Melting Steele Part 1

MELTING STEELE.

Kimberly Amato.

DEDICATION.

To my father and brothers for being absolute pains in my b.u.t.t my entire life. I donat think I would be as strong as I am without you.

To Felix, Joe, Mike, Jenna, Emily, Alex & Chase for making me feel like the wealthiest aunt alive.

FOREWORD.

We all deal with some kind of obsession. Some so much so, they have issues living their daily lives. Some end up in prison for their obsession. The rest of us have the thoughts permeate our brains consistently. We sit in bas.e.m.e.nts and stare at string tied from one case to another in varying color. We try to connect the dots from things that may or may not be related. We have lives. We have the ability to intermittently turn the obsession on and off depending on the time of the day, week or month.

We simply function within the confines of our world.

Sitting in a coffee shop, waiting for my shift to start, I can see all the obsessions oozing out of peopleas bodies. They want a large half-caf-iced-no whip-two cups-not too hot, and the barista obsesses to ensure the drink is perfect so the customer comes back. Someone sitting behind their plethora of devices all with the newest chips, name branded and all on display - that person obsesses about filling their void within. Itas easy to spot all of these things if you just take a moment to watch.

Itas the greater loss of mankind. We hide behind these devices, these needs and desires to fill and we effectively give in so much to our natural obsessions that we lose sight of the real world in front of us. How many people can you pa.s.s by before you look up from your phone? The person waiting for the half-caf has yet to acknowledge anyone, heas obsessed with whatever he is posting on his social media sites.

I do it all the time, but only on one topic. Maybe itas the job and the inability to see the good in mankind I always thought was there. Maybe itas the fear of what is or isnat next.

As I stand in the shower, running my hand along my scars, crying in fear - I realizea I am obsessed with death.

PROLOGUE.

Iave lost track of the days and months since my brotheras funeral. Itas like adults always say to children, time seems to fly when you grow up. I want to stop time. Make it slow down to do my bidding, but it never listens. Chase still runs out the door to whatever sport heas into now. Frankie walking behind him, dragging her feet missing that last hour or two of sleep. Sheas getting used to being his other mother. It isnat like I gave her a choice.

I keep replaying all the events as if it will lead me to some amazing lightbulb moment. I see Officer Garrison and his att.i.tude should have warned me. It did, but I tried to ignore it. Mistake number one. I let people take control. Mistake number two. I trusted my family's lives into the hands of people I didnat know. Partial mistake, but still number three.

I keep thinking if I traced the phone calls to my cell through a different company, the captain wouldnat have known. Then he wouldnat have put a detail on my nephew. Then Chase would have felt more comfortable at school and with me. Maybe then I would have talked to Frankie and mended our relationship sooner. Okay, thatas a stretch because I know I was stubborn and pushing her away in my grief.

Officer James was the weak link and my gut knew that. He was watching over Hadley, and I trusted him to protect her. Famous horror actress and her stalker fan are not a good mix, but I ignored it. When he and Garrison worked together to capture her, I went into a rage.

It was like all the years of being bullied and tormented poured out of me. The grief of watching my mother, father give up on life. The torture of holding my brother as he bled out while his wife lay beside him already gone. Knowing that d.a.m.n car accident could have been prevented if Officer Garrison wasnat drinking. But he was.

I killed Officer James that night. I race through the moments leading up to it and I try to divert my actions. I keep telling myself this isnat who I am. I could never take a life. But I did. I killed the man who was trying to kill me and my friend. When he was dead, I set my sights on Garrison and I failed that one.

I can still feel the rusty nail in my shin from falling through debris. I can hear his laugher echoing in my mind like the Joker. Then I can feel the burn and the slow popping noise. Loud noises, and one final bang. Seeing blood pool around Garrisonas head. His eyes blankly starting at nothing. The former Marine, Will, was set up to protect me. I trusted him fully. It was the only thing I did right that night.

Adults are right though, time does slow down when youare dying. Everyone says death stalks you and can be quick, but they havenat watched a loved one die. Frankie told me it was as if the world was a meaningless wasteland. She adopted Chase when I coded on the table. It was my last wish. I wanted to die knowing he was safe. I woke up to intense pain and a long time in and with various therapists.

You can try to reason all you like about death and how it comes to be. Iave seen so much death. Iave sought for justice for those who have been murdered, yet there still is no real justice for my brother. There is still no justice for me.

Like I said, adults are right. Time can slow down to a crawl for a short period of time. Obsessions, trust me, they can last a lifetime.

Chapter One.

Connecting the dots had to be my favorite game as a kid. My mother would sit and make these long elaborate game boards on the back of envelopes. I can still see the perfectly s.p.a.ced black ink dots of a specific height and width. My mother would shove a pen in my hand to play. It was a simple game, but it was our time. She always let me go first, my tongue sticking out as I would ponder the best move on the completely empty board. I swear I must have imagined millions of scenarios depending on which dots connected first. Yet somehow, I always started in the bottom right corner. Maybe after all my thoughts and conclusions, it was the safest place to begin.

I think it was my safe haven. Bottom right was the one I trusted. Not because I won the game with the most completed boxes by using that strategy, but because I felt I knew what came next. I had a false sense of security, power - frankly everything. All in a little made up game on the back of an envelope. I wish life was that simple now.

The red string lines along the wall, those are for the murders. The green ones for money that has changed hands, but seems to have fallen off the grid. The black, thatas for my brotheras case. For Garrison. For all of his moves, dealings, whatever I could find. It still baffles me how quickly my case was closed after he was killed. I was out of the hospital for a week, maybe two when Will told me everything was sealed. It was locked away from my prying hands, but not my friendas prying eyes. The Internet is an amazing thing for those who know how to use it, but I digress.

This is my new safe haven. My bas.e.m.e.nt, my strings, my case, my other life - it all sits in this bas.e.m.e.nt. Leaning back in my chair, looking at the web of crime on my wall, I wonder if it is even connected at all. I have no idea. I want it to be, but I canat make a case on desire and drive. Unlike the newest crime drama on television, I have to base it on evidence and facts.

I could fabricate the whole thing. I know enough people. Unleash people online and Iam sure in a day or so I would have enough evidence proving the mastermind behind everything. I wonat though. I was raised better than that and I wonat go against my ethical code just to get vengeance. But Iave thought about it. A lot. Garrisonas father walks around with the air of suspicion around him, but nothing more.

I can study the strings, the moves, the motions just like I did the dots. I want to see what the best way to capture the elusive white whale. Looking at the lower right hand corner, seeing Officer Garrisonas picture, I somehow know the best place to start will always be there. His father, Irving, he might be the only person in the web whoas alive that I know about.

My phone vibrates on the table pulling me out of my reverie.

aSteele.a aIam outside, captain sent me to get you and bring you to a crime scene.a aItas my day off.a aChase is with my wife and kids playing games all day. Frankieas working. Youare sitting in your bas.e.m.e.nt hiding.a aWill, Iam working.a aOn what?a That would be the million dollar question wouldnat it? Do I share with him what my bas.e.m.e.nt has become or do I lie?

aIall be out in a minute.a Personally, I just ignore the situation and pray the world around me follows suit. Dropping the phone I take one more look at my connected dots. It isnat a win by any means, but my mother never let me off easily either. Sometimes I beat her and maybe someday I will beat this wall. Maybe.

Locking the door behind me, I reenter my world of happy moments and new beginnings. Everything negative in this world hits someone else, or indirectly me. Nothing out here can hurt me anymore, at least I tell myself that. Closing the door to the house, I see Will waiting on me. Time for work.

The first thing I notice at every crime scene are the walls. Simple light khaki colored walls. They bring slight life to a lifeless wall, but offer nothing in the way of color or life. To me they show the most death. The blood splatter is crisper on this color. The dried streaks, slightly pink, still showcase where the blood began. People always say white is better, but to me this color shows a hair of contrast which helps me see the truth.

aMr. Johnson was shot first.a Victor, my trusty coroner, says from under the bed.

aHis chest looks like an alien popped out of the cavity.a aI didnat eat spaghetti for months after that movie,a Victor adds to my train of thought.

aHow?a aConsidering the damage, I a.s.sume whoever did this decided to dig out the evidence.a aThat takes time, no one stopped him?a Will asks quickly without thinking.

Victor slides out from under the bed and looks up at me. His expression a mix of confusion and disbelief.

aDetective, one would a.s.sume no one heard the shot or his surgical procedure.a aMrs. Johnson is in the kitchen. The forensic team is trying to pry the cell phone out of her hand,a Will mentions as he pops into the bedroom.

aTheyare doing what?a Victor screams as he jumps off the floor and out the room. Will watches him go but I just smile. Victor never lets anyone touch a body before him. He gets very jealous and more in a green eyed monster kind of way. He swears itas due to his desire to have things done well the first time. Personally, I think he loves being the person to find the evidence that may or may not break a case. I know I would.

Reaching over to the end table, I grab Mr. Johnsonas wallet and open it up. Credit cards and cash all here. Placing it back down, I notice an identification badge. Mr. Johnson smiles in the photo, but itas the name of the company that gets my attention - Garrison Developments. This man worked for Irving Garrison and my heart begins to race. Turning to see Will standing there, concern on his face. I hold up the badge and he immediately understands.

aHow does it look down there?a I mutter trying to slow the racing of my heart.

aNot good,a Will looks around the room, ait gets worse.a aHow does it get worse? Two victims, one shot while he was sleeping. His wife was murdered in the kitchen trying to call for help. I think thatas pretty bad as is.a aSon was found in the closet.a My heart stops in my chest, my breath grabs and I feel sick. You can show me bodies all day, floaters, whatever - but I have never been able to handle kids. I might not have faith in humanity, but I will never understand hurting a child.

Walking down the hall, the big letters spelling DANNY stand out on the stark white door. Using my left latex gloved hand, I push the door open. Action figures litter the floor, the bed is unmade, clothes for today sit folded on the dresser and a book bag rests by the door. Everything looks as it should for a young boyas room - except for the b.l.o.o.d.y red prints on the floor leading to the closet. Iad say they were shoe prints, but it looks like something was over the treads to prevent markings. Basically, they are smudges useless to any investigation.

Slowly, one covered shoe in front of the other, I make my way to the closet. I take a deep breath trying to prepare myself for the carnage my eyes will dissect in a few steps. Pulling the door open, my eyes see a small boy about nine, lying on his side, a Mickey Mouse doll in his arms, and a peaceful expression on his face. His lips blue, along with his fingers.

aYou didnat touch him?a aSaw the stains on the floor, figured Victor would want to look at him first.a Leaning down, I get a better look at what might be his fatal injury. No gunshot wound. No hand prints on the front of his neck. It looks like he just went to sleep in the closet. Using my small flashlight, I highlight his neck and thatas when I see the bruising towards the back. His neck was snapped. Quick, simple and some say itas painless. Nothing is ever fully painless, death sure as h.e.l.l isnat. Turning off my light, I stand up and try to center myself. Thereas this rage that builds up deep inside when kids are hurt. Maybe itas because I have Chase. Maybe itas because the majority of kids are innocent. Maybe itas because I canat handle it. Either way, I am going to hate this f.u.c.king case.

Backing out of the scene and into the hallway, I lean against the wall and let out a breath I was holding in for what felt like an eternity.

aClean?a aSnapped his neck. I donat know whether to say it was kind or cruel. Probably placed him where he found him.a aStill killed him.a Will was right, regardless of the procedure of death, the end result was this murderer wiped out a light before the flame was fully lit.

aSo the killer shot dad but not the boy?a aWhy?a aWonat know until Victor gives us more information to work with.a My eyes look from him to the other side of the hallway wall. Realization hits me like a ton of bricks. My day was about to become a nightmare, and there was nothing I could do about it.

aGet Udall on the phone.a Will looks at me quizzically as I reach forward and pull a family photo off the wall. I turn the photo towards Will, his eyes widen in surprise.

aHow the h.e.l.l did we miss that?a aBecause we were off today and the B team came in?a aThatas not an excuse.a Will pulls out his phone and clicks a name in his contact book. aThey can figure out the victimsa names but donat f.u.c.king look to see if the daughter is missing? Thatas called basic officer training 101.a aEither way we need to find out if the kid is missing or just at a friendas house.a The other line picks up and I can hear Willas voice running off a mile a minute. Heas not happy and neither am I. This was a big mistake and someone should lose their job over it. If sheas at a friendas house, great. We should have had her at the precinct with child services a.s.sisting. Instead, we are now battling time and a whole new set of c.r.a.p.

I can feel the scapegoat conversation coming when we hit the office. My sense of sound seems to fade out of focus as my body walks down the hall. My eyes dart around, taking in everything. The door opens and the image of a young girl comes into view. Posters on the wall of some band I know nothing about. Pictures on a corkboard of friends laughing in unison. Her name, Kaley, plastered on anything with glitter glue. Everything is neat, untouched, and calm, like she wasnat even here. Either she wasnat here or she was the target.

Looking around the room, nothing seems out of place, but it doesnat feel right either. Chaseas room is a perpetual mess. h.e.l.l, my room is a mess. If not for Frankie, I doubt I would know color my carpet is. My gut is screaming at me, this isnat right.

aCaptain wants us back at the station. Victor is handling everything here and says heall call us when he has something.a aMake him get the techs to go over every inch of this room.a aHe told me to tell you, aI was planning on it.a Donat kill the messenger.a Will says like a robot reading the movie times.

Leave it to Victoras c.o.c.kiness to give me some hope for a lead in this case. I try to be an optimist. I have good moments too, but my gut is a pessimist by trade. Itas rarely wrong. I know weare already against the clock and whatever she was wanted for, sheas already gone. Either dead or worse. I prefer not to think about the worse ideas. Truthfully, death is a nicer outcome than what I can envision. Call it intuition or just plain pessimism. One way or another, Kaley will never be found alive.

Seeing officers running from one end of the room to the other, random papers in their hand proves to me they are in what I like to call Police Panic Mode. Itas not a true panic mode really, but there isnat another way to describe the rushed movement, the hurried conversations and the overall hyper energy of the place. My steps are slower, more deliberate as I follow a fast moving former Marine to the captainas office. Sliding calmly into the chair, I watch the two men talk animatedly. Itas very interesting watching them interact. Behavior can tell you so much about the conversation. The captainas hand keeps waving about as if itas making some more of an impact to the conversation. Willas arms folded defensively across his chest tell me the conversation is not going well. No wonder I always think Italians are fighting when they talk, their hands never stop moving.

aDetective Steele!a Shaking the fog from my brain, I look up to see both Will and Tyler staring at me in a not very happy way.

aYes.a aDo you have anything you want to add to this conversation?a aWhat do you want me to add? We have three bodies. Father worked for Garrison Developments which may or may not have to do with his death.a aFirstly, you stay out of that rabbit hole. Secondly, maybe you can explain why the h.e.l.l we didnat notice a little girl was missing!a aWe werenat there at the time the house was cleared.a Tyler walks around his desk and slams his door for effect. Sitting down on the edge of his desk, he slowly rubs the frustration out of his eyes. Will slumps into the chair next to me, unsure of what to do.

aCaptain, we werenat even supposed to be there. You requested we go there and we did. Iam not pointing fingers, or blaming anyone. The most important part is figuring out where Kaley is, who took her and praying we can get her back.a aOfficers are calling anyone in the home phone memory as well as the motheras and fatheras cell phones. If she is at a friendas house, or anywhere else for that matter - we will find her. In the meantime, we are investigating the murders.a Will says calmly for the first time since we learned of the young missing girl.

aOkay,a the captain stands up and stretches his neck, aI want the two of you on this.a aWeave got a department to handle that, we need to focus on the three homicides, sir.a Will pipes up from the comfort of his chair.

aThis was a ma.s.sive f.u.c.k-up by our division, so forgive me if I expect my two best to actually focus on more than one thing.a The captain sits back down in his chair and silence falls over the room. In all the rush to get a task force looking for the girl, something notoriously gets overlooked.

aWhy didnat she call the police?a Will looks at me quizzically. aKaley?a aYeah, if she was the target, why didnat she call the police?a aMaybe she wasnat home?a aOr he already had her and needed to remove the family?a The captain picks up his phone and punches a few b.u.t.tons. aGet me a trace on Kaley Johnsonas phone. I want to know where it was for every second of yesterday. I want a list of calls, texts - anything and everything. Dump it all.a He slams his phone down.

My phone rings and I look at the caller ID, itas Frankie. I push the side b.u.t.ton cutting off the new ringtone of Frankie and Chase telling me to answer the phone. Itas a constant reminder of the love I have with this great family. Plus, itas an improvement over my old one of just Chase telling me to answer the phone. At least now that heas a bit older, I can understand him. Well, mostly anyway.

The captain looks at me but I canat tell if heas annoyed or just frustrated by the situation we find ourselves in.

aIall have the techs comb through everything. Hopefully something pops from the last twenty four hours.a aWill and I will ask around, look at school friends. The usual. See if anything comes up.a aVictor have anything?a I open my mouth to speak as my phone comes to life once again. Disconnecting the call, anot that I know of. Iam waiting on him to call.a The captain stares at me with the eyes of a parent admonishing their children. aBut why donat we just head on down there and see whatas new.a aThat would be a great idea and Jasmine you stay away from Garrison.a aSir, I follow the evidence.a aIf it leads there, Detective Everts will handle it. I donat need your name attached to another member of that family. We donat have a vendetta, understand?a Without saying another word, I stand up and walk out of the captainas office. My instinct tells me that the job might have nothing to do with the murders. Doesnat mean I donat want to ram down the door, guns blazing and demanding answers. I donat have a vendetta against the man who killed my brother and his wife in a DWI. Nor do I have a grudge against the man who put bullets in me before Will took him down. I do not have anything against his father and everyone else that might be involved. Not at all. As a detective, I have a mission to ensure justice is served and I plan on finishing it.

Itas still an odd thing to me, walking down the stairs into the morgue. The big empty window looking through to another world, one we will all see eventually. Yet, when youare on this side of the gla.s.s, that place seems so far away. Iam abnormal though. Iave been on both sides of the gla.s.s. I remember Victor made me stand out here when he looked over my brother and his wife. Lifting my hand and placing it against the divider, I can still fear the emotions coursing through my veins, but they are calmer now.

I can feel Will watching me closely as he walks into the room looking for Victor. Heas learned when to bother me and when to let me be with my memories. When my father died, I never stepped foot in there. I didnat want to see him like that. When my mother died, Victor emptied the entire floor. I sat in his chair, holding her hand, talking to her as if she would sit up and give me a hug. Itas an odd thing for a daughter to lose her mother, her best friend, her confidant. Sure, we move on, make friends and get married, but no one will ever come close to our mommy.

Will pops his head out of the door and looks at me. aJust thinking,a I mumble to him. He walks over and stands next to me. His arms folded, his demeanor colder.

aThereas an odd divide here. Life on one side of the door, death on the other. I didnat get that over there.a aItas a strange sense of comfort, being separated. Kind of like hey itas steak, with no thought to where it comes from.a I nervously let the words tumble out of my mouth. He chuckles a little, but I continue to stare at the white sheet covered bodies.

aYeah, sometimes I wish we had that. One minute youare talking to your buddy and the next minute heas on the floor. All you can think of,a he takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, aall I could think of was where the h.e.l.l the sniper was hiding. My friend was dead a few feet away from me and I couldnat do a thing for him.a The conversation hangs, waiting for one of us to pick it up and continue. Yet, neither of us do. We stand next to one another staring at the room of death, waiting.

aYou know they arenat going anywhere. So if youad like to stop standing guard and come in, I would love to share with you the vast amount of nothing I found.a Victor says as he strolls past us, peanut b.u.t.ter sandwich in hand.

aDidnat they fine you for eating down here?a aMy dear Jasmine, they donat fine the master. They give him a slap on the wrist and avert their eyes.a aIad avert my eyes too. That smells horrible,a Will says as he waves his hands in front of his face.

aI a.s.sure you my organic peanut b.u.t.ter isnat what youare smelling.a Victor casually walks over to a body and pulls back the sheet, revealing the mother. aShe had egg on her face, literally. Quite smelly stuff if left out long enough.a aThat help give you time of death?a aNo, but she was in full rigor, ergo why your maniacs with hacksaws were trying to pry the cell phone out of her hand.a aHow long are we talking, Victor?a Victor covers the mother back up and walks back to his desk. aIad estimate theyave all been dead for about twelve hours.a I look over at Will and nod my head. The captain needs to know that our time-line has not only changed, itas pretty much disappeared.

aExpand the search and dump the momas phone, on it.a He rushes out of the morgue, bypa.s.ses the elevator and heads up the stairs.

aIam sorry.a Victor looks at me, a guilty childlike expression on his face.

aNot your fault.a aNo, but I hate being the bearer of bad news.a aVic, you think I ever come down here expecting some chipper encounter? You cut up dead people. No matter which way you look at it, you always see people on their worst day. h.e.l.l, one day you might still be doing this and cut my body up.a aBeen there, done that.a His words silence me. aIall quit before I have to do that again.a Watching him slowly eat his sandwich, almost mechanically as he tries to clear the thoughts from his mind. I wish I knew what to say to help him, but the words fail me. I was dead. He saved my life, thank you doesnat seem to cut it.

aThey have a daughter.a Victoras attention turns back to me quickly.

aThat explains the mad rush upstairs.a I simply nod in response. aYou think sheas gone.a aMy gut tells me this was a professional. He meticulously kills Margaret Johnson first in the kitchen, slices her throat from left to right at an upward angle. Very close and intimate.a aSo a right handed killer who is taller than the wife ataa aShe is approximately five feet seven inches.a aSo a right handed average height male, narrows it down. Next?a aDaniel Johnson, cervical fracture due to ma.s.sive torque applied to his neck. Based on bruising patterns I would guess it was another left to right movement. Considering Mrs. Johnson's injuries it would appear accurate.a aOkay so he goes into the kitchen, kills the wife while sheas making dinner. Goes up the stairs, kills the boy.a aThen he kills Lester Johnson. This is where it gets very complicated so just shut up and listen before commenting.a He stares at me and I concede by nodding in response.

aHe was shot, but it appears the bullet nicked an artery causing him to bleed internally. Based on the tissue, I can only guess that a knife was used repeatedly to speed up the process.a aOkay so the bullet missed its mark and the perp finishes the job with a knife. Whatas complicated in that scenario?a aThe bullet was meant to fail.a aOkay, now you lost me.a aThe bullet disintegrated when it entered his abdomen. Based on the evidence left, frangible ammo was used to incapacitate Mr. Johnson before more final blows could be administered.a aHe wanted to be personal.a aBased on the evidence I found, my gut tells me daddy was made out to be an example.a aOf?a aI donat know, but whoever did this wanted his death to be gruesome.a Taking a few steps over to the freezer wall, my hand grazes number twenty-three. aYou keep your word?a aIf I have to, yes. Frankie made it clear, lucky number and all for the afterlife. Youare awfully morbid you know? Maybe take Frankie out on a date? You know the woman who happens to be your longtime girlfriend that you should marry already? Or skip the proposal and just have a fun night?a aIam not morbid. I prepare for the horrific and enjoy the normal. And I do take Frankie out, but weare taking it slow. Sheas been dealing with Hadley and trying to get her back into auditioning.a aCanat blame the poor girl after what she went through. You might have been shot, but she was there too Jasmine. She was threatened and she watched you die from your injuries. Sheas afraid and dealing with heavy PTSD from it.a aShe needs to get back into auditioning again, use the publicity for her acting career. She has to make a living too.a aSheas doing the convention circuit. Although, you and I both know that isnat much safer, but she feels it is. You could just call her and say hi. That might go a long way in helping her recover.a I hear Frankie and Chaseas voice scream from my cell phone. Hitting the side b.u.t.ton, I cut it off.

aYou told me sheas okay, so weare good. Iam going to head out, call me if you find anything else.a Turning my back to Victor, I head for the elevator.

aShe doesnat blame you, even if you feel responsible. Just call her, Jasmine.a I know Victor means business when he calls me Jasmine. Like my mother calling me out on my c.r.a.p. The difference is, I listened to her. My friends who I consider family, sometimes. Not now though.

Hearing the elevator ding its arrival, I enter the box and push my floor. He stares at me as if imploring me to say something. Once again, words fail me and I simply let the doors close.

Getting out of the elevator on the twentieth floor, I make a right and head down a hallway I know very well. My mind is full of tangential thoughts as people smile at me on the way by. Simple nodding in response, the memory of my mother informing me a nod and a smirk was impolite rushes across my eyes. Itas always interesting to me how our brains remember things and when it decides to make itself known. Opening the door to the last office on the right, I see the chair behind the desk sits empty. Closing the door behind me, I walk inside and lie down on the leather couch. I swear I could fall asleep in the safe arms of this worn thing. My eyes, heavy with thought, close on their own accord.

aContrary to popular opinion, most people prefer the chairs. You missed lunch and didnat answer my calls so I a.s.sume you caught a case. Either that or we have something more serious to talk about,a Frankie lightheartedly says as I hear her close the door. So many words fight for dominance to exit my mouth first, but the logjam causes a low nonsensical sound to exit my mouth. I hear her walk towards me, her steps making a distinct sound as she drags the heel on the carpet. The leather chair releases a sigh as she sits across from me.