Chapter 5. Framing the mind in the morning
Still in the prime of an October night. As with music, so with a mental state of oddness exists an enormous interval of perceptions; some being greatly familiar, yet holding opposite values. To the critically attuned, this proclamation appears self-explanatory. Sometimes oddness brings indecisiveness into the equation which leads to a more ungraspable moment in time. A perfect example of this – a currently sitting young male; he is experiencing it. If one is his friend, the task of lessening the mental burden does not necessarily transition from difficult to easy. Right now the male is waying his options, pondering on the method to abolish the oddness. Ass down on a chair, transparent liquid filled, glass bottle being held in the left hand, eyes aiming down. Though, the air surrounding him is not layered with serenity; a known person of his is urging for a clearly more concrete answer than he or she had previously received.
"I'm worried about you,… my friend. Your passion for pursuing our goal looks to be tilting."
"The rawness. It is so… vivid."
He expresses the last adjective with a notable stream of frightfulness; the converser takes this opportunity to edge another line in their collective history.
"I can see that your finally realizing why I had to act the way I did yesterday."
The voice – strong, relentless. The male increases the velocity in choosing between his countermoves, mildly acknowledging the negative consequences of being awake at this late time.
Suddenly, he lifts his eyes up, swiftly uncaps the glass bottle & pours in some liquid into a shot glass. The other person simply watches him drinking it without any movement.
"Ach! That hits perfectly."
A seismic shift in tone, one that is welcomed by his dialogue partner.
"I trust this means your passion is returning, Greg."
"No doubt. I've got faith that it'll be back to the 'rewrite ending' mind frame."
"I've already gutted one female. What's another one?"
The extra-ghastly voicing is delivered playfully, encouragingly.
"She's more of a fighter, Jason."
The male's smug grin remains unhinged.
"Well then it's fortunate that she can't escape her current situation."
"Wonderful."
"Masterful."
Feeling unbelievably more relaxed than a couple of minutes ago, the cream white faced person urges them to submerge in their personal dreamworld. Being refreshed is essential to their success, the captivating, thrilling act is at least 15 hours from them – the two main reasons given. The dark bearded male somehow comes up with a question about their females close people, their threat to the masterplan. Proactively, a response is given; unsurprisingly, it aims at them being supremely analytical and understanding of the character traits of said group. Logically, this pushes the group into a precarious position, to which they are not & cannot be aware of.
Some time later. Contrary to the overly optimistic people, every case garners a certain amount of time for it to be solved. If said time ends and no obvious, clear road to victory has been established, then the case becomes inactive or unsolved. One could argue that this is wishful conjecture, yet, as I can recall, crime acts never stop and the police force, however large it is, cannot sustain a difficult to grasp sum of them. That's why some public servants evaporate the basic time schedule of most working people as a countermove to this reality.
"Sam Carpenter…"
A mildly protruding sound is made.
"…What a special person."
Someone walks over to a corner, attempts to quell the rising level of exhaustion.
"I'll give you one thing, Erik."
A change in eyesight.
"We're clearly in a dangerous position."
He loosens his hands, turns around.
"That's putting it mildly, Chloe."
A look of seriousness appears on the face.
"I've already used some contacts to help understand the allure of Mis Carpenter."
"Allure?" – Jeff inquires puzzled.
"Yeah. What you mean about her allure?"
"Hah."
Erik takes a deep breath.
"Why would someone abduct her? What does she possess?"
A short walk to a table, on which the female detective is resting her butt, leaning a bit backwards over its horizontal projection.
"So my contacts came back with some information."
"How bad is it?"
The tone shows a clear transition to a more grim, severe state of mind.
"Deeply concerning. There are no less than 50 separate forums/articles about how Sam Carpenter framed Ricky for the killings at Woodsboro. With special, explicit graphics, dialogue about how she manipulated him into slaughtering so many people there."
Predictably, yet somewhat disappointingly, others get a rush of several different emotions; furthermore, the rush freezes any chance of notable progress regarding the case in question. On one hand, such people should be equipped to deal with the destructive nature of Humanity. On the other hand, they are also human, so they are prone to dislodges from their 'normal self' if a high magnitude, impacting event occurs. Even though both are experiencing a shakeup, the forward-thinking aspect of their profession is more prominent in the mind sphere of the female detective. To her obvious disdain, displeasure, the rising 'stature' of Mis Carpenter is planting seeds of doubt when it comes to accomplishing their task. Also, her uniqueness presses the mind to theorize about a similar level of crime instigator. At this moment, they know that the instigator was immensely methodical in his or her actions, clinical in execution.
Suddenly, that last thought incises the blonde to present an idea.
"Could it be that our abductor had several interactions with Sam up until this evening?"
"Fairly tangible. Though, that does bring her close circle into the light."
"What we've missed on them? All appear to be heavily invested in her constant progress." – Jeff interjects.
"That's not what I'm concerned about."
"Explain it then."
"We won't be able to keep her disappearance from them for long. Not with… Tara being who she is."
The male detective starts marching in an oval shape.
"Yes, your daughter will definitely be motivated to call you for any reports of an incident involving the elder Carpenter. Her sister? Hardly being the scene that witnessed yesterday evening."
"They might disagree…"
He abruptly stops, faces Chloe's eyes.
"…But their sisterly bond will squash that resentment. I'm almost 100% certain that Tara will be barraging the NYPD with constant calls about Sam before midday."
Naturally, this adds another layer of pressure on them; as if the previous ones were a measly, easily coping sum.
Around 8 a.m. Just because some aspect of life cannot be narrowed down to its starting point, does not mean that its validity, prominence, spread is questionable. Whenever there is a conversation around 'the correct time to wake up', people are often categorized into 2 groups: the early birds and the night owls. Unconsciously, another exchange of ideas takes place. The time one escapes dreamland is tied to their potential productivity of the coming day – the 'birds' tend to be the most productive in the late morning & early-midafternoon, while the 'owls' experience a jolt to act in the World in the evening. Of course, this is prone to change as with most aspects of Human life. A person, who emphasizes circumstances in behavior, understands the such a reality the best.
Suddenly, a ding sound explodes through the air of an apartment; naturally, it incentivizes a reaction from its inhabitants.
"What the hell…?"
A significantly confused Tara is not allowed to finish her train of thought due to a second ringing of the door.
"Somebody wants problems."
The semi-awake female flips herself to the other side with a clear goal of reaching for the mobile phone. Views of a possible leave start to crumble into small sand particles.
"Alright! Alright!" – another female shouts ironically.
Even though she did not deduce the current state of her affiliates, a plentiful amount of past instances leave her mind without doubt. Fortunately, the foot pressing of the ground appears to have cancelled the ringing.
[At the entrance]
A careful, calm peek out through the hole is abruptly shocked with a person inquiring:
"Good morning, This is the NYPD."
The female analyzes the outfits of the people who are standing on the other side.
[In one of the bedrooms]
"Seriously? Who's got to be so sick to wake up someone at 8 on a Sunday?" – Tara whispers, eyelids chaotically moving back and forward.
[…]
TSNKSH. The door opens almost half way with the host eyeing the people suspiciously at the end of it.
"You must be Mindy Martin?"
"That'd be me. Do we have a problem officer?"
[…]
"I don't know, but I feel a real need to teach these punks a lesson."
[…]
"What about her?"
The female's tone has become unrecognizably more tense, gloomy.
"She's been abducted and we need everyone in this apartment at the police station right now."
About half an hour later. Another person awakens from stasis, joyfully reacts to the clear blue sky outside.
"Now that's great!"
With every upcoming second, the being's tempo rises, soft, light colored sheet landing to the side, body powering out of the bed in a right angle.
"Always a pleasure to see the bright sky."
A passionate release of air.
"Especially after Angeline's rebirth of my life."
The pacing remains fast, yet it does not imply forcefulness; the sight urges to conclude that the person merely enjoys a lively morning.
There should not be a potent urge to scold people for their morning routine; after all, each person configures the 1st part of the day to their specific personality. Now the productiveness or efficiency of selected routine is a different debate. One of the more contentious aspects – showering, since people usually cleanse themselves either in the evening or in the morning. Our person in question clearly subscribes to the 2nd school of thought, given the both exuberant & relaxed walk into the washroom.
"I really do need to get this ickiness off me." – the being voices, fingers methodically running down the neck.
Instantly, a vision of the perfect physiological condition shines through; uncommonly, this results in a harsher strive for washing the body. With all the constant virtue signaling, egocentric mindset, hyperbolic validation seeking in the 21st century, the helpful advice turns into a ridicule crowd within the consciousness that can easily transform into supreme inactivity. Since this is heavily scaled to the males side, the shower seeker is more than likely of female sex.
20 seconds – all the time required for said hunch to be proven right. The person elegantly, graciously unties the knot holding the bathrobe close to the skin; naturally, this leads to a line of flesh showing itself to the World. Another syringe of confidence entering the bloodlines, soon the body becomes completely naked. The walk to the shower head resembles one a young female would engage with on a much needed break from any sort of work. Focusing on her side profile, it alludes to a healthy diet, care, thorough maintenance; a figure more and more females would envy in their subconscious, because their minds are too shallow, bleak to grasp what 'high standard of beauty' actually means.
"HSHHHHH!"
The hot, steam releasing water flow erupts, firstly spraying the face before getting to the upper erogenous zone, which incites a small sense of amorousness. The energetic frame of mind continues to thrive, no idea being clearly voiced until some exotic fruit smell spreading shower gel is applied onto the moist body.
"A wonderous smell. Another reminder of my groundbreaking life turnaround."
The recently rubbed left arm is jolted extremely close to the nose. A closing of both eyes before:
"Hah! A true indicator of pleasure. It allows me to dive in my joyous dreams."
To the critical examiners, the current sight could not be categorized anything other than bizarre. For a young female to be so ecstatic, expressing positivity not tied to any social media platform, a semi-dependable indication of an unusual member of said sex. As the fat alleviation of the skin continued with a constant rising degree, her mind surprisingly traced back to the vivid atrocity of yesterday evening. It honestly caught her off guard, just no to the extent to lose the cheerfulness of today. Being fast, proactive, the person pushed the issue to the time interval after the refreshment's juncture.
[Somewhere else]
Suddenly, a stream of water erupts; though, this time it's the opposite to the young female's one. In an amusing, intriguing manner, someone decides to splash and rub water all over their eyes.
"Well this is a swell job."
Several eyelid open and close motions.
"A really fun one."
The adjective is said with an intentionally comical grin. Merely seconds apart – a phone begins buzzing.
"Hello."
"I hope it's Detective Bailey that I'm speaking to?"
"You'd be right."
The male detective rapidly deduces the sex of his caller; also, the caller's voice sends waves of coziness, warmth, mutual understanding.
"And you are?"
"Detective Kincaid of the LAPD."
A brief moment of silence manifests.
"Fine. What's gotten ahold of you to call someone on the East Coast?"
Erik presses one of his palm on the edge of a sink, head is pulled back a bit.
"A warning when it comes to the murder of Laura Crane and the young student."
"What? That I'd should tread carefully?"
Smugness unwittingly enhances the latter inquiry.
"That's self-explanatory, my fellow Detective. No – I just urge you to be extraordinarily acute. I've dealt with this specific suspect character; more than likely, the person whose behind these crimes is aligning them towards a 'Grand Finale'."
"Your implying a mounting body tally?"
"Exactly. As a fellow colleague, I advise preparation for more horrifying scenes before the sun goes down."
Both public servants share an almost transcendent understanding in that they come to the conclusion of ending the conversation at a precisely joint moment. If the words were all true, the detective will not be breezing through this day.
At the cusp of mid-morning. Generally, a person will choose a buzzing atmosphere over a dreaded, depleted, static one; also, it can correlate with said person's age. Looking at the World with a critical eye, view of a younger person being more prone to exciting, lively settings than an older person is easy to grasp. Right now the mentioned setting is engulfing a trio, its characteristics: a sound of dough being baked, teeth ripping off chunks of food, faint waves of steam, some type of dance music playing at a moderately high volume.
"Mmmm. So good!"
The other two glance at the glee extruding colleague.
"Can't say I don't rate that enthusiasm."
"True, It is something being lost with every coming year."
One of the trio marches on a straight angle forward.
"An expected transition, Vik."
Liquid enters the body.
"Past tendencies dictate future outcomes."
"A man can choose to act differently."
"Doubtful when there are so many factors against him."
Out of nowhere, two males have inserted a philosophical, psychological discussion into a buzzing atmosphere. Obviously, this act gets some people's minds engaged; probably the most significant aspect being possible high level of intellectual capacity.
"I don't know about you two, but I'm almost full."
"That's great, Ray. It means I'll take the prime position."
"This Eurodance album fits perfectly with our outlook for the day."
A lightning speed transition in the emotional sphere.
"Even though most people would call it dated,… laughable."
"The same ones that call it laughable, probably listen to current pop songs that are on every single radio channel."
The glances behind his back, barely catching the duo.
"Agreed, Viktor."
Eyes return to their intended target; one of them takes a big sip of tea.
"A proper Sunday morning. Can't beat a hot waffle."
"It's full package? No."
The previous marcher processes some events of yesterday; feeling a growing substance within the mind's sphere, recognizing the repercussions for leaving it unvoiced, the ideas come out in an exquisite whispering tone.
"I'm a strong advocate for not getting involved in things that don't directly affect you. There are enough personal problems to last the mind of a decade. Yet, I cannot say that Larry's sudden death does not demoralize me. I hate it. Really do. With all the constant nonsense I got to dealt with, altruism, compassion disgust me a lot."
A short intake of air.
"Am I confident in a clear decision? No. We're going to have to address it seriously. Because entering this game can be nothing short than fatal."
A slow, reserved raising of a cup & sipping of its contents.
Past its midpoint. The mystique, first impression gravity of entering a police station has faded with every passing year; reason being – someone has at least once seen the interior of it in some sort of movie. Even if a person was poor, then someone most likely told him or her about it from an incident in their life. All of that said, the young people still traverse said building with trepidation, their recent involvement in a party, whether the scuffle or the killing, still looms over their overall sphere of thought. Unsurprisingly, the 20 year old female feels significantly insecure about this development, not that she'll voice it or explicitly show it. One of the main aspects that Tara Carpenter dislikes is showing weakness, vulnerability, so during the walk to their arranged space she just keeps her eyes straight, not looking to the sides, blinking as rarely as possible.
"Come in." – says Jeff.
The 5 young people are led into a fairly large room with 2 plushy, cinnamon brown sofas and 3 sturdy, syrup brown chairs. Quickly, the arrivers notice a female sitting in the furthest one from the entrance. Faint pineapple yellow lighting brightens the room around its edge. Mindy & Annika take their seat on sofa, Quinn, Chad, Tara – the other one. Afterwards, Jeff closes the door and naturally positions himself on one of the empty chairs. The male bets that the upcoming conversation will not end fast.
About a minute passes before the female detective calmly says:
"Some of you already know my identity, but to avoid confusion, I'll reintroduce myself. I'm Chloe Fortune, Detective of the New York Police Department."
"My name is Jeff Stalemate, police officer of the NYPD."
The clearly younger group of people experience different emotions; consequently, their facial expressions differ. Quinn, the female that did not attend the party, is visibly the most calm, least inclined to inquire about their current situation. Annika, female who shares a close tie with Mindy, shows a faint amount of concern, intrigue is the most visible emotion. Chad, most recent comforter of Tara, feels the same intrigue as Annika, a relaxed emotional sphere is presented. Speaking of the comforted, she remains in the same vain as when she walked through the police station. Lastly, Mindy is unquestionably the most inclined to ask something, since she visibly changed her face after the duo introduced themselves.
"That's all well and good, detective, but what does it have to do with us being here?"
Chloe slowly turns her face to Mindy's.
"You believe it's about the incident again?"
"Well you did bring us out of her apartment here." – Annika answers.
[Nearby]
"You believe she can present them the situation pleasantly?"
"As pleasantly as one can inform them of a close person being abducted." – Erik confidently answers.
"Detective!" – a female shouts a good distance away.
He turns around to see the addresser.
"Yes."
"There is someone hear to see you."
Despite being taken back a fair quantity, the detective casually walks to the place where he is presumably required.
[Within the room]
"…little sense. Why are we here if we're not being charged with anything?" – Chad finishes with a question.
"Does it have something to do with my sister?" – Tara inserts herself into the conversation.
By showing massive earnestness, Mis Carpenter attracts the eyes of everyone in the room. The blonde chooses to asses the personality of her before answering the question. It is not clear, obvious how much this is relevant, crucial to the overall task, case. The mind puts a puzzle together, assigns a level receiving of negative news to Tara.
"It is with great sadness that I've to tell you this."
Mis Fortune slowly, carefully leans backwards onto the support of the syrup brown chair.
"Sadly, your sister has been abducted, Tara."
To say that the civilians are soon overrun with intense emotions, would be adequate, rational, predictable. To some this is a callous, horrible reminder that some pasts do not fade into nothingness – they resurface back up.
[…]
Going around the corner, Detective Bailey is met with a quite grown up, unquestionably shorter than average, harboring enough weight, medium length yellow haired female. She is wearing a black, leather blazer, medium thickness, black sweater under it, black pants fitting not to firmly, not to loosely to her less. Overall, a proper outfit.
"You must be Detective Bailey?"
"I am."
He closes the distance between them to about a meter (~3 ft).
"And who might you be?"
"Special Agent Kirby Reed…"
She swiftly takes out a rectangle shaped document.
"..FBI. I work out of the Atlanta Field Office."
"Alright. But what has brought you here?"
A shift to a more downbeat grin.
"The death of Laura Crane. The FBI have reason to believe it is the work of the cultural phenomena serial killer by the name of Ghostface."