James Miller, a name once whispered with grudging respect in the underbelly of the city, was a husk of his former self. Ex-Special Forces, ex-Street Crime, the man who navigated shadows now found himself drowning in them. A private eye gig, a labyri...
James slumped in the office chair, the dull ache of frustration gnawing at him. Unlike the exhaustion of his living days, this frustration felt...pointed. Almost like anger. He clenched his fists, the memory of the weight bench twisting in his mind. A hazy recollection of rage, the metal warping under his spectral grip. The details remained frustratingly elusive, evaporating like details in a dream fading away whenever he tried to grasp them.
He knew that in a rage, he had destroyed the weight bench which was now nothing more than a pile of scrap in the corner of his office, but the reason for the rage, the act of destroying the bench... those details eluded him. And that frightened him. He was normally well tempered, after his years of dealing with gangs, dealers, small arms smugglers and many other situations as a police officer, nothing usually phased him. Until now.
A sharp rap on the front door startled him. Not many people knocked on his door this late at night, with the day long gone and the shops in this part of the city mostly all closed for the night. The last time, it had led to his death, or his un-death. He supposed that depended on the perspective one chose to take.
He pulled open the door, this time not to a night filled with rain, heat and humidity, but to a rather cool night breeze and clear skies as mid December had turned to late December in the city. It did not freeze in this part of the country, but the temperature did get chilly this time of year.
The frustration that had gripped him earlier fell away as he found Sarah Davis standing in the doorway. Not the Sarah Davis of the last few visits , eyes red-rimmed, and body slumped with exhaustion. On this night, Sarah held her self differently. Standing straighter, more lively than the previous visits, with a new determination that was fierce on her face. This sent a jolt through James. Sarah wasn't here to plead anymore.
She didn't waste time with pleasantries or even wait to be invited in to the office. James took a step back as she stepped past him, closing the door with a click that echoed in the dusty silence. "Mr. Miller," she said, her voice firm, "I think I may have found something."
She crossed the small room quickly, her footsteps unpleasantly loud against the silent office background, and placed a large folder on his desk. She looked back to James, still standing by the now closed door of the office. He gathered himself and walked to the desk to stand next to Sarah and looked at Sarah questioningly. She looked back to the folder and waited.
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James leaned towards the desk, his interest piqued as he reached for the well worn folder which had obviously been gone through many times. He picked up the folder and looked to Sarah again. She didn't return his look, but replied simply, "Mark's things" as James returned his gaze to the folder and opened it to reveal the documents inside.
Invoices, shipping documents, lists of materials, shipping licensing material and similar items filled the folder. Unsure as to what to look for without sitting down and really going though everything, he put the folder back down and faced Sarah.
