• ~Psalm 46:4-5~

    There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy dwelling places of the Most High. God is in the midst of her, she will not be moved; God will help her when morning dawns.
  • Drop Me a Line

    cindystreams @ gmail.com
  • Archives

    August 2008
    S M T W T F S
    « Jul   Sep »
  • Care to Comment?

    Please don't hesitate. I love to read your feedback. "You may be a stranger but you're not a stalker."
  • Find A Specific Date

  • Advertisements

Death of a Ballerina – Part 2 –

For more installments see the novel index. All posts and pages on this blog are the exclusive property of Citystreams; Copyright 2006-2008; All rights reserved.

Tanjia ended her conversation with the dispatcher and snapped the cell phone shut. She glared at the phone before stuffing it back in her pocket. Then turning towards Clary, she said, “The police are on their way. Stupid woman asked if we needed an ambulance. Then she asked if the girl died of natural causes. Where do they get these people?” She shook her head in amazement and examined the ceiling.

Clary turned towards her locker and considered the warm dry scrubs inside. Hesitating, she glanced down at the body. The girl’s stage make-up stood out brightly against the grey-white flesh. Changing in this room didn’t sound very appealing, but a bathroom down the hall would be just fine. She fumbled with the lock, trying to get the combination right on the first try. Tanjia stood with her hand on the doorknob, watching Clary. Her face reflected a certain amount of distrust.

“I’m just getting a change of clothes,” Clary said. She was surprised at how small her voice sounded. After removing the scrubs and tennis shoes, she shoved her purse and umbrella inside. Her fingers slipped and the door slammed shut. The sound echoed through the quiet room, sending chill bumps up her arms.

Both women were visibly relieved to leave the crime scene. They walked together in silence. At the hall’s four-way intersection, Tanjia turned right and moved behind the nurses’ station. Clary listened as she called out the details of the ordeal to the other nurses nearby. She turned left, in a daze and found her way to the visitors’ restroom.
——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——-

Greg Anderson stood in the hall, holding a cup of coffee and imagining the events of the night before. Three forensics experts were inside the locker room processing the scene, and after ten years of experience in law enforcement he knew to stay out of their way. Detective Maine stood nearby, questioning the nurse who had called 911. The stairwell door opened behind Greg, and he reflexively put his hand on his holster as he turned around. His eyes widened in surprise and he let go of his cup of coffee.

Clary paused in the doorway and they stared at each other without speaking. Her long white coat and green scrubs sent a startling revelation through his brain.

“What are you doing here?” He squatted to pick up the coffee cup, and struggled to make sense of her unexpected presence. “The last time I talked to you, back in March, you said you were moving to Florida, right?”

A sigh escaped from Clary’s lips and she shifted her weight awkwardly. “I … well, I lied to you.” She studied the top of her brother’s head as he wiped up the coffee, looking for any thinning of his dark hair. “It seemed the best thing to do at the time. The weekend before match day, you eloped with Regina. Mom told me about it while we were waiting for my match results. I was so numb that I didn’t even hear my name when it was read from the podium. All of my friends were staring at me. It was like a nightmare. That evening when you called, I couldn’t tell you that I’d be living here in Columbia. I wanted to scream at you or throw something. But you just pretended that nothing had happened.”

“Anderson!” Greg was still crouching to wipe up the last of the spilled coffee but he turned in the direction of the greasy senior detective.

“Stop flirting with that pretty doctor.” Maine grinned at Clary. “Do you have any questions for Ms. Williams before she goes home?”

Greg stood up and looked his sister in the eye. “Can we talk about this later? I want to work this out. But I’m on the job right now.”

Clary twirled one of the buttons on her coat. “Yeah. Sure. Let’s talk about it later.” Her hands shook as he walked away. She looked down at the charts in her hands, and struggled to remember where she had been heading when she walked through the stairwell door.

For more installments see the novel index. All posts and pages on this blog are the exclusive property of Citystreams; Copyright 2006-2008; All rights reserved.