[center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/200603/ff082b4f376eb0b3cac1d7bd7a9c5c01.png[/img]

_________
______
[/center]

[b]Oasis Apartments | West Hollywood | 3:24am[/b]

Cold water cascaded down her body as she sat up on the shower floor; arms hugging tightly around knees that were drawn close to the young woman’s chest. Save for the leather jacket and black Sketchers laying in the hallway, Nicole was fully clothed, never changing out of the dark skinny jeans and charcoal [i]Nine Inch Nails[/i] t-shirt that she had worn for the meet-up only two hours early. Before it all went to shit. Before things started to make less sense. What should have been a routine operation that had an ongoing investigation for weeks, turned out to be a game of cat and mouse, and unbeknownst to the officer, she had been the mouse all along. Lured into a trap by misinformation, following breadcrumbs that were eaten up by the rats who laid them there to begin with. It was all too surreal and horrific, something she thought would never be expected in her line of work. Something unexplained that should not have happened to begin with.

[i]“What am I?...[/i]

Nicole had only asked herself a dozen times or more since landing back into her apartment, a place that didn’t seem as familiar as it once was. Even the ice cold water, which had been running above her for at least a half hour did not chill her to the bone as it normally would have. She never liked cold, and yet for the first time in her existence, her body had become void of any real warmth. After a few more moments of contemplation, however, she finally stood to her feet, turning off the water before stripping the remainder of her now soaked clothing and allowing them to fall into a watery heap onto the tiled floor. Stepping onto the fuzzy lavender bath rug, the woman’s hand shook as she reached for the hanging towel, and slowly wrapped her body in what should have been comfort. But there was no comfort to be found in such things she took for granted. 

Even the mirror told a different story, and a wave of emotions swept over the woman as she glanced at the reflection of a person she hardly recognized. Skin tone, once olive, now sapped of it’s hue, it’s vibrance, and all that remained was a paleness that bordered on sickly. Her eye color even seemed to change slightly, but that could be a trick of the light. She cocked her head slightly to expose her neck where she had felt the pinch, but no markings were there. Had she imagined this? The slices on her face were hard to miss -a reminder of her assailant’s clawed fingers- yet, didn’t hurt any longer, however, the fact that they were healed over so quickly was surprising enough. Injuries such as that would have needed stitches in the least, but the wounds sealed, leaving a few scars in their place. Would they ever disappear for good, or was she to live with the markings for life?

Impulsively she reached for the medicine cabinet -her hand still trembling- slid the door open, and grabbed the electric hair trimmer before positioning it against her temple as though a handgun pressed to the head. Although suicide hadn’t crossed her otherwise erratic mind that night, but rather the urge to prune away the ugliness that crawled it’s way to the surface. The claw marks on the side of her head tore through the follicles of hair so none would ever return, and there was no way she could bear to look at herself in the same way again. Flipping it to the “on” position, Nicole ran the clippers along her scalp slowly, trimming away her once beautiful, wavy auburn hair as wet locks fell to the floor and into the sink like dark tendrils. She paid careful attention around the scars just above her left ear until she was eventually finished, and rubbed the remaining stubble across the top of her head. It wasn’t what she wanted, but it was all she could do at the time. It wasn’t hard to recall Britney Spears going mad and shaving her head. 

[i]Is this the insanity of L.A.?[/i]

“Have I gone mad?” Nyx mused, trying to insert a semblance of humor into an otherwise fucked situation, as she stepped into the shower to rinse the loose hair and properly clean the rest of her body. 

Shortly after, the woman found herself standing in the kitchen wrapped in a bath towel and going through the missed calls. Twenty-three to be exact over the course of the last few hours. And several text messages as well with the expected “Where the hell are you?” and “Are you okay?” inquiries from the police Captain as well as a few of her colleagues. Based on the voicemails, they knew already, since First Responders discovered the bodies of both undercovers, still sitting in their respective vehicles with a bullet to the head from point blank range. Voices on the other end were laced with confusion, anxiety, and concern. And why wouldn’t they? None of it made sense, and yet at the same time, finding two murdered police officers in Park Mesa Heights wasn’t unusual. Nicole clicked on the police radio, and amongst the chatter, they were still searching for their third officer. 

“Shit.” She leaned against the wall closing her eyes for a moment just to slow her mind and figure out the chaos that just wouldn’t stop. Her emotions wanted to get the best of her, but she fought them as best she could. How was she to explain [i]any[/i] of what had transpired? She didn’t have answers, and they would expect answers. The operation was a bust, her partners were both shot dead, and somehow she survived? The large man who initially attacked her, and the others...and some kind of creature? It was all madness. Had the job taken a toll on her mental health? Where had all her training gone? What was her recourse at this juncture? 

Nicole’s body shook at the endless questions flooding in, the mental snapshots of the meeting, the attack, the unexplained fear, and the violence all rolled up into one. She stepped over toward the counter that had a few of her favorite wines and poured a glass, spilling a bit of it due to an unsteady hand. Yes, alcohol was needed. It always managed to quell the fires in her mind. But no sooner did she try to ingest the pinot noir, that her body convulsed at the taste and prompted vomited it out, nearly missing the sink.

Clearly that wasn’t the answer at all.

As she cleaned up the mess, the woman felt nothing but helplessness at that moment. Despair you might even say. She knew they would be coming to the apartment soon enough to investigate. Dead officers were one thing, but a missing one? Too many loose ends to tie up. Too many questions and not enough answers.

Or was there?

Sitting in a small bowl near the edge of the counter was a black business card with the letter “E” emblazoned in the center. [i]Eva[/i]. Nicole remembered the other night. The beautiful woman sitting at the bar. She had such lovely eyes and an inviting smile. The conversation between them had been brief, but Eva’s words were laced with a sweetness and sympathy that spoke volumes, and days later her voice could still be heard echoing from the depths of the chaos. At that moment, Nicole felt a friendly tug at her heart, a hope surfacing as she picked up the card and dialed the phone number listed on the back. Anxiety washed over as the line rang, as part of her wanted to hang up realizing how ridiculous it all was. Or how absurd any of this would have sounded to anyone else.

But it was too late to turn back, as the line picked up. [i]No. Wait.[/i] Voicemail.

“Fuck it.” Nicole whispered as she hung up the call and laid the cell down on the counter. “I don’t know who the hell this person is anyway...” 

Stepping out of the kitchen, the woman unknowingly paced her living room, trying to figure out whatever the next steps would be, mumbling to herself every-so-often as though thinking out loud would put things in a clearer perspective. As paranoia dug itself further into her mind, she couldn’t help but check the windows that looked out into the street from her second story apartment. At any moment they could come for her, but she wondered if the safer bet would be to just not run.

[i]Only cowards run.[/i]