SPLATTER (draft)

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Amanda had seen the many coloured post-it notes on her table, a few 'highly important' ones placed around her computer screen. Rolling her eyes she had began to read them all; Miss Shing needed a reminder sent out to everyone in the office regarding a recent change in website design that might cause issues with office login. Mr. Davidson wanted his Friday appointment rescheduled for Monday since his daughter had a school event he forgot about. Mrs. Larchres wanted to confirm her event was all set and ready with the third-party employees and catering so that their customer could be put at ease. Amanda looked at the last one and narrowed her eyes, "Larchres, you lazy ass, you could call up catering and the venue yourself! You just hate doing it. I swear I'm surprised you're still employed, with how much you slack off." Amanda ranted in her head, going through her personal planner for all the contact information she needed for each person and event. Starting her work and making all the necessary arrangements for each coworker, client, and third-party worker.

With a roll of her shoulders she released a small deep breath, having just hanged the phone after confirming with the limousine company in charge of picking up and dropping off Mrs. Larchres client. The limousine company owner had not been happy that she was on his back, yelling something about trust and 'get off my back will ya?!' The brunette muttering a curse directed at Mrs. Larchres for this drama she had to deal with.

That's when a young woman, perhaps not even in her thirties, walked in and asked to speak with her event planner. Amanda knew that the event planner had today off, and her notebook had no appointment penned in, so that meant this was a walk in. It took a second for Amanda to recognize the woman before her who looked so hallow and dim, as if she was barely hanging on and she was barely going through the motions. Amanda knew this all too well since the first week she had been the same, being told by her boss that it was okay to take a few days off to properly grieve. Personally Amanda knew that she would've taken the time off even without permission since she could not focus or even bother with the many post it's and the phone calls. She'd stare at the computer screen for half an hour only to have reread the first sentence eight times and being no closer to understand it. This was the look of someone who lost someone important to them.

"Ah! Mrs. Rodgers, sorry about that. Miss Jullians usually makes sure to tell me any information to pass along were a client to walk in, yet she had no message to pass along. Are you here to check on something or perhaps confirm Miss Jullians' services?" she asked, thinking she had a good hunch as to why Mrs. Rodgers, or was it Ms. Rodgers now, was here asking for an event planner. Her husband had been one of the murder victims, just like Kiera had been.

Saying that Miss Jullians would be in tomorrow all morning until four in the afternoon, she thought it would be left at that. Saying she'd leave a message for a call back to be made, did she want to pen in an appointment for tomorrow? Honestly she did not think more would happen until Mrs. Rodgers seemed to think for a moment and returned to the desk. The brunette gazed up, wondering how the woman was doing and if she needed help with anything, when the sudden question made her eyes go wide before they shadowed over. Her head lowering some as she gazed at her hands still holding a pen, taking a slow breath to still her heart while finding the honest answer she struggled to voice. "Not really. It's been almost a month since Kiera was murdered and I am still finding myself calling her cell phone just to hear her voice as she requests call back information. I'm paying her phone bill just so that this little trace of her isn't taken away from me, quite stalkerish, I know... However I just can't accept that of all the ways she could have died.... It ended up being as part of a serial killing." Amanda confessed, her words sticking to her throat and threatening to choke her as the familiar burn of tears threatened to spill. Funny how such a simple question could tear her down so easily.

Reaching over to lightly press over Mrs. Rodgers hand, she took a moment to admire the beautiful woman who was finding the strength to go out and rejoin the ever flowing river of time. How many times had Mr. Rodgers story been shared on the news with family friends talking of how Channing was trying hard to accept the loss and help their little son not be too hurt by what was happening. "This is very much out of line, but may I call you by your first name? I do not feel comfortable speaking your husband's last name at the moment, it reminds me too much of what is going on and of my own loss. Channing, as a fellow griever, I can only suggest one thing: the sooner we accept our loss and find a way to catch the sick bastard who is doing this, then the sooner it is until we can think or speak of our loved ones without hurt so raw."