"Hi, I'm um.. Well, I'm looking for someone. I'm told he might be staying here?" Andrea said quietly, feeling rather stupid, to the woman behind the reception at the motel she had been pointed toward back in Virginia.
The woman sighed and rolled her eyes in response. "And you want me to check the books. Name?"
"I don't know his name," she replied, feeling even more stupid. She was out of uniform as she wasn't technically allowed to act as a police officer in this area, but it would have made things so much easier.
"So what do you want me to do about it?"
"If I gave you a description?"
"Go on?"
"Umm... Shady."
The woman scoffed. "Shady?"
Andrea huffed impatiently and raised her voice slightly, taking on her 'I'm a police woman, don't mess with me' attitude that didn't really belong on someone who appeared to be no more important than the drunk lying in the gutter outside the motel. "Look, the guy I'm after, he looks dodgy, okay? I don't know who he is, I've never seen him before, but I know he's here and I need a room number, and preferably a key, if he's not in. He'll probably be drunk or drugged up or both, and he'll have large suitcases that he probably won't want to let go of. Can you or can you not help me?"
The woman's eyes widened as she noted the authority in Andrea's voice, but didn't comment. She merely shrugged and answered in a matter-of-fact way. "You must mean M. Jackson. Yeah, he's what you'd call dodgy. Room 108. It's right up there." She pointed to the stairs. "I can't give you a key, he's in, but I wouldn't anyway. Do whatever it is you came here for and get out. I don't like the look of you."
She nodded her thanks and headed toward the stairs.
Room 108. Had Andrea known what she would find behind that dampened door, she would have ran a mile. But she didn't, and so had proceeded up the stairs and rapped fervently on the door. She hadn't known, but she did now. The man who stood before her was more drunk and drugged up than she'd ever seen him, but he was instantly recognisable. She staggered slightly, and clung to the rotting doorframe for support; in the back of her mind, she half expected it to come away in her hand. "Ryan?" she breathed, horrified.
This couldn't be happening, she had promised herself that he wouldn't be here. But here he was, right in front of her, and it appeared that he was the guy she was meant to be investigating.
She cleared her throat, hoping that he hadn't recognised or heard her. She had changed a lot in three years. The dark hair that had reached the base of her spine in the old days, for example, was now cut short in a nice but practical way, layered around her face and not reaching any lower than her chin - and her eyes were, obviously much, much clearer than he had ever seen them. The way she held herself was also different; in a way that was tall and proud and said that she knew exactly who she was and she wasn't going to let anyone stand in her way. "Good afternoon, sir." She addressed him in the usual way, mentally wincing. "I'm Senior Constable Stone, from Charlottesville, Virginia, and I would like to talk to you. Do you have any objections?"
Last edited by
DyingHere on Mon May 11, 2009 1:06 pm, edited 1 time in total.