probably Donna, had come in here after the crime scene crew had poked around and cleaned up.
There were flowers on the desk, and there wasn't an ounce of fingerprint dust anywhere. Someone had overdosed on the Febreze all over my chair from the smell of things, and my paperwork was more organized than when I'd put it there.
The faux clean scent started a wave of nausea that began in my semi-singed nostrils and trickled down to my gut. I quickly grabbed my running shoes from the bottom drawer of my file cabinets and turned to get going as fast as possible. I needed a distraction from thinking about Anthony's body tied in a pair of fishnet stockings, and a jog across town should tire me out.
One drawer caught my eye as I began to close my office door. It was slightly ajar, and there was a silvery-looking finger hanging out.
A glove finger , I told myself. Relax .
Pulling the drawer open, a full-length silver glove was half in and half out of a new package.
Hmmm . I had been saving these gloves for my first class and hadn't opened the package yet. I pulled the glove out and glanced over it quickly. The packaging had been torn, but the right glove was untouched in the wrapping. The left glove dangled haphazardly over the edge of the drawer.
"Ugh!" I let out a frustrated grunt. I'd been looking forward to one small luxury for my first class. New gloves. And the crime scene investigators had ruined even that. I felt a few angry tears building up, so I stashed the gloves back in the drawer, slammed it shut, and slipped on my running shoes.
I had to get out of here. Nothing felt clean. Nothing felt new. The joy that should've been cropping up for my first day of a new studio, new students, new classes was ruined. And not only was it not my fault, but I was being blamed for it. Why?
Why? The question pounded over and over in my mind as I set off down the pavement. I hadn't run in quite a while—not since I'd moved back, in fact. Fueled by the unfairness of it all, I felt ready to tackle a marathon. My feet carried me down the familiar road I'd run in high school.
It was a state trail running through the woods. Golden leaves fluttered around my shoulders, and orange, red, and yellow hues created a magical glow. I'd only ever felt compelled to bring one other person here with me. And it hadn't turned out well.
Memories of Jax and me strolling hand in hand during similar fall weather ten years before pushed out all grizzly thoughts of looming murder and danger. We'd been so in love. But I'd been stupid. So damn stupid, and by the time I'd tried to fix things, it'd been far too late. He'd moved on. And was still quite happily existing without me.
Why had I come back? There was nothing here for me except accusations of murder, threats to my safety, and a former lover I'd thought I was over, but wasn't…at least not according to the slivers of pain jolting through my core whenever Jax was around.
My pace quickened, breathing matching my faster strides. I hadn't run this fast in forever. I needed to be gone. To go away. To run.
I pulled up short at a small clearing, bent over in half, heaving as my guts burned and my breaths came in short, staccato bursts. The pain felt good. I took a few slow steps to catch my breath, gazing around the amazingly unchanged clearing.
A fallen tree trunk made a perfect bench along one side of the circular patch of dirt. All around, the trees cuddled in close, creating a cozy little fort where I'd come as a kid to gather my thoughts. I liked to think that the only other person to set foot here was…
I kicked aside some leaves and brushed a spot clean on the makeshift bench, plopping down unceremoniously. Charred remains of a decade-old bonfire pit littered the center circle, and I bet if I dug deep enough I could find a stolen beer bottle or box of cheap wine.
I'd been a straight A, overachieving student for most of my high school career. Not the obnoxious type, just the type who worked hard,
There were flowers on the desk, and there wasn't an ounce of fingerprint dust anywhere. Someone had overdosed on the Febreze all over my chair from the smell of things, and my paperwork was more organized than when I'd put it there.
The faux clean scent started a wave of nausea that began in my semi-singed nostrils and trickled down to my gut. I quickly grabbed my running shoes from the bottom drawer of my file cabinets and turned to get going as fast as possible. I needed a distraction from thinking about Anthony's body tied in a pair of fishnet stockings, and a jog across town should tire me out.
One drawer caught my eye as I began to close my office door. It was slightly ajar, and there was a silvery-looking finger hanging out.
A glove finger , I told myself. Relax .
Pulling the drawer open, a full-length silver glove was half in and half out of a new package.
Hmmm . I had been saving these gloves for my first class and hadn't opened the package yet. I pulled the glove out and glanced over it quickly. The packaging had been torn, but the right glove was untouched in the wrapping. The left glove dangled haphazardly over the edge of the drawer.
"Ugh!" I let out a frustrated grunt. I'd been looking forward to one small luxury for my first class. New gloves. And the crime scene investigators had ruined even that. I felt a few angry tears building up, so I stashed the gloves back in the drawer, slammed it shut, and slipped on my running shoes.
I had to get out of here. Nothing felt clean. Nothing felt new. The joy that should've been cropping up for my first day of a new studio, new students, new classes was ruined. And not only was it not my fault, but I was being blamed for it. Why?
Why? The question pounded over and over in my mind as I set off down the pavement. I hadn't run in quite a while—not since I'd moved back, in fact. Fueled by the unfairness of it all, I felt ready to tackle a marathon. My feet carried me down the familiar road I'd run in high school.
It was a state trail running through the woods. Golden leaves fluttered around my shoulders, and orange, red, and yellow hues created a magical glow. I'd only ever felt compelled to bring one other person here with me. And it hadn't turned out well.
Memories of Jax and me strolling hand in hand during similar fall weather ten years before pushed out all grizzly thoughts of looming murder and danger. We'd been so in love. But I'd been stupid. So damn stupid, and by the time I'd tried to fix things, it'd been far too late. He'd moved on. And was still quite happily existing without me.
Why had I come back? There was nothing here for me except accusations of murder, threats to my safety, and a former lover I'd thought I was over, but wasn't…at least not according to the slivers of pain jolting through my core whenever Jax was around.
My pace quickened, breathing matching my faster strides. I hadn't run this fast in forever. I needed to be gone. To go away. To run.
I pulled up short at a small clearing, bent over in half, heaving as my guts burned and my breaths came in short, staccato bursts. The pain felt good. I took a few slow steps to catch my breath, gazing around the amazingly unchanged clearing.
A fallen tree trunk made a perfect bench along one side of the circular patch of dirt. All around, the trees cuddled in close, creating a cozy little fort where I'd come as a kid to gather my thoughts. I liked to think that the only other person to set foot here was…
I kicked aside some leaves and brushed a spot clean on the makeshift bench, plopping down unceremoniously. Charred remains of a decade-old bonfire pit littered the center circle, and I bet if I dug deep enough I could find a stolen beer bottle or box of cheap wine.
I'd been a straight A, overachieving student for most of my high school career. Not the obnoxious type, just the type who worked hard,
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