Chapter Two: Sofia Anderson
"Alright, well good night Kayla. I'll see you tomorrow. " I said, packing up my things.
"Good night Sofia. Get home safe okay?" Kayla said, as she continued to finish up her cases. I wish I were dedicated and smart just like her.
"I will. And you too. Is David picking you up tonight?"
"Yeah, we're supposed to go out and eat dinner, you know like a date or whatever. He says we're not spending enough time together," She laughed and rolled her eyes. "Apparently, living together isn't spending time together."
I laughed and waved goodbye and walked toward the elevator. I pushed the down button, and the elevator opened. I stepped in, when I heard Elliot's voice say, "Hold the elevator!"
My eyes widened and I looked at the buttons. Oh my god, what do I do?! I looked between the open and closed buttons. If I open the door then we're going to be in the elevator together and this would be the closest we'd ever been and I would probably stop breathing or I could press the close button and avoid all awkw-
Elliot slid through the remaining opening of the door. "Hey! I said to hold the elevator."
"Oh-oh um sorry. I was trying to press the um uh open but um I accidently hit close oh um I'm sorry Elliot."
"It's okay, I made it through!" He said with his cute grin.
Jesus, it was too fucking hot in this elevator. I hope I don't sweat through my shirt. Oh god, I can hardly breathe!
"So, how was your day today?" he asked.
Oh my god, why is he talking to me? I can't even think right now. God damn, he smells so good. I looked at him, into his beautiful cerulean eyes, seeing my reflection. Oh god, why was he just so hot?
"Sofia?" His eyebrows scrunched up together in concern. "Are you okay?"
"Huh?" I snapped out of my dirty imagination. "Sorry, what did you say?"
"I asked if you were okay? You looked at bit out of it."
"Sorry, I'm just um, just really tired." I muttered. Come on elevator, you can go down faster.
"Yeah me too. Can't wait to go home, today's the earliest I've been home since…well forever." He smiled. "So, what train are you taking?"
"Um, well uh," The elevator opened and I got out. "Good night! See you tomorrow." And I bolted.
I can't believe I bolted. Oh god, that's so embarrassing. He must think I'm like super stupid. Ugh. What is wrong with me? I won't even be able to look at him anymore. Oh Sofia, what the fuck is wrong with my brain?!
I opened the front door of my apartment. "Mishu! Mama's home!" I shouted as I walked in. My loyal cat was sitting on the sofa, watched, as I got closer to him. I dropped my bag on the floor and picked him up. He's purring soothed my headache and I walked us to the kitchen. I opened up a can of food, it's salmon smell making its way up my nostrils. I put Mishu down and he meowed in thanks, and began to eat his dinner.
Hungry myself, I checked my refrigerator. I don't know what I thought was going to be in there, some how hoping food had magically appeared in there I guess? I sighed, and went back to pick up my bag off the floor and pulled out my cellphone. As I called the Chinese food place, I emptied out my bag. I opened my folder with the practice case I was unable to finish earlier today, due to the precinct being hectic with detectives asking for coffee and files.
"Good Chinese Food, how can I help you?" The familiar voice of the Chinese woman asked.
"Hi, I'd like to order take out please."
"Okay. What's the address?"
"45-23 51st Avenue. Apartment 2B." I said.
"Okay, what do you want to order?"
"General Tso's Chicken with white rice and shrimp lo mein. Oh, also four vegetable rolls and vegetable fried rice please."
"Okay. It take half hour okay?"
"Perfect. Thank you!" I hung up the phone and looked at Mishu who was licking himself on the sofa.
I looked at the case.
Name: Bridget Hunterson
Age: 14
Situation: Bridget's body was found in Coney Island beach on Tuesday June 17th. Her body was greatly mutilated. She was found with 10 stab wounds and a metal rod into her genital and her wrist was cut off. She had been missing for two weeks. There were two other girls around 12-15 who were also found on Coney Island beach a year before. The murderer for the previous cases was never found.
Task: Make a profile of the murderer and then write 2-3 pages on what could have been his motive and what was going through the murderer's mind when he killed Bridget.
How gruesome. Oh god, I closed the folder and took a deep breath. Even though this was a practice case, I'm sure as hell positive it was based on a real one. Poor Bridget, she was only fourteen. I sighed. I walked over to my window and took out my cigarette pack from my back pocket. I lighted it up and exhaled as I watched the kids in my neighborhood play basketball.
I remember the good old days, when I didn't know anything, oblivious to how shitty the world was. Now here I was, twenty one years old, trying to understand the mind of a murderer who would destroy a child-for god's sake a fourteen year old- she's still a child! Yet, somehow, some sick part of me, I got a thrill out of figuring things out, trying to ransack the brain of the world's scums. Maybe we're all sick twisted shitheads.
