[center][h1][color=8882be]Ashley Gallagher[/color][/h1][/center]
[center][h2][color=8882be]Outside Club Carousel[/color][/h2][/center]

	The street, normally alive with the city's deviant nightlife, was jarring in the daylight. Nothing but a picked carcass remained. Ashley fancied he could almost hear its death rattle in the exhaust of passing cars and the general hubbub of its busybody occupants, so different from the painted characters of the night.

	He strode with an uncharacteristically hurried gait, hand clenching and unclenching at his side, running the logic through his mind over, and over, and over, and over again. It couldn’t be her. If it were, the scene would be at his apartment. Unless… unless she’d gotten it in her head to pay the club a visit again– no. That would be foolish. And she didn’t have a car. He pinched the bridge of his nose so hard it smarted in protest. 

	Ashley might have just tread straight through the crime scene had the crowd he bumped into not pulled him from his thoughts. He weaved around well-dressed vultures, ignoring their pleas for information, the incessant click and flash of cameras.

	The case and its strange and grisly nature had naturally attracted the general public and their morbid curiosity. He couldn’t blame them, but he could definitely grumble obscenities in their direction. He slowed at the crime scene tape, ducking under it in a smooth and effortless movement that had become second nature at this point, and observed the scene before him.

	The involuntary relief that flooded his chest sickened him, truly. It wasn’t her. 

Rather, it was a man that lay sprawled face-down in the yellow patch of grass in clear view of the street. Ashley flashed his badge to the beat cops keeping the vultures at bay and continued on, crouching next to the body. Careful not to disturb the crime scene just yet, he took note of the tufts of grass worked into the fabric of the man’s jacket, the missing fingernail on a hand with fingers bent at unnatural angles. He had put up a fight, no doubt about it.

	Ashley craned his neck to peer into the man’s face, reaching out and turning his head just enough that he might identify the poor sod. Smith stared back at him, eyes wide and unblinking.

	Ashley fell backwards with a startled exclamation, just barely stopping himself from landing ass to grass. Not possible, it wasn’t possible.

	He was right, it wasn’t. As clear as he’d seen his friend, when he took a second look the face was a stranger’s. Ashley quickly straightened and collected himself, brushing off the lapels of his jacket. He shot what he hoped was a smirk at Cal, though it probably looked more unsettled than anything. “The bees this time of year, trying to crawl up my nose I tell ya.” He grimaced and went back to work, trying to shake off the sense of uneasiness that had sunk its claws into the back of his neck.