Im really going to need that manicure now.
Waking up to a pitch black, little air filled, room, may frighten most people. Realising said room is in fact a coffin, in which you have been buried alive in, may make one shake in terror. But believe it or not, this is not my first rodeo, oh no, my friends, I have been buried deep down under, only to wake up, hot, sweaty, and in serious need of a burger and fries, queue the 'troff of ice-cream to dunk my head in', before this day.
No, believe it or not, this is my eighth time waking up to this little game, 'the powers that be', like to play with me. Only this time theres no coffin. I know I'm under ground, no doubt about that, but this time things have been spiced up a bit. I'm wrapped up in some sort of fabric, and I can hear the creepy crawlers, smell the wet newly dug soil, taste it in fact. Maybe that asshat of a cop had balls after all, hid my body after offing me and everything. He was no wonder boy, but a quick draw, murdering, possibly soon to be dead, asshole.
As I lye there wiggling around, attempting to get my hands free from my sides, I'm contemplating death, or the lack there of for yours truly. I wonder how it is that I always seem to find my way into these situations.
I think one of my main fatal flaws is the inability to ignore the cute, the pitiful, and the strange. Yes, I realise this leaves me with a rather wide range of issues to be subjected to. I just cant seem to say no, dammit.
I mean for goodness sake the girl the last time couldn't have been more than twelve. When she came walking into my store, head held high, pearl necklace swinging, clip on earrings dangling, both paired with a floral dress, three sizes too big, and bright red lipstick. What was I supposed to say?
The small, yet determined, girl plonked a rattling plastic bag down on the old, warn, mahogany desk, much to big for my titchy shop. The bag crashed down, non too violently, right in front of my face. I peeked over it, down at her, and felt my head tilt to the side, bemused, and pretty damn confused.
The girl had taken a deep breath, filling her lungs to full capacity, and then let out her request in a rush.
"I need you to find out what stole Kit. This is all my pocket money from all my helping with chores and the jobs I did for Mrs. Hallandale. I need you to find him for me." By the end she was anting for breath, her shoulders lost some of their original oomph and I noted the tremor that ran through her body, as she tried to hold in the tears building in those big brown eyes.
The confusion I'd transformed quickly into, something I really would rather avoid, concern. Where were the kids parents? How did she even find me?
Not quite knowing how to start, emotional children, not exactly being a fortay of mine, I gave the lame reply of. "uh. did you want some candy?" said every child stranger danger warning add ever, but, for real, I'm not good with kids. They are just so small, and fragile, and cryey.
"Please, you have to help me. The police wont look for him, and neither will my mum or dad. Its like they've forgotten him." her sentence ended in a whisper, the tears had officially started falling, and I was in full panic mode.
"You want me to find, uh, Kit?" I asked, slowly, not wanting to cause more trouble by upsetting her further. Was Kit her dog or something?
She beamed up at me, scrubbing at her eyes to clear the tears that continued to fall. "you'll find him?"
"sure, kid, I'll do my best." I muttered, half because I had a that strange feeling in the pit of my stomach when something was wrong, half just wanting her to just leave so I could end this weird toucher.
Committed now I let out a sigh and told her I'd need something of Kits so I could find him. She'd nodded quickly, her dark curls flying everywhere and had taken off a backpack I hadn't really noticed before. She proceeded to lift out a small jumper and tiny booties, and it was then that I realise that Kit was no dog. Kit was a little boy.
It had been way too long since I'd started searching for the boy. I stopped referring to clients by name, yeah that didn't work out too well for me. An emotional Casey, is a clumsy Casey. Seriously though I was getting really impatient and really flipping frustrated with these guys. How were they doing it? Every time I thought I was close, I ended up with someone dead, guts devoured, bleeding all over the place, and no leads.
Last week I'd found the boy just sitting there waiting for me, tired, afraid and alone. Don't get me wrong I was real happy, ecstatic even, to find the kid. Except it just didn't make sense. Why did the parents only remember the boy when he was back? Why leave the girl in the know? Where had they taken the boy? And more importantly, Why? I couldn't let myself think it was all just fine, It had been a long while since he'd been missing, too fucking long. I didn't stop looking for the captors, I kept searching. When Cade had called me with a spotting, I just couldn't stay away. And here I was, lying on my back, not from the things I'm actually chasing, but because some of newbie cop. Fate truly is cruel beast.
They say that curiosity killed the cat, and I am a firm believer in that saying, having died a fair few times for my bloody inability to leave things be. But as I cant stay dead, I usually figure why not go snooping anyway.
Snapping out of my internal pity party I note the lack of air has started to kick in. Breathing is so automatic, theres nothing quiet like when you cant stop trying to suck in the non-existent life gas around you. Burns like a bitch. having them out of action for who knows how many hours, also tends to wreck havoc on the organs.
My lungs are going to be aching for days, when I get out of here. Its also the other reason I start making my way through the gruelling task of escaping ones own grave. Should I be grateful he didn't chuck me into the ocean?
Hi Ho, Hi Ho, its off to work I go, I dig, dig, dig and I dig some more, my nails snap off and I bleed, galore, Hi ho, hi ho, hi ho, hi ho.