LemonTarts

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"Emerald"

Late Evening - Club Carousel

It had been a long night. Longer than usual. The crowds were slow and the musical noise was somehow duller than its usual lively gush. She ached from head to toe, her feet tired of the extravagant shoes she tapped around in, now tapping up the stairs to the apartments above the club. Even her eyes felt a dull soreness from hours of a glittery, picturesque scene.

She selfishly hoped that the girl, Alison, was already asleep by the time she got back. As much as she would like to help the poor thing feel more at home, she was much too tired to entertain trivial conversation. She almost cursed herself for allowing the girl to stay. It was a lapse in judgement, a moment of weakness. But now, she could see the idea of sharing her apartment with somebody else for what it was— she was being robbed of those precious hours where she could be nothing and no one.

Emerald supposed looking back on it that something had felt wrong, the air had shifted somehow ever so slightly. In the moment she had felt nothing, simply the groan of tired bones as she hefted herself up the last stretch of stairs and into the long hallway where her home and bed resided. Even when she heard it, that sound, it was as if it was traveling through water, a slow and thick path.

And then it hit her. Like a wave slapping her across her entire body. The wail slid down the halls, a desperate and horrific, “Help me!”

Emerald clattered to the floor, pitching herself over the last step and tumbling onto her hands and knees. It was suddenly a race, a race of body and mind to get there first as she struggled to her feet once more, breaking out into a piercing sprint. All she could hear was the erratic beating of her shoes down the hallway— or perhaps it was the beating of her heart. Doors open as she passed, curious neighbors perhaps, concerned or angry. Deep down she knew the scream, and that was all she could think. She knew, she knew, she knew, she knew, she knew this would happen, she knew.

She caught herself on her own doorway, fiddling frantically with her keys, fucking keys, god damn keys, she dropped them, in desperation she tried the knob. Unlocked, of course, she should have known.

Emerald stopped.

She felt the knob in her hand, the solid metal, turned downward. She heard the click of the door itself as it allowed her entry. She knew somehow what was on the other side. She couldn’t open it. She couldn’t open it. So she didn’t. She clicked it shut once more, stepped away from the door, and looked down the hall of awakened neighbors.

“Someone call the police.” She finally said, the words slicing through the silence like butter, her voice steady, soft, and calm.

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Ashley Gallagher

Afternoon - Outside of the Police Station

"So uh, Ashley, buddy," Smith had something akin to bemusement written all over his face. Like a child, wanting in on the joke. "You kind of left me hanging there, you know? Storming out of the crime scene with a grin like a modern Sherlock Holmes."

"I didn't take you for the bookish type, Smith." Ashley began, speaking around puffs of his cigarette and gazing out over the road at the collection of cars puttering to and fro. "Or the metaphor type for that matter."

Smith shrugged, that charming grin returning to him. The boy was a heartbreaker, with those pretty eyes and that boyish smile. It was no surprise to Ashley that he had managed to settle down early with a beautiful wife and a steady career-- the pretty people always did find life a tad easier. "The Missus thinks its good for the mind, you know? You uh, you gonna tell me where you ran off to?"

Ashley splayed his hands in a mockery of exasperation. "Do I ever?"

"I suppose not." Smith lit his own cigarette, tapping it gently against the side of his finger to shed some of the excess ash from the tip. "You always were a dick."

“You’re breaking my heart, Smith. Here I thought I was a charmer.”

“The Missus is out for the night, drinking with the girls, left Joey with a friend. I got nothing to do, you could make it up to me by buying me a drink, old man.”

“As riveting as that sounds, I have a prior engagement.”

“What, brooding over a whiskey alone?”

Ashley didn’t even honor that with a response, simply took a drag from his cigarette.

“Don’t think I don’t know about your little pouting sessions, Ashley. We’re practically married. I know when you’re ignoring me for another woman.”

“That woman being whiskey?”

“That woman being feeling sorry for yourself, Gallagher.”

“Yeah, well.” Ashley dropped the cigarette to the floor, flattening it with the toe of his shoe. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Smith. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Evening - A Brooklyn Home

“Come on Gallagher, pick up.”

Smith maintained the steadiness of his hand as he spun the phone dial around, the abrasive noise cutting through the thick silence. He held his pistol up, ready. The phone rang, nothing. Damn it, Ashley. He readied his gun, ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach, the creak of floorboards, and dialed again.

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"Emerald"

Morning - Club Carousel

Emerald almost guffawed. She managed to reduce it into a small, musical chuckle. "Oh hon, you're so intense, so serious. It's not like I'm saving your life or anything." She drummed her painted fingertips on the bar, watching the rhythmic movement with an amused smile curling her lips.

There was something itching at the back of her mind, a small concern. "Tell you what, doll," She mulled the idea around for a moment, not sure if she could truly trust the girl before her. "You can pay me back by keeping my secrets, hm? Every accomplished lady has a few. You will no doubt become acquainted with a few of mine if we are to be sharing a residence." Her amused smile widened into a charming one, displaying her pearly whites in an attempt to sugar coat the darker undertones of her request. "Deal?"

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"Emerald"

Morning - Club Carousel

So the girl needed a place to stay. Emerald thought on her apartment, thought on the hollow shell that looked completely and utterly abandoned in its mess. She supposed it could use some company, if only for a little while. "The floor? Nonsense." She poured herself another glass of the alcoholic beverage, swirling its contents thoughtfully before taking a drink. "The floor is for rats and dust, you may sleep in the chair." She inhaled abruptly. "It extends, an old bat, but comfy as hell." Her painted red lips wrapped into what she hoped was a friendly smile, accompanied by a sweet batting of dark eyelashes.

"Its a good thing you were out soaking on that bench last night, wasn't it? Say, did you need anything, any of your possessions from your apartment? I could easily get brief access to it if needed."

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"Emerald"

Morning - Club Carousel

Emerald’s silent reverie was interrupted by the hoarse cry behind her. She swung around from her dancing sway with the abrupt and erratic tap of her heels, lofting a brow as she beheld the girl before her, the girl from last night.

She was a wreck, worse than a wreck, with worn out eyes and still garbed in the same nightgown now wrinkled from drying through dirty rainwater. Emerald pulled the cigarette from her lips and cast the girl in a sympathetic gaze. “Oh honey, you’re a mess.” She shrugged out of her thick trench coat, moving to drape it over the girl’s shoulders. “Let me get you a drink.” She then ushered the girl over to the bar, if possible, and beckoned her to sit as she brought her own drink in front of her. “Have some of this, my favorite.”

Ashley had mentioned an Alison. With the stricken look on the girl’s face they must have met the same one. So this girl was involved in the murder somehow. Poor thing. “This city just won’t let you alone will it?” She moved to stroke some of the hair out of her face as a soothing gesture. “What can I do you for, dear?”

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"Emerald"

8:45 AM - Club Carousel

Emerald had seen the commotion, or some of it at least. She’d shown up to the club under the light of day to have a drink in peace. Instead, the sidewalk had been crowded with bystanders, streets blocked off with the red and blue flash and glare of police. Naturally, she snuck in the back way and seated herself at the bar, waiting calmly to see what riot pranced on in.

She must admit she hadn’t expected Detective Gallagher in all of his professional huff and puff to swing through the doors, but now that she had seen him, she supposed it was only a matter of time before he had questions for her. And so she waited more, gently turning the contents of her glass round and round and taking a small sort of pleasure in the soft clink of ice against glass.

It wasn’t long as she didn’t expect it to be. She pretended to be ignorant of his presence until he seated himself beside her, curious eyes boring into her despite her attempts to avoid eye contact. “A horrible thing, really.” She commented after a moment.”Murder.” She took a sip from her drink.

Finally his gaze relented and he expelled an exasperated sigh. “Have an particular affinity for roses, Miss Emerald?”

The question caught her off guard, but she answered it nonetheless, figuring it had something to do with the investigation. “Roses? No.” She paused, dragging the silence on with a stalling drink. “Truly I’m more of a tulip girl. Why, you buying me flowers, baby?”

He seemingly ignored her, a fact which she found wholly unsurprising. “You were obviously here last night, did you see anything out of the ordinary?”

“Mm, no, nothing. We get all sorts of shady types in and out of the club— its basically in the job description.”

“Emerald, please, you were in the club, you didn’t see anything to cause suspicion?”

She rolled her eyes. He was grasping at straws. So many people filtered in from the streets and he knew that. Nonetheless, “What time did the murder take place?” Emerald asked in a weary tone.

“Early morning, no later than three no earlier than midnight.”

She nodded. “Right, I was outside, in the rain, chatting up some poor slip of a girl. Alison I think it was?”

“Alison Fitzpatrick?”

“Who knows?”

Ashley pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re not making my job any easier, you know that?”

“Not my job to— all you need to know is I didn’t do it, and I didn’t see who did it. Now leave me alone, I’ve had enough of the NYPD for the day. For a lifetime even. Can’t a girl just have a drink?”

“Two people are dead, Emerald. Is this a game to you?”

“I don’t play games, Detective. Not my style.”

She felt rather than saw his eye roll, and had to restrain her laughter.

“You promised me information,” He leaned in close, threateningly close as his voice dropped to a gravelly whisper. “I intend to collect.”

For the first time in the conversation she turned her eyes on him, searching his face. He was angry, uncharacteristically angry. The grimace she was faced with seemed only a facade, a poorly played television role and yet… “You’re breaking my heart, Gallagher. Truly. I suppose I can ask around, ask some of the girls, see if they saw anything.”

He retreated with a relieved breath, seating himself once more. “I’d appreciate it.”

“Sure, sure. Rat me out to the entire mob why don’t you? Lay me bare in front of a thousand hungry tigers? I probably shouldn’t even be seen with you.” She donned a teasing tone, turning her attentions back to the drink she so heavily coveted just a few hours ago. It now seemed unappealing.

He stood, tucking his shucked coat over a bent forearm. “Now you’re just being dramatic, doll. Keep an ear out, I’m coming back tomorrow.” Ashley paused, turning back one last time. “Oh and Emerald? Don’t call me baby.”

Emerald offered no response, simply waited for the click of the doors behind him before standing and meandering to the center of the club, swaying a little to an imaginary beat. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to care that two innocent city-goers had been brutally murdered just above her, it was simply that she didn’t have the capacity to care. One could only sincerely care about a few things without damaging themselves, taking on everything that crossed ones path would be a waste of mind and a waste of compassion.

She just hoped whatever idiot was killing people would get it out of their system soon and stop drawing attention to the club, it was bad for business to have on-duty officers lingering around like hungry animals.

And that was the horrible thing, murder was bad for business.

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Ashley Gallagher

8:30 AM - Above Club Carousel

Ashley could tell the woman was nearly hysterical. Hell, anyone could probably tell the woman was nearly hysterical. He kept his face straight and neutral, but couldn’t help inwardly releasing a heavy sigh. Was it so wrong to hope that maybe just once he would question someone fully competent and emotionally stable?

But she was young, so Ashley by some distant connection could loosely understand. She looked scared to death. He briefly considered patting her shoulder as support but ultimately decided against it given the context, a stranger touching her was probably the last thing in the world that she wanted.

As frustrating as it was, the woman’s information was useless, nothing he couldn’t find out with a few minutes of running his eyes over the crime scene, but at least the victims were identified, as were their last known… activities. He offered a curt nod. “I appreciate your time Miss Fitzpatrick. Is there someone you can call?” He paused, considering the apartment thoughtfully, “Somewhere you can stay?” He doubted she would hang around long, not with the look she had in her eyes.

Ashley’s thought process was interrupted. “Hey, Gallagher, get over here.” Smith called from across the apartment.

“Excuse me, Miss.” He passed her, his shoulder brushing hers as he made his way to his partner who was crouched over the dead woman. Julia.

“Gallagher, get a load of this.” With his fingers at her jaw, Smith turned the woman’s face to the side, fully baring the extent of her injuries. Her head was completely, violently bashed in— as in, half of her skull was simply missing.

“Jesus,” Ashley muttered, shoving at Smith’s shoulder until he moved and sliding in to his previous position, crouched over the body. “No basic robbery would end up in this, they’d go for something more perfunctory less… messy.” He pinched her chin, pushing it up to examine her neck and the rest of her body. “Not gratuitous though, no eh…” He gestured to the rest of the body. “Unnecessary wounding.”

“Definitely not a robbery,” Smith murmured, almost to himself. Ashley turned his gaze to what Smith’s attention was focused on. A shiny watch laid neatly on the table. “They’d have pocketed this stuff, it’d get a pretty penny.”

“If they had thought it was a robbery they wouldn’t have called us.”

“Why did they call us? Isn’t this homicide territory?”

“Proximity to the club, probably figured it was gang-related violence…” Ashley began to respond, but trailed off as he noticed something. A faint slip of pure white beneath the blood-painted lips of the victim. “Hey uh, doc?”

The Coroner lofted a brow, stepping away from the other body. “Shoot, Gallagher.”

“Did you by any chance look in her mouth?”

“Not yet, why, you see something?”

Ashley spoke through gritted teeth as he stuck two thumbs into her mouth and attempted to pry it open against the rigor mortis. “Yeah, maybe.” With some effort and a sickening crack her jaw finally popped wide for him. He stuck a gloved finger into the now-dry depths of her mouth. A rose. It was a white rose that he pulled from her red lips, dripping with hours old blood-hinted saliva trapped within the petals. Behind it, slipping from the throat, trailed a long, thorny stem— the spines bloodied and catching on her lips as he gently tugged.

“Jesus, Ashley!” Smith exclaimed. “What the fuck is that?” He quickly knelt down beside the male victim, repeating the process of prying open the jaw, though the masculine bone structure proved significantly harder to crack. Sure enough, Smith pulled out an almost identical rose, with somewhat less care.

Ashley almost grinned. The thrill of it, of the challenge placed before him. This was someone taunting him, this was a mystery laid at his feet and he loved it. He kept his tone monotonous and professional. “Bag them both, see if we can pull prints— anything else? Check the jacket.”

Smith did as instructed, rifling through the various pockets of the suit jacket before patting down the bulge in the breast. Yet again, a rose was revealed from the breast pocket, also white, and also fully intact.

“That’s all I need,” Ashley decided, sharing a nod with Smith for confirmation. “—Wait. Wait.” He jabbed a finger towards the counter in the corner. A single glass of wine sat, half-finished. “A single glass. No lipstick. No, if it was one of them, there would be two. There’s only one.” He leapt from the body and was across the room in an instant, fingers hovering over the curve of the glass. “Blood right here, on the stem, see? This was after the murder. Check this for prints too.” He glanced at Smith, who had appeared beside him. “Get the girl a ride somewhere, she shouldn’t stay here— Make sure those dogs at Homicide don’t take my damn case, and make sure all of this evidence makes it to the station. I have someone I need to see.”

And with that he was out of the apartment in a flurry, headed towards the club and a pair of green eyes that might have seen something that the girl didn’t.

Of Wormholes & Men

Neris, despite the exertion, kept her breaths efficient and short, enough to push her on, but not enough to deplete her air source quickly. "Captain." Neris acknowledged, letting the man she was dragging slump to the ground below her. “It is good to see you are still standing, spirits willing we’ll be standing a little longer.”

She snapped into a respectful yet stiff salute for her superior. She then extended an imploring hand, a gesture communicating a reserved sort of affection among her people, for her friend. Regardless of whether or not the woman took it, she withdrew quickly and curtly.

“No life signs on the monitor, not sure how much of my communications gear is still intact after the fall. My pod took a pretty thorough beating entering the atmo.” As if for emphasis she directed her gaze upwards, scanning the sky for any sort of tell as to the nature of the planet. “Captain, have you seen any life? Besides us and the flora? Any indication that the planet might be habitable to at least some form of living and breathing animals?”

She paused a moment before speaking again, as if hesitant. “Do you have a plan, Captain? Are we searching for survivors?”

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Ashley Gallagher

8:22 AM - Club Carousel

Ashley strolled up to the base of the club, his true destination being the dingy apartment complex perched above it like a scraggly old bird. He took a long drag from his cigarette as he waited for Smith to catch up, eyes scanning the doors of the club with a newfound intensity as if he could somehow make out red lips and green eyes from behind the red curtains. He mulled briefly over the sudden idea that perhaps the body he was called to investigate was hers— left there by an angry employer after hearing of her day trip to the Police Station. He didn’t have long to ponder this however, for a flurry of Smith flew by him at a brisk pace. “Stop dallying, Gallagher and let’s get in there before the vultures show up.”

Ah, vultures, Ashley Gallagher's personal favorite passtime. Why? Because there was something so satisfying about having the power of knowledge over information-hungry fiends that he simply couldn't live without. Nonetheless the scene would be significantly easier to investigate if it were lacking the crowd and unbearable noise of reporters. He pressed his cigarette into the pavement with the toe of his shoe before entering the club.

It was somehow lifeless, in the daytime. Like a hollow shell of its potential. It was not daylight that brought it to life and health, but the thick light of carelessness and neon that it had grown so accustomed to. Seeing the dust particles flutter through the golden glow filtering in through the windows disturbed Ashley in a way he couldn't really explain. Perhaps it was the essence of normal. The idea that something so fantastical yet poisonous was essentially the same as his own damn apartment when the light of day touched it. An implication that no matter how full of vibrant life something can be, it has the potential to be just as limp and dead.

And there she was.

A smudge of charcoal against an empty crimson backdrop, wrapped in a thick black coat and a distant expression. Emerald was seated across the room, at the uninhabited bar, the only other soul in the cavernous club. She met his eyes for a moment the flickering of a smile teasing the corner of her lips, but it was fleeting and died almost as quickly as it began. She swept her gaze over the two of them, but made no move to otherwise acknowledge their presence. Ashley wondered briefly why she hadn't been removed from the building by authorities, but let the thought slide away as their brief dalliance of eyes came to an end and he started up the stairs.

Crime scenes were always the same for him. Slow. Muddled. Yet oddly focused. Time seemed to move at the pace of molasses around him, voices and present distractions mixing into a general, bubbling white noise like sounds through water. It was the details, the small ones that could take him back to the moment of violence, that stuck to him like gum to a shoe. Peeling wallpaper patterns, the broken lamp with a dark shade, a misplaced, heeled shoe.

Time caught up with him in a sudden impacting wave as his eyes fell upon the obviously distressed girl. Ashley caught Smith’s shoulder with a palm. “You take a look at the bodies, I’ll talk to the girl.” He nodded in her general direction before moving towards her, careful to keep his stature smooth and unthreatening. It was a moment before he spoke, filled with the familiar sounds of a notepad slipping open and pencil-tip meeting paper. “Hello Miss, I’m Detective Gallagher,” He paused, giving her an extended moment to take this information in. “What can you tell me about what took place here last night?”

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Ashley Gallagher

7:00 AM - Gilded Heights Apartment Complex, Room #67

Ashley Gallagher started the new day with a spring in his step and a weight in his chest. He didn’t bother trying to discern whether said weight was an emotional one or a heart attack— With his health habits and daily activities it was probably both. He helped himself to a portion of cold eggs and bitter coffee, letting the morning sun filter in through the open window and illuminate the headline of the fresh newspaper in his hands.

He considered a lot of things. First and foremost the pile of week old dirty dishes in his sink, and then the thick line of gunk in his current coffee mug that he was trying desperately to ignore. He also considered Emerald. He fancied he might pay her a visit today, get some actual leads to follow instead of the bullshit he’d been toying around with all week. Smith would be happy with him, that was for sure. He also considered the fact that she might be playing him like a fiddle— and that when he got there it wouldn’t be red lips, and secrets, but Townley himself and the entire fucking brigade there to riddle him with bullet holes and turn him to swiss cheese.

Ashley took a contemplative bite of his eggs and came to the conclusion that he didn’t much like eggs. They were too rubbery, too yellow. And regardless, he needed to make his way down to the Station.

8:00 AM - Police Station

“Gallagher! Hey pal, where’ve you been all night? Did you decide to go home and actually get some sleep for a change?”

Ashley spoke around his unlit cigarette, wearing his usual grin for Smith and putting his hands up in mock surrender. “Shoot me, I was tired.”

“Nah, pal, you look great! Your hair is combed, the bags under your eyes are gone, you’re a completely new person, Gallagher.— Is it a woman?” Smith tucked his thumbs into his suspenders, his eyes following the early-morning influx of people entering the station.

Ashley explored this idea for a moment, but eventually came up in the negative. The tart was not to blame for his newfound care— what was wrong with a man just being god damned tired? “Maybe the reason I don’t get no fuckin’ sleep is because you pester me when I do?”

Smith smirked, snapping the suspenders and making a move towards the stairs. “That wasn’t a no.”

Ashley followed him, running a hand through his hair. “Wasn’t a damned yes either.” He made a last-ditch effort to change the subject. “How’s the Missus?”

“Oh, you know, ‘Richard you work too hard and too late, you have to be there for us, you put yourself in danger every day why can’t you just put us first for once?’” His voice climbed an octave in mockery, but a shadow passed over his face.

“Ouch, that already?”

“Can’t hate her for caring I guess.” Smith gave a noncommittal shrug that in no way summed up what Ashley suspected were his actual feelings about the issue.

Ashley swung the door to their shared office open, holding it out for Smith to enter. The last thing he expected was the Chief Detective's hand catching the door before he could shut it. "Gallagher, Smith. I've got a case for you."