05-30-2014, 05:54 PM
Walking up to the door to the warehouse in the morning has never before caused her to panic like this. The police told Verna to stay outside, and that's what she's going to do. She doesn't want to disturb the crime scene, she just wants to get a closer look before it's all cordoned off. And she especially doesn't want to alert anyone who might still be inside that she's there, she's alone, and she's armed only with a can of liquid pain.
But it doesn't take a trip inside the dark building to see the wreckage of the door with clarity. She registers the fact that something was dragged out of it with a cold spike of fear. It looks like there was a struggle. Computers and office chairs don't struggle with you when you heave them out the door.
Her calculating logic wars with her emotions. It couldn't be that. She won't let herself believe that someone was dragged out of here, because it opens up a pit inside.
The door, this close, was obviously rammed in with some kind of machine. Or two machines. Very powerful ones. This was not the work of a person without resources, says the logic. Why would anyone who had the ability break in like this? It doesn't make any rational sense.
She's already half-sick with worry by the time she spots the blood in the shadows. The police sirens have joined everything else in the world that doesn't make sense to her right now. The mind ticks through a hundred scenarios, and none of them ring true, while all of the events around her seem to be happening to someone else. She has the sense to back away, to put distance between herself and the blood-spattered, twisted mess. And she's just standing there a ways away, staring at the scene with her hand over her mouth when the police do arrive.
But it doesn't take a trip inside the dark building to see the wreckage of the door with clarity. She registers the fact that something was dragged out of it with a cold spike of fear. It looks like there was a struggle. Computers and office chairs don't struggle with you when you heave them out the door.
Her calculating logic wars with her emotions. It couldn't be that. She won't let herself believe that someone was dragged out of here, because it opens up a pit inside.
The door, this close, was obviously rammed in with some kind of machine. Or two machines. Very powerful ones. This was not the work of a person without resources, says the logic. Why would anyone who had the ability break in like this? It doesn't make any rational sense.
She's already half-sick with worry by the time she spots the blood in the shadows. The police sirens have joined everything else in the world that doesn't make sense to her right now. The mind ticks through a hundred scenarios, and none of them ring true, while all of the events around her seem to be happening to someone else. She has the sense to back away, to put distance between herself and the blood-spattered, twisted mess. And she's just standing there a ways away, staring at the scene with her hand over her mouth when the police do arrive.