November 2, 2004

The air passing in and out from his lungs with every breath hung stale and sterile.  It smelled of antiseptic and the cheap shit perfume wafting in his direction from the old woman in the seat like the one he sat in himself across the breath of the linoleum hallways.  A speaker overhead sounded off with an annoying bleeping before a squawking voice babbles a message of unintelligible static.  His foot tapped nervously, staring down the unfriendly cavern burrowing into the rest of the building to see that nothing has changed.  The door in which he watched her go into remained closed, shutting him out while she remained surrounded by strangers.

"They could sure do some things to make these places for welcoming," said the woman in front of him, returning his attention to her sunken face.  The spider silk that was her skin flapped and swayed loosely with the movements of her jaw as she spoke instead of clinging to the frame that was her skull.  She fiddled absently mindedly as she continued, looking away rather then meeting his icy gaze he met her breaking of the silence between them, "Different colors, maybe a little piano music on that radio would help instead of letting people sit here and stew.  This place smells like death, not exactly a good place for people to wait to find out whether or not they're a widow."

Someone needed to inform her that Raid was not meant to be used as a deodorant before she could talk about the smell of death, but for the sake of not adding to the fuel and give her more to talk about, he held his tongue.  He only wanted to wait in isolation, his own raging thoughts to keep him company while he waited for them to be done with the forensic procedure shit and leave her alone.

"My poor Herman.  They're saying he won't be the same after this stroke," she jabbered on, taking notice now of his attention still fixed upon the doorway down the hall to the right, "That girl that went in there with those police officers, is she a friend of yours?  What's wrong with her?  She looks to young to be sick or anything."  "My sister," he said looking away to focus his attention upon the brass door knob far away, not wanting the woman to see the pain held within his eyes, "She was... attacked."

That was putting it lightly, and he saw himself as a fool for believing the best in people.  He felt as if he practically knew the guy, Melissa confided in him as much as she had about her own thoughts when around him.  The age aside and being the over-protective brother that he tends to be at times, his wish only for her to be happy with a decision override his common sense.  Now, he was kicking himself in the ass for not standing between her and the fate she seemed doomed to endure now.

This investigation would never reach the point to where it was brought out into a courtroom.  Her being dragged out into the public eye to recount every grizzly detail of what he did to her, reliving every moment while he sat at that defendant's table smiling like the smug piece of shit he was.  No, Xavier would not allow it to reach that point.  If he knew her as well as he has for the last fifteen years, she would keep her mouth shut and let him handle this in a quiet way and let all their leads try up to shriveled dead ends.

"Isn't it awful," continued the woman in her scratchy voice, "I tell you, crime nowadays is bringing the world to an end.  It's why I don't go into the city anymore.  Terrorists, crack addicts, cab drivers getting shot in the middle of the night."  Shut up.  Shut up, shut up, shut up.  "Mothers throwing babies out of fifteen-story windows."  What the fuck was with these people and the babies out the windows?

The clicking of the mechanics within the knob unlocking and turning to release its hold inside the slot in the outer frame echoed along the walls of the dead hallway, rousing him back to his sense after tuning out her ramblings in an act of self preservation of his own sanity.  The door opened wide as the examiner that followed Melissa and the detective into the room stepped out through the threshold.  Her right hand held at shoulder-level and motioning to him with a finger to beckon him forward.  "Mr. Michaels," said the nurse, "She wants to see you."