The Woman Who Fell To Earth

Chapter 26

Mars

There was an urgent rapping on the door, an unfamiliar, unfriendly hand that made Art and David look at each other with concern. David slipped silently into the bedroom and shut the door. Art walked to the door and looked through the peephole to see a dark woman in a gray suit, her hair pulled back in a bun. She had a clipboard in her hands and a severe expression on her face.

Art was hesitant to open the door, but did so with trepidation. "May I help you?" he asked.

"Art Starfire," the woman declared. "I recognize you from your billboards."

"Yes," he said skeptically.

She extended her hand in greeting. "Connie Schwab. I'm a private detective searching for a missing person. I'd like to ask you some questions." She thrust her clipboard into Art's face abruptly. He had to take a step back to see what she was showing him. "Do you know this woman?" she asked sharply.

Art looked at the clipboard. It held a cluster of photos taken at Jodi's art opening, showing several shots of David as she ran from photographers. He shook his head. "No, I'm sorry, I can't help you."

The woman pointed a red tipped finger at a photo of Art shielding David from the crowd as they exited, him on one side, Angie on the other. "It looks to me like maybe you do," she said.

"I'm sorry, I don't know her," he denied. He wanted to look back and make certain David was closed in the bedroom, but didn't dare move his eyes from the clipboard.

"Mr. Starfire, I don't think you understand the urgency of this matter. May I come in?"

"No you may not. I know my rights. I don't know you."

"Fair enough. But Mr. Starfire, this woman poses a threat to herself and those around her. I highly encourage you to disclose any information you may have."

"Wait. Who are you again? And who is this woman?"

"I am Connie Schwab. I am a private detective hired by the Jones family to find their daughter, Brixton Jones. Her." She pointed to David in the photo. She flipped through some pages on the clipboard and pulled out an individual photo and handed it to Art.

It was David, but not David. It was a professional photograph of a beautiful woman, roughly mid-twenties. She had long, golden hair the lay in waves on her ample bosom. She wore a white peasant dress, filled out with her healthy curves. She stared at the lens with an odd look about her eyes, a look he had seen from David many times. His flesh erupted in a cold tremor. His mouth went dry.

"Brixton Jones is twenty-eight years old from Manhattan. She is suicidal and suffers from delusions. She is believed to be a danger to herself and others. She's been missing over six weeks. We have reason to believe she has been taking refuge with you during her disappearance."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I've never seen this woman." Art stood firm. He prayed silently for David to stay put.

"My photos prove otherwise," she said, pointing again to the incriminating picture.

"Your photos don't prove anything," Art said forcefully.

"Mr. Starfire, please listen," said the detective. "Brixton Jones is a dangerous woman when she is not on her medication. She is unpredictable and may cause herself harm or cause harm to you if we do not get her back to the facility. She needs to be under a doctor's care immediately."

"I can't help you." He began closing the door.

"Her family is very worried," the detective pleaded as the door shut between them.