along with your idea of "keep up the good work!"
Whatanidea15: That he is!
Melstrife: Along with mine.
Child of Dreams: He's a bit of a hardhead so I don't know if he'll ever understand that. Haha!
Phantomislife (Guest): I'm so glad to hear this! Thank you!
cotesgoat: He is a detective after all. He's paid to be sneaky! Haha!
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Word Count: 1502
"Was" Count: 0
"Were" Count: 1
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Chapter 8
Ms. Day, I am pleased you have accepted my request. Where you would like to meet? I had thought maybe a restaurant might be a nice place for initial contact?
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Yes, that would work. I'm free Thursdays and Mondays. What would work best for you?
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Perhaps this upcoming Thursday? We could meet at McKee's for lunch perhaps? My treat.
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That would be great! I enjoy their food a lot. Good choice. Will one o'clock work?
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I will be expecting you. Until then, Ms. Day.
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Until then.
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"Ms. Day?" A tall, middle-aged gentleman, skin stained a dark tone and eyes shined emerald, rose from the red-leather booth to greet her amid the hum of conversation in the café. Shyly brushing a lock of golden hair from her face, she gave him a pink-lipped smile and held out her hand in greeting.
"A pleasure, Mr. Gul." She responded while he gestured for her to sit opposite him at the slightly rocking table. She sank into the booth, the red leather squeaking when she scooted into the middle. Nervously she smiled at him and folded her hands into her lap as the waitress walked over to them and refilled his cup of coffee and left two menus beside them.
"So, you said you were a cop?" She said, attempting to start a conversation. He smiled and flipped open the menu before responding,
"Yes, I retired a year ago from Atlanta PD. I moved here with the hope of finding a relaxing place to spend my retirement." He gave her a kindly smile, showing lightly stained teeth from too many years of drinking coffee. She laughed quietly, opening her menu as well.
"You've come to the right place. This is a small town where nothing much happens. A few weeks ago, a man was killed and he is still the talk of the town." Laughter touched her face while she remembered her coworkers' conversation just the day before on the subject.
"I heard about that but didn't get that week's newspaper. What do you know about it?" He set aside the menu and leaned his elbows on the table, eyebrows knitted together and lips pressed into a tight line with eyes locked onto the blond opposite the table.
"Well, he was murdered in his home by strangulation. The police thought it might have been a cord of some sort but because the weapon wasn't left on the scene they couldn't be sure. One of the detectives said the death reminded him of several other ones that had been happening over the nation and it's sparked the notion that we have a serial killer."
The waitress returned at that moment and took their orders, paying particular attention to Gul, biting her lip and winking at him as she strolled away, heedless that his green eyes were occupied elsewhere at that moment.
"Serial killer? Do you think he lives around here?" He asked, noting she seemed perfectly calm under his scrutiny.
"I don't know. I'm not the police. They've happened all over the country, there is just as much of a chance of him living here as anywhere else someone was killed. Isn't it also possible that he's a regular traveler? Like, a salesman or a truck driver?" Casually resting her elbows on the table, she locked her fingers together and rested her chin on her fingers and locked wrists. The door chimed and a mother and three children entered the store before he spoke again,
"It is possible. I wonder if they've considered that." He sipped on his coffee while she peered out the window at the lazy city street and lone stoplight outside the family restaurant.
"I'm sure they have. But, I'm not going to worry myself over it. If his victims say anything about him, he prefers the wealthy and important. He won't be coming for me."
"Or me." Gul laughed as the waitress returned and gave Christine her glass of water. "Tell me about yourself, Christine. If we're going to be friends, we probably should know something about each other."
"There isn't much interesting to know about me. I'm very ordinary." A pretty blush shown through her light makeup, darkening the hint of rouge on her cheeks.
"I'm sure there is something interesting." He prompted, enjoying another sip of coffee.
"Well, I was born here to a Russian dancer and her American husband."
"There is a story! How did they meet?" He asked.
"My mother, Anna, danced in the Novosibirsk Theatre Ballet since she was little girl. My father traveled the world and while he was in Russian, he attended performance of Swan Lake. Mother was dancing that night and Father was smitten from the first moment he saw her. He romanced her for the few weeks he was in Russia and, when he left, he swore to return and marry her." She smiled to herself, looking down at her hands, her mind far from the little family diner. "He kept his promise and took her with him on a world tour for the honeymoon. When she became pregnant, he brought her home and I was born here twenty-two years ago."
"That is a romance straight from a novel!" He exclaimed. "Were they a happy couple?"
"The happiest. They were normal, they argued, they annoyed each other but they never stopped loving each other. She loved him more than she loved dancing. People called her crazy for giving up a rising career as a prima ballerina to have a family but she never looked back. Only when my father died did she return to dancing. Someone had to support the family." The smile vanished from her face, her blue eyes dimming in brightness, the happy glow fading from her skin.
"I'm sorry." He reached over and squeezed her hand before the arrival of the meal interrupted his next words. The moment gone, he changed the subject to a lighter topic.
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The hotel AC whirled in the background, the faint smells of cigarette smoke still wafting through the room from the cleaners. The bed creaked beneath him as he sank against the lumpy pillow and skimmed over his notes from his first meeting with Day.
Scooping up his phone from the bed cover where he'd tossed it upon entering the room, he clicked through his contacts and found the name he searched for. Tapping it, he called the number and listened as the ringing sounded in his ear. The phone picked up moments later and before he could even say a word, the voice on the other end questioned irritably,
-Gul, why are you calling me? I told you not to call me until you had evidence.-
"I just met with Day. As I thought, she's perfectly innocent." He crossed his legs at the knee and stared up at the ceiling, picturing clearly the annoyed look on his boss's face at the moment.
-What is your plan now?-
"I had hoped you'd have an idea. How do you even know this guy is him?" He questioned, frustrated with the most recent brick wall in the innocent form of Christine Day. "We're looking for a psychopath. A psychopath wouldn't keep someone like Christine around."
-We don't know if we're looking for a psychopath. We don't know who we're looking for. That's your job, find out about this man. Find out about these few threads that our tech analyst found that might connect these two.-
"I'll keep trying, sir. Next time I see her I'll ask her about her other 'friend'." He sighed and closed his eyes in frustration, shifting his place in the creaky bed.
-Good. Keep me posted.- A decided click in his ear singled the ending of the conversation and he tossed the phone aside, deciding a nap headed the list of things to do.
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The black lettering of the email glared from the bright light of the screen into the dark room and onto the porcelain white face of its receiver. The harsh reality of his "side job" flared in his face. The price…too hefty to turn down. A week's journey away from Beauty would physically hurt him but…if I use the money for her, maybe buy her a gift or something while I am abroad…it would make it worth it, soothe his newly found and newly grieved conscience.
Replying to the request, he clicked out of the tab and opened the Friend Shop messenger and carefully began to type.
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I regret to inform you that our next meeting must be postponed. I have business out of the country that requires my attention. I apologize profusely for this inconvenience. Please forgive me.
Any elation regarding her day plummeted when the message appeared in her inbox. Light pink lips drooped in a frown while she slowly entered her reply,
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All is forgiven. Message me when we can resume our meetings. Travel safely.