[color=2e3192][h1][center]Alison Fitzpatrick[/center][/h1][/color]
[color=2e3192][h2][center]Club Carousel, 8:22 AM[/center][/h2][/color]

The life had been scraped out of Alison's eyes. She could barely keep them open as the detective approached. She had not changed clothes and still stood in her wrinkly nightgown. She smelled like Julia; the grotesque whirlwind of glitter, perfume, sex, and blood had infected the air. Eventually, it would spread. The whole city would reek of it. She had to go home. This was not how it was supposed to go.

“Hello Miss, I’m Detective Gallagher,” The detective paused, giving her an extended moment to take this information in. “What can you tell me about what took place here last night?”

Alison pressed a palm against the side of her forehead. A splitting migraine had cracked her concentration in half and she had hardly been able to comprehend the detective's sentence. "My name..." she sighed, looked down, and pressed harder onto her head. "M-my name is Alison Fitzpatrick." Her mouth started to throb and her eyes began to well up with tears. "I'm sorry...I...I need a moment." She turned away and wiped away the moisture from her face, smearing what was left of yesterday's makeup. She was beyond vanity -- she just needed to help this man so that he could get the fuck out of her apartment. Then she would pack her things and kiss New York goodbye.

After a few moments, Alison turned back around and gave a limp, insincere, but cooperative smile to the detective. "Julie brought a man over and made love to him in her room. It was...it was rather obnoxious. So I left and sat outside for a little while. I returned at...I don't know. Almost three o'clock?" She sniffled. "It wasn't her boyfriend who killed her." She closed her eyes and pointed at the burly corpse of Julia's boy-toy. "He's right there."

Alison took a deep breath. "The door had been kicked open and I found them as you see them now. The fire iron was...it was covered in blood. I can only assume that the killer kicked in the door and bashed them to death with wh-wh-whatever he could find..." She burst into tears again. She felt nothing for her roommate, but death had never spun in the same circles as her before. It had only been a day and New York had already broken her spirit.