The House on G Street

Untitled Part 1

CHAPTER 1

On a cold November morning in 1965, A motion picture flickered on a wall from a projector set up across the dimly lit room. Images flashed of a beautiful young lady, with short darkly colored curls and creamy skin. She danced across the wall in black and white. The sound of the projector went click and clack with a low tone. The light and shadow from the picture fluttered across the impeccably dressed, cold dead corpse of an older lady. Her skin was pale and wrinkled. A stain of vomit lay beside her, the room reeked of urine and death. She wore a white satin robe with red roses hand painted on. Her head was wrapped in a matching satin scarf. Her skin had turned a pale blue, her red tinted lipstick bleed into the wrinkles around her once full lips. They turned up with a slight smile. She seemingly died happy, in her bed, in her home surrounded by the things she loved and filled with the memories of a life once lived.

The police had been called by the handyman, who was not much younger than she. The two men, in their freshly pressed blues, stood over her. They did not yet know how or why she was deceased; they could only assume given her age and the position of the body; it was of natural causes. They went about their business jotting notes and calling for the corner. Until the M.E. rules this would remain an open investigation.

The film ended and the word FIN glowed on the wall as the projector clacked loudly and the film started to spin uncontrollably. One of the officers turned it off and the only light left in the room was a single ray of sun peeking through the slim opening of the heavy brocade curtains.

"She couldn't have been dead long." One officer said to the other.