I step back examining my masterpiece. He got what he deserved. I go into his closet looking for some cleaner clothes. I don't waste anytime and I throw on a pair of his sweatpants and a jacket.I walk down the stairs in a sort of skipping spirit like a child going outside for recess. I stop at the corner of the last flight of stairs. I look around. The lady from the front counter is asleep with a vogue magazine on her face. I could be a vogue model if I wasn't such a psychopath.
I slip out into the harsh cold of the night. It smells like its about to rain. The smell sends a sensaion all throughout my body and I shake a little. I go down by the street and flag down a taxi. I sit in the taxi trying to keep my head down.
"Where to?", says the taxi driver. I stare at him a little confused but I finally mutter out the words "43rd Street."
I stare at him through the rearview mirror. His face is cracked and dry. His brownish-gray hair is pulled back into a ponytail. He looks like the kind of guy that I find disgusting. The ones who watch little innocent girls playing in the park. He preys on them. Thats how he gets his high.
He pulls to a stop and I pay him. I don't say anything to him as I get out. I'm ecstatic to be getting out of that cheap cologne-filled taxi. As I turn, I see the stairs leading to my apartment building. "Home sweet home.", I say to myself. I run up the stairs and walk right in straight to my apartment through the cute little red door.
I go straight to my laptop petting my cat, Daisy in a quick unjust manner. I sit with my legs crossed on my bed with my laptop. I make my usual search. Cold cases. I make this search so often that it has been burned into my brain to where I can now type it into the search engine with my eyes closed. The first one I see is of a little girl. The description says that she is seven years of age with brown hair and blue eyes. She was taken from her bed in the dead of night and no one, not even her parents who were only a few steps away in the other room didn't hear anything. Must be heavy sleepers.
I scroll down a little and find who the failed detective is of this case. Brice Ollen. Now Brice Ollen was a particuarly bright man when it came to getting to good grades all throughout high school but when it came to the real world, he was as dumb as rocks. He had no real social skills and he struggled with the ladies, if you know what I mean.
As I'm reading through Brice Ollen's wikipedia page, I find that he now lives just five blocks away in an even shittier apartment than mine. Thats when I know. Brice Ollen is also the investigator in charge of my case. I slam my computer down, causing my cat to jump off of the bed in fright.
