A coincidence; the sudden fire erupting across Sallybrook. It was obviously due to some kind of human error: poked the fire too much, followed through on a dare to get as close to the fire as possible, not knowing basic fire safety at least not like the youth the department visited did. The youth who would vanish at the hands of a serial killer; the fire chief would rarely say aloud. Those kids were dead, sinking in the bottom of a river because people like Marina couldn’t do their jobs right. They couldn’t smother a single fire without the loss of life, and the police couldn’t catch a single murderer even if all the evidence was dangled right under their noses.
Contempt cast a shadow across their features, numb fingers tugging and rubbing at their eyes in the unforgiving cold of an upcoming winter. No one went out in the winter; of course, the murderer would strike then with no prying eyes to assert some name that would sound familiar. Nevertheless, it was not a problem Marina could worry about without sinking into some ethereal plane of thinking of which they would sacrifice time spent helping people, fighting tiny grease fires, helping elementary children cross the street and not get ran over in the process.
Marina did not look good in bright, blinding orange. That not being an opinion, but a fact. Dark colors, nude colors suited them better whether or not her personality popped like a bright pink lily. The air was filled with the chatter of high-pitched voices and enthusiasm. With her help, they hadn’t heard a horn honk all morning and as children drifted by she was reminiscent to smell those homemade lunches of her own childhood. The tenderness and care put into them were always exemplary.
And then there it was, the first beep of the day once the ‘slow’ sign had been flipped towards the driver in the car and yet a couple of passersby seemed to like their chances nonetheless. They shuffled, quick enough to make a physical barrier in front of the lingering crowd. “Woah, woah, woah. Slow down there.” They abrogated, a hand held out as the impatient driver whizzed by followed by plenty of others. It was of no help the bulk of both school traffic lay in the heart of town.
Indigo's mind moved quickly. A thousand things vied for their attention, pulling their mind in far too many directions. Sallybrook and the mysteries it held and the lack of answers about them did nothing to help them focus their thoughts, at least not without three cups of coffee and a disarray of papers and books and ink. Too many ghosts to find, too many answers to uncover, too many faces to store in their mind, too many people to question. Mundane concerns built, too. Rent (both their own and the half they covered for their mom) and food and upgrading their equipment and replacing their winter coat. It was all too much.
Not quite focused on any one thing, not the research they had planned and not on the surroundings all around them, they surged forward. A destiny was kept vaguely in mind. Though, anywhere would be better than the library they had spent far too many hours in. And they had been asked to leave for the day, anyway, after they split their coffee on the table and just barely missed a book. They walked, weaving around people who moved a hair too slow, and avoided a few near collisions. An anxious energy accumulated at the base of their skull and built itself into a headache. Waiting to cross the street, they reached into their bag in search for the pain relievers.
They moved with those around them, crossing the street once they registered movement beside them. The car and their apparent savior came as a shock. Then came their lackluster response, "Thanks." A smile, awkward and small, spread across their lips. Networking, at least in a town like this and a case this large, mattered. Their headache worsened. "A hospital stay really would've sucked right now."
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jacobvanloon
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