Untitled atm 1/?

[flighty_dreams]

I wrote this today while at work. Been buzzing around in my head for a while.

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“Miss… Bradford?”

The baritone voice used my alias instead of my regular name.

That instantly drew my full attention, and I gripped the phone a little tighter as I sat down at the dining room table, pushing my long dark hair back from my ear. “Yes?”

“My name’s Morgan Connolly, and I’m not trying to sell you anything.”

“Good to know. What do you want then?” If he wasn’t selling, then he must be buying.

There was a pause as he chose his words carefully. “Bill Preston gave me your name, said you might give me some information.”

I frowned, suddenly uneasy. Bill Preston was a detective from Philadelphia that I’d helped a few months back, on the condition that afterwards he wouldn’t be bothering me any further. I’d thought him a man of his word, but his broken promise wasn’t all that surprising. I’d lived long enough to know few vows remained kept for long. With a cop like Preston, give him a big enough sob story, and he’d do anything he could to help out, including breaking his word.

Damn, I didn’t need this; police informant wasn’t a role I wanted to be known for. I decided to cut Connolly off now, before he convinced me otherwise. “Look, I don’t know what Preston told you, but I can’t help you.”

“Come on, just a couple questions, please. Two minutes of your time.” He spoke rapidly, getting the words out before I could hang up, and his voice was rough, the tone of a man not used to begging, but desperate enough to do it now.

Shit. My curiosity was peaked, and the image of a trap slamming shut on me flashed through my mind. I sighed, cursing softly under my breath. “What is this about?”

“My sister’s gone missing. I need to find her.”

“How is this in any way not a job for the police? Let them handle this, that’s what they’re there for.”

“I’ve already tried them. The cops think she ran away, but I know she didn’t. A damn leech took her. Preston’s the only one who believes me, but he doesn’t have much to go on. So he suggested I contact you.”

“And what do you expect me to do?”

The question seemed to surprise him, making him more hesitant, but it didn’t push him from his chosen path. “Well, he told me about you, what you were, and said you had better knowledge of the vamps out there than the police consultants did.” His voice firmed. “That you could help me.”

I rolled my eyes. “Look, I don’t care what they show on TV. I’m not a detective of any kind. Not a PI, not a cop. And I don’t angst about my lost mortality either.”

My facetiousness obviously wasn’t appreciated, his voice overflowing with anger and frustration. “I’m not asking you to find her, just give me information to help find her, goddammit. Can’t you at least fucking do that?”

I sighed, and listened to the background noise coming through the phone as I thought it over. I could hear a faint TV, a breeze rustling the window blinds, knocking them against the glass, and above it all his harsh, anxious breathing and pounding heart. I tapped my fingers against the cherry wood table in front of me, and belatedly realized I was drumming them in tune to his heartbeat. Great, I needed to feed soon.

“Fine,” I finally told him. “Do you have a description, a photo, anything to go on about who took her?”

“A description. I wish I had a photo of the bastard.” He paused before asking, “I know I said I’d only take a couple minutes, but could we meet somewhere?”

I knew why he wanted a face to face. He thought he’d get more information out of me in person. We’d see about that, but I was curious enough about him to agree to meet him at a café an hour later.

Apparently he’d already made the drive over from Philadelphia, where Preston worked, to Maryland, where I currently resided. Had he been that sure I’d give in, or just that desperate?

As the call wound down he said, his voice softening, “Miss Bradford?”

“Yeah?” I asked neutrally.

There was a long silence as he hesitated, before finally finishing with, “I’ll see you there.”

The dial tone droned loudly in my sensitive ear, and I put the phone down. Great. The man wasn’t even capable of voicing a simple thank you. This would go real well.