Chimera | H.S Mature

21.

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*Samantha's POV*

"That motherfucking son of a bitch. I know he had something to do with this, I know it. I'm going to kill that fucker" I slurred, banging my empty glass back on the table and arousing the attention of the absentminded bar man.

"Rough day?" he asked, taking my glass without questions and refilling it with a double vodka and coke.

"No shit" I grumbled. He snorted.

"Yeah join the club, my girlfriend just broke up with me". It was my turn to scoff.

"Well my warrant to raid the premises of perhaps the only guy who knows the identity of the scumbag who raped a girl in an alleyway last week was denied, so now I have no lead, nowhere to go and no fucking idea what to do" I spat. He placed the full drink back in front of me and held his hands beside his head in surrender.

"Yeah, ok, you win" he said before shuffling back down the bar to tend to all the other pitiful souls who were drinking away their sorrows on a Thursday night.

"Damn right I fucking win" I mumbled to myself. I had been made aware of the fact that I swear a lot when I've been drinking, it's something I'm reminded of every year at birthdays and Christmas's when liquor has been flowing all day and every other sentence it tainted by a string of colourful words. But as I emptied my 7th glass in two gulps I really didn't care.

"Fucking Alex" I mumbled. Of course I had no proof that he had anything to do with it, 'not enough evidence to support the need for the warrant' Parsons had said. Not enough evidence? What more evidence could they possibly need? I had written down everything I knew, from the car, to the registration plate, to the vehicle actually being in the shop when I made my visit, I mean it was sitting there in front of me, but somehow that isn't enough evidence for them? Bullshit. The only other explanation I came up with was that Alex had something to do with it, that he used his self-confessed power over whoever it was that worked there to get it rejected just to make my life that much more difficult. My wandering attention was brought back to the small bar as a refilled glass was placed in front of me. The bar man offered me a small, pitiful smile before moving on once again.

I made an effort to drink this glass slowly as I cast my attention around the room. The lighting above my head was minimal and served very little purpose as it offered a pathetic beam of light across the space. Corners were left in shadow, their occupants sealed away from the prying eyes of those who surrounded them. In one corner sat a young woman, younger than me perhaps. Her face was stained with old tears and her cheeks were flushed a dark rouge, whether that was from the effect of the alcohol, too much make up or from the wandering hand of the creep who had placed himself behind her I wasn't sure. An old man sat at one of the tables which littered the stained, cigarette burned carpet. His face was worn and tired, deep lines stretched themselves across his skin. His white hair was distributed in patches across the crown of his head, dark, unkempt bristles forming a similar pattern across his jaw and cheek. His clothes were old, moth-eaten and baggy, hanging from him like a blanket which had been draped over skin and bone. His table was littered with at least 9 empty pint glasses, the tenth was being repeatedly raised to his lips in short, sharp gulps.

I retracted my gaze from the room and returned it to the scratched, sticky surface of the bar where I sat down my empty glass. I could not judge the people that surrounded me because tonight, I was one of them. Alcohol sizzled through my veins and I could feel myself slowly succumbing to the effects it would have on my body. My mind was hazy and my gaze was unfocused, it was pulling me away from reality and towards a world where I hoped life wouldn't be as bad, where I could be a good detective, where I could help people and make things better for them. Where I could let myself be happy and not care about what other people think of me.