The Chivalrous -Pilot Episode 28-

Scene 1

NORFOLK, VIRGINIA, 4:50 P.M

"I'm sorry Mr. Doodles, I forgot your mess bags!" Frowned Mrs. Birdy, an eccentric old maid whose daily excitement was gained by walking her little black, devil-like, miniature poodle. Her life revolved around the little thing, who was just as loud and intrusive as Mrs. Birdy herself. They both shared an uncanny resemblance to one another, having jet-black curly hair and wide, and excited eyes. Mrs. Birdy did everything with her devil-like dog and most assumed this was because she had no husband that entertained her interesting thoughts, and wild personality

Mrs. Birdy and Mr. Doodles made their way up the hall to their apartment, all the while keeping a steady conversation with each other. The sixty-something woman paused the spill of salon gossip, while she struggled to find the right key to her apartment. Waiting for his owner patiently, Mr. Doodle sat, neck out-stretched and nose twitching towards an apartment door across from theirs. He suddenly started to whine, begging to follow the odor that slowly leaked into the hall.

"What is it Mr. Doodle?" Mrs. Birdy's voice was filled with concern as she watched Mr. Doodles violently scratched at the bottom of her neighbor's door. To Mrs. Birdy's dismay, her little companion's strength was enough to swing the door open a few inches.

"Oh, come now Mr. Doodles! Don't bother Hannah," she ordered, but Mr. Doodles barked up a furious argument.

"Alright, alright. We'll check on her if you're that worried!" She gave in easily, her curiosity begging her to follow the dog's urges. She slowly swung the door open to her single and rather secretive -in Mrs. Birdy's opinion- neighbor's apartment.

"Hannah dear?" She stepped across the threshold. Her eyes narrowed, trying to make out any figures in the shocking darkness. Mrs. Birdy walked a little further into the apartment to only freeze right in her tracks. Her shoe had sunk a little deeper into the carpet making a sound that reminded Mrs. Birdy of squeezing out a sponge. The carpet felt squishy to Mrs. Birdy, which drew alarm to her face. She retracted her foot from the substance and stumbled back through the doorway. She ran her hand up and down the inner wall next to the door, searching for the light switch.

"Hannah!" She called out, her fingers still looking.

Relief finally beheld her when she felt the familiar plastic switch. She flipped it, and as the light illuminated the room, Mrs. Birdy's eyes fell upon Hannah's limp body crouched on the floor. It laid in a pool of fresh blood, drenching the once snowy white carpet to a now cruel scarlet red.

It oozed out of the single bullet wound on Hannah's white pasty forehead, as it also drained from the several stab wounds on her torso. Her wrinkly fingers were wrapped around a half-filled wine glass, sitting perfectly upright on the carpet next to her dead body.

Mrs. Birdy's supported herself against the doorway, blood drained from her cheeks and eyes locked onto the body of her neighbor. For once in her life, no words left her lips just violent gusts of anxiety-filled screams.