Where: Elevator of local apartment building Who: Anyone
Irene stepped out of police station and into the sun, wincing at the bright, blinding light. Stomach rolling, the very hungover Irene began the walk home to her apartment building. Despite her numerous times in the drunk tank, she never got used to the uncomfortable benches, giving her a back ache that would last for days. Slipping a pair of sunglasses over onto her face, she tried to kept an even trudging pace home. Last night had started out fine, with her just quietly drinking in the corner of the local bar when a call from her mother had sent her spiraling. Go home to see her sick father? She didnât think so. Sheâd be damned if she took another step into that town again.
Eventually, her very tired feet took her all the way to her apartment building, leaving her to slip into the elevator after another person. Sheâd moved her investigative office to Lawrence in the hopes that it might make the transition easier. All she wanted in that moment was to go up to her room, shower off the nightâs exploits, light up and sleep for a couple of hours before the next bomb dropped and she had to be up. And after all, Lawrence was a hub of unusual activity. Â God, though, apparently had other plans for Irene that day - deciding that he hadnât suffered enough. While the lights flickering caught her attention, it wasnât until the elevator suddenly jolted to a stop and she slammed into the side that Irene really started paying attention. Eyes wide, she grabbed the bar to stop herself from crumpling instantly, straightening up as the elevatorâs lights flickered on and off, the machine refusing to move.
She hadnât determined whether it was good or bad that she wasnât alone in the elevator yet.












