Hard Sell - Prologue; T
Title: Hard Sell, Prologue
Author: Zelda Ophelia (zeldaophelia)
Fandom/Character: CSI:NY; girl!Flack (Dawn Flack), Stella, Mac
General info: Genderbender; Not mine; T
Notes: This fic wouldn't have happened without significantowl, avidbeader, and the other wonderful ladies at postonthursday who have been there for me every step of the way. Also a huge thanks to eternal_sadist who went above and beyond the call of betaing by helping me with my outline, reading multiple unfinished drafts, letting me send a revised fic with a new ending after I'd already sent something to her to beta, and holding my hand through bouts of the wibbles. Without them this fic would still be on the drawing board.
Summary: Pre-series. Dawn Flack (not a junior, though everyone wants to add that on) is finally getting her first solo case, without her training partner to tag along. But when one death becomes three with little evidence, she's needs all the help Mac and Stella can give her to find this guy.
He yawned, smiling, as he walked down the stairs, feeling better - satiated - for the first time in months. He'd actually managed to forget, even if just for a little while, how bad things had gotten with work.
It was easy to find the kitchen again; old houses like this were all built the same way. He was impressed with what she had done with the place--she'd been very proud of her accomplishments in refurbishing her home when she'd given him a tour. The kitchen was her pride and joy: top-of-the-line appliances, brand new cabinets, and a granite counter. The bottle of wine they'd opened earlier was still there. It was nearly empty, but had just enough left for one more glass. He was thirsty, satiated in other ways, but very thirsty after their activities.
Finishing the wine, he stretched and yawned as he took the wine glasses to the sink and washed them, pushing a couple of knives to the side as he set them in the dish drainer. He then dragged the boxers he wore back on up over his hips. He'd lost weight over the past few weeks unintentionally, but he didn't mind, considering the appreciative looks he'd gotten at the bar. Or the appreciative looks she'd given him when the clothes started coming off. Perhaps the stress at work had been worth it, to an extent, since the pudge around his waist had disappeared. Maybe his abs weren't washboard, but he looked a lot more fit than he had before this started.
Work. He groaned as he wiped his hand down his face. That was the last thing he'd wanted to be reminded of. He didn't even want to consider the number of emails he'd have from her when he got in tomorrow morning. Later this morning. Whenever it was. Why did she have to be like that? Why couldn't she just leave well enough alone and let him do his job? If she actually did, most of the things she requested or asked about would be taken care of without her even needing to notice them.
Hands clenched into fists as he thought, replaying their last conversation - over the phone thankfully; he wasn't ready to face her in person yet - over and over again. The screeching tone of her voice as she complained again that things weren't going to be set up properly and didn't they know how important this was, she'd talk to his boss if he didn't get it right. He'd said all the right things, plied her with platitudes, and yet she still continued on and on and on. Nothing was ever good enough.
When he closed his eyes, he could see her piercing blue gaze staring back at him. Opening them, for a second he thought he saw her long hair swishing past the corner of his eye. Up the stairs.
No. Not here. She couldn't be here. He wouldn't allow it.
Without even thinking, he grabbed the knives from the drainer, holding one in each hand as he followed her up the staircase. The bedroom door was still open, and he could see her stretched out across the bed. Unconsciously, he placed one of the knives on the bureau, holding the other aloft as he approached her. Just as she opened those brilliant blue eyes, he struck, thrusting the knife into her chest again and again and again, until those eyes were no longer brilliant but unseeing.
Panting, he looked at the bed and around the room. It was covered in blood. He was covered in blood. Using a hand towel from the en suite bathroom, he wiped down the handle of the knife, dropping it on the bed next to her. The towel dropped into the bathroom trashcan, followed by the boxers he wore that were covered in her blood. His reflection gazed back at him from the mirror over the sink, looking far calmer than it had any right to be. He felt far calmer than he had any right to be.
Pausing, he attempted to define just how it was that he did feel. He felt... good. He felt pleased. He felt vindicated. He... he had enjoyed that. He gave his reflection a quick grin, pleased by the look he received in return. The shower heated up quickly, and he carefully washed himself down. He didn't think she'd mind him using her shampoo or soap. Or her towel to dry off. That went into the trash as well.
Looking under her sink, he found a bottle of bleach and some bathroom cleaner. He cleaned out the tub and wiped down every surface he thought he'd touched. Back in the bedroom, he quickly dressed, deciding the ferocity with which they'd undressed each other earlier had been to his luck. His clothes had been thrown far enough from the bed that they'd escaped relatively unscathed. There was a bit of blood on the shirt, but his suit jacket would cover it, and he didn't expect to encounter anyone else who might even notice. It was odd pulling on his trousers without wearing anything underneath, but it wasn't unpleasant, either. The tie went into his briefcase, followed by a few other things from the bureau.
Trophies. It was strange to think of a word he'd heard on episodes of Cold Case Files applying to him. But he pushed that thought from his mind, returning to the bathroom cabinet for a soft cloth that he quickly used to wipe down everything he'd touched in the bedroom. Bed, bureau, nightstand, door; if it was even possible that he'd touched it, he wiped it down. He'd watched enough crime shows to know how important this was. Returning to the bathroom one last time, he grabbed the trashcan liner after tossing the cloth inside, pulling it from the can and expertly tying it closed. Then he left, automatically double-checking that the front door was locked and dead-bolted before walking through the kitchen to the back door. Unlike the front door, there was no deadbolt; it locked at the knob. Flipping it locked, he pulled the door firmly shut behind him.
Once outside, he looked around the street. There were no lights on in any of the houses, and the curb was lined with trashcans. Tomorrow was trash day--even better. Crossing the street, he dropped the bag of trash he'd brought with him into a neighbor's trashcan and then turned to leave.
He was whistling by the time he reached his car.
::
Mrs. MacKenzie glanced down the street as she carried her bundled garbage to the can out at the curb. Trash pick-up was later this morning, later being subjective as it was just after 4:00 AM now. But the truck came through at 6:30, and of course she'd remembered that she'd forgotten the bag from the study last night.
Yawning, she lifted the lid of the trashcan, watching the house across the street. She'd heard car engines on the road during the night, late at night. It could only be that teacher across the road. She was young and unmarried, and everyone knew about how she'd had that man living with her last month.
She dropped her bag in, not bothering to look to see what she was doing, and yawned once more before returning to the house. It had been a while since she'd made a coffee cake. That would be nice for breakfast. And she could start on a roast for lunch as soon as the cake was finished. The Masterson's down the street would surely appreciate the extras of both; Sarah Masterson didn't have nearly enough time to cook, what with the new baby and all.
::
She could hear the phone ringing inside. Ashley Strube glanced back down at her cell phone, clicking disconnect before she turned back to the front door. There was a window near the top, one that Marcie wouldn't have had any problem seeing through, since she was a stunning 5'10". Ashley, on the other hand, was a stunted 5'1" - just the right height to be an armrest, Marcie sometimes teased her - and even on her tippy-toes all she could see was the ceiling.
The ringing inside had stopped when she'd hung up, and now all she could hear was silence, not even an alarm clock. She glanced back at her phone to check the time; she only had about ten more minutes before she needed to head back to work. She had volunteered to come and see why Marcie hadn't made it to school that morning, since they both had first period free - that's how they'd become such good friends, hanging out together in the morning trying to get ready for their classes. Usually if Marcie wasn't planning to come in until second period, she called ahead to let someone in the office know. That she hadn't called ahead and hadn't arranged for a substitute had everyone just a little bit worried. While Ashley didn't blame her for wanting to skiv off on a Friday morning, it had been a rough week, Marcie wasn't the type to be this irresponsible.
With a sigh, Ashley sat on the bench by the door and took off her shoes. There was no way her brand new suede Mary Janes were going to survive the amount of dew on the ground. Not that her hose would, either, but she kept a spare in her desk for a reason. Tentatively stepping into the grass, she wrinkled her nose as her pantyhose soaked through.
"Marce, you so owe me for this," Ashley muttered under her breath as she tiptoed through the wet grass to the nearest window. She was fairly certain that last night had been "date night" - the one Thursday a month Marcie and some of her old college friends met for a night out in the city. While Marcie hadn't ever skipped work the day after "date night", she had come in looking a little worse for wear on a couple of occasions. She'd probably had too much to drink and forgotten to set her alarm.
Peering into the window, all Ashley could see was Marcie's empty dining room and kitchen. There were dishes in the drainer and a bottle of wine on the counter of the otherwise spotless kitchen, but no sign of Marcie. Pulling out her cell phone, she was about to try again when a distinctive blue and white car pulled up to the front of the house.
"Ma'am?" a uniformed police officer said as he stepped out of the passenger side. "We had a report of a possible prowler. I'm going to need to see your identification."
"Prowler? Me?" Ashley's jaw dropped in astonishment, but she turned and glared at the house directly across from Marcie's, where the front window curtain quickly moved back into place. Her friend had mentioned more than once how that particular neighbor was the biggest busybody in the neighborhood, but to call the cops on her? That woman had some nerve! "My ID is in my bag, on the porch."
She carefully walked through the dewy grass back to the porch, meeting the officer there. Her purse - the find of the century at seventy-five percent off during a shopping trip with Marcie and Lori, the art teacher - was on the bench where she'd taken off her shoes. Pulling out her wallet, she offered her driver's license to the officer as his partner joined them on the porch.
"What are you doing here?"
"My friend, Marcie, lives here, and she didn't come to work this morning, and she didn't answer her phone. Since I don't have class until-" She glanced at her cell phone, groaning when she saw the time; now she was going to be late. "-second period, I offered to come and check on her."
"And you were looking in the window because?"
"I like running around in wet grass in my stocking feet?" she suggested sarcastically. "Look, I've worked with Marcie for three years now. Just because she doesn't teach first period doesn't mean she doesn't show up until second. She's always there on time, or she calls ahead. She didn't today. That's not like her, and everyone was getting worried when she didn't show and didn't call, so I came out. I was looking in her window because I was trying to see if I could see her. I was going to go around and try the back door next. And then, you know, call you guys."
"Call it in, Allan," the officer who'd been driving said to the younger man. "Wellness check at this address."
"Wellness check?" Ashley asked. "What's that mean?"
"That your friend has been noticed to be missing and as a result, we're going to try to determine if she is okay."
"She's probably sleeping off a few too many glasses of wine," Ashley said, just barely stopping herself from rolling her eyes. There was no way she'd take that kind of attitude from one of her students, and she had a feeling the officers wouldn't appreciate it, either.
"Hopefully that's the case, Ms. Strube," Officer Allan said. He'd returned from the patrol car while they were talking. After his partner's nod, he stepped over to the door and knocked loudly.
Once again, there was no answer. He glanced back at the older officer before knocking again. As he did so, his partner turned to Ashley.
"You said there was a back door?"
She nodded, then showed him around to the back. Officer Allan followed behind them, peering into the windows like she had been. When they arrived in tiny backyard, she pointed out the door at the back of the house that led into Marcie's kitchen.
"She keeps a spare key in a fake rock back here somewhere." She gestured at the shrubs by the door. "I think she once said that it was next to a gnome?"
"I've got a garden gnome over here, Lon," Officer Allan said, bending down to dig through the bushes. "There's a large rock next to it. Yeah, it's a fake."
The older officer, Lon, shook his head. "Keeping a spare key outside like this is never a good idea, even if it is to our advantage today."
Once the door was open, Ashley breezed past them and through the kitchen, calling out Marcie's name.
"Ma'am!" Officer Lon called after her, but she ignored him as she headed to the stairs.
"Marcie's room is up here," she said to them as they followed her through the house.
Officer Allan followed her closely. "Ma'am, we need to ask that you stay behind us."
"Oh please." She turned and frowned at him. "I've seen those cop shows on TV. You think that something's happened to her. Trust me, she's probably fine. She went out with friends last night and is probably just sleeping it off."
She turned and continued up the stairs, aiming for Marcie's room. She definitely owed her now, even if Officer Allan was kinda cute. She'd nearly been arrested just because Marcie decided to sleep in. The door to Marcie's room wasn't fully shut, and she pushed it open as she entered, pausing when she saw the room.
"Oh my god," Ashley said, feeling her knees go week as she started taking deep gasping breaths. There was blood everywhere.
"Ma'am? Ma'am you need to-" Officer Allan was in front of her, trying to guide her out of the room, saying something, but she couldn't tell what it was, couldn't hear what it was.
All she could hear were screams. And she had a feeling they belonged to her.
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Author: Zelda Ophelia (zeldaophelia)
Fandom/Character: CSI:NY; girl!Flack (Dawn Flack), Stella, Mac
General info: Genderbender; Not mine; T
Notes: This fic wouldn't have happened without significantowl, avidbeader, and the other wonderful ladies at postonthursday who have been there for me every step of the way. Also a huge thanks to eternal_sadist who went above and beyond the call of betaing by helping me with my outline, reading multiple unfinished drafts, letting me send a revised fic with a new ending after I'd already sent something to her to beta, and holding my hand through bouts of the wibbles. Without them this fic would still be on the drawing board.
Summary: Pre-series. Dawn Flack (not a junior, though everyone wants to add that on) is finally getting her first solo case, without her training partner to tag along. But when one death becomes three with little evidence, she's needs all the help Mac and Stella can give her to find this guy.
He yawned, smiling, as he walked down the stairs, feeling better - satiated - for the first time in months. He'd actually managed to forget, even if just for a little while, how bad things had gotten with work.
It was easy to find the kitchen again; old houses like this were all built the same way. He was impressed with what she had done with the place--she'd been very proud of her accomplishments in refurbishing her home when she'd given him a tour. The kitchen was her pride and joy: top-of-the-line appliances, brand new cabinets, and a granite counter. The bottle of wine they'd opened earlier was still there. It was nearly empty, but had just enough left for one more glass. He was thirsty, satiated in other ways, but very thirsty after their activities.
Finishing the wine, he stretched and yawned as he took the wine glasses to the sink and washed them, pushing a couple of knives to the side as he set them in the dish drainer. He then dragged the boxers he wore back on up over his hips. He'd lost weight over the past few weeks unintentionally, but he didn't mind, considering the appreciative looks he'd gotten at the bar. Or the appreciative looks she'd given him when the clothes started coming off. Perhaps the stress at work had been worth it, to an extent, since the pudge around his waist had disappeared. Maybe his abs weren't washboard, but he looked a lot more fit than he had before this started.
Work. He groaned as he wiped his hand down his face. That was the last thing he'd wanted to be reminded of. He didn't even want to consider the number of emails he'd have from her when he got in tomorrow morning. Later this morning. Whenever it was. Why did she have to be like that? Why couldn't she just leave well enough alone and let him do his job? If she actually did, most of the things she requested or asked about would be taken care of without her even needing to notice them.
Hands clenched into fists as he thought, replaying their last conversation - over the phone thankfully; he wasn't ready to face her in person yet - over and over again. The screeching tone of her voice as she complained again that things weren't going to be set up properly and didn't they know how important this was, she'd talk to his boss if he didn't get it right. He'd said all the right things, plied her with platitudes, and yet she still continued on and on and on. Nothing was ever good enough.
When he closed his eyes, he could see her piercing blue gaze staring back at him. Opening them, for a second he thought he saw her long hair swishing past the corner of his eye. Up the stairs.
No. Not here. She couldn't be here. He wouldn't allow it.
Without even thinking, he grabbed the knives from the drainer, holding one in each hand as he followed her up the staircase. The bedroom door was still open, and he could see her stretched out across the bed. Unconsciously, he placed one of the knives on the bureau, holding the other aloft as he approached her. Just as she opened those brilliant blue eyes, he struck, thrusting the knife into her chest again and again and again, until those eyes were no longer brilliant but unseeing.
Panting, he looked at the bed and around the room. It was covered in blood. He was covered in blood. Using a hand towel from the en suite bathroom, he wiped down the handle of the knife, dropping it on the bed next to her. The towel dropped into the bathroom trashcan, followed by the boxers he wore that were covered in her blood. His reflection gazed back at him from the mirror over the sink, looking far calmer than it had any right to be. He felt far calmer than he had any right to be.
Pausing, he attempted to define just how it was that he did feel. He felt... good. He felt pleased. He felt vindicated. He... he had enjoyed that. He gave his reflection a quick grin, pleased by the look he received in return. The shower heated up quickly, and he carefully washed himself down. He didn't think she'd mind him using her shampoo or soap. Or her towel to dry off. That went into the trash as well.
Looking under her sink, he found a bottle of bleach and some bathroom cleaner. He cleaned out the tub and wiped down every surface he thought he'd touched. Back in the bedroom, he quickly dressed, deciding the ferocity with which they'd undressed each other earlier had been to his luck. His clothes had been thrown far enough from the bed that they'd escaped relatively unscathed. There was a bit of blood on the shirt, but his suit jacket would cover it, and he didn't expect to encounter anyone else who might even notice. It was odd pulling on his trousers without wearing anything underneath, but it wasn't unpleasant, either. The tie went into his briefcase, followed by a few other things from the bureau.
Trophies. It was strange to think of a word he'd heard on episodes of Cold Case Files applying to him. But he pushed that thought from his mind, returning to the bathroom cabinet for a soft cloth that he quickly used to wipe down everything he'd touched in the bedroom. Bed, bureau, nightstand, door; if it was even possible that he'd touched it, he wiped it down. He'd watched enough crime shows to know how important this was. Returning to the bathroom one last time, he grabbed the trashcan liner after tossing the cloth inside, pulling it from the can and expertly tying it closed. Then he left, automatically double-checking that the front door was locked and dead-bolted before walking through the kitchen to the back door. Unlike the front door, there was no deadbolt; it locked at the knob. Flipping it locked, he pulled the door firmly shut behind him.
Once outside, he looked around the street. There were no lights on in any of the houses, and the curb was lined with trashcans. Tomorrow was trash day--even better. Crossing the street, he dropped the bag of trash he'd brought with him into a neighbor's trashcan and then turned to leave.
He was whistling by the time he reached his car.
::
Mrs. MacKenzie glanced down the street as she carried her bundled garbage to the can out at the curb. Trash pick-up was later this morning, later being subjective as it was just after 4:00 AM now. But the truck came through at 6:30, and of course she'd remembered that she'd forgotten the bag from the study last night.
Yawning, she lifted the lid of the trashcan, watching the house across the street. She'd heard car engines on the road during the night, late at night. It could only be that teacher across the road. She was young and unmarried, and everyone knew about how she'd had that man living with her last month.
She dropped her bag in, not bothering to look to see what she was doing, and yawned once more before returning to the house. It had been a while since she'd made a coffee cake. That would be nice for breakfast. And she could start on a roast for lunch as soon as the cake was finished. The Masterson's down the street would surely appreciate the extras of both; Sarah Masterson didn't have nearly enough time to cook, what with the new baby and all.
::
She could hear the phone ringing inside. Ashley Strube glanced back down at her cell phone, clicking disconnect before she turned back to the front door. There was a window near the top, one that Marcie wouldn't have had any problem seeing through, since she was a stunning 5'10". Ashley, on the other hand, was a stunted 5'1" - just the right height to be an armrest, Marcie sometimes teased her - and even on her tippy-toes all she could see was the ceiling.
The ringing inside had stopped when she'd hung up, and now all she could hear was silence, not even an alarm clock. She glanced back at her phone to check the time; she only had about ten more minutes before she needed to head back to work. She had volunteered to come and see why Marcie hadn't made it to school that morning, since they both had first period free - that's how they'd become such good friends, hanging out together in the morning trying to get ready for their classes. Usually if Marcie wasn't planning to come in until second period, she called ahead to let someone in the office know. That she hadn't called ahead and hadn't arranged for a substitute had everyone just a little bit worried. While Ashley didn't blame her for wanting to skiv off on a Friday morning, it had been a rough week, Marcie wasn't the type to be this irresponsible.
With a sigh, Ashley sat on the bench by the door and took off her shoes. There was no way her brand new suede Mary Janes were going to survive the amount of dew on the ground. Not that her hose would, either, but she kept a spare in her desk for a reason. Tentatively stepping into the grass, she wrinkled her nose as her pantyhose soaked through.
"Marce, you so owe me for this," Ashley muttered under her breath as she tiptoed through the wet grass to the nearest window. She was fairly certain that last night had been "date night" - the one Thursday a month Marcie and some of her old college friends met for a night out in the city. While Marcie hadn't ever skipped work the day after "date night", she had come in looking a little worse for wear on a couple of occasions. She'd probably had too much to drink and forgotten to set her alarm.
Peering into the window, all Ashley could see was Marcie's empty dining room and kitchen. There were dishes in the drainer and a bottle of wine on the counter of the otherwise spotless kitchen, but no sign of Marcie. Pulling out her cell phone, she was about to try again when a distinctive blue and white car pulled up to the front of the house.
"Ma'am?" a uniformed police officer said as he stepped out of the passenger side. "We had a report of a possible prowler. I'm going to need to see your identification."
"Prowler? Me?" Ashley's jaw dropped in astonishment, but she turned and glared at the house directly across from Marcie's, where the front window curtain quickly moved back into place. Her friend had mentioned more than once how that particular neighbor was the biggest busybody in the neighborhood, but to call the cops on her? That woman had some nerve! "My ID is in my bag, on the porch."
She carefully walked through the dewy grass back to the porch, meeting the officer there. Her purse - the find of the century at seventy-five percent off during a shopping trip with Marcie and Lori, the art teacher - was on the bench where she'd taken off her shoes. Pulling out her wallet, she offered her driver's license to the officer as his partner joined them on the porch.
"What are you doing here?"
"My friend, Marcie, lives here, and she didn't come to work this morning, and she didn't answer her phone. Since I don't have class until-" She glanced at her cell phone, groaning when she saw the time; now she was going to be late. "-second period, I offered to come and check on her."
"And you were looking in the window because?"
"I like running around in wet grass in my stocking feet?" she suggested sarcastically. "Look, I've worked with Marcie for three years now. Just because she doesn't teach first period doesn't mean she doesn't show up until second. She's always there on time, or she calls ahead. She didn't today. That's not like her, and everyone was getting worried when she didn't show and didn't call, so I came out. I was looking in her window because I was trying to see if I could see her. I was going to go around and try the back door next. And then, you know, call you guys."
"Call it in, Allan," the officer who'd been driving said to the younger man. "Wellness check at this address."
"Wellness check?" Ashley asked. "What's that mean?"
"That your friend has been noticed to be missing and as a result, we're going to try to determine if she is okay."
"She's probably sleeping off a few too many glasses of wine," Ashley said, just barely stopping herself from rolling her eyes. There was no way she'd take that kind of attitude from one of her students, and she had a feeling the officers wouldn't appreciate it, either.
"Hopefully that's the case, Ms. Strube," Officer Allan said. He'd returned from the patrol car while they were talking. After his partner's nod, he stepped over to the door and knocked loudly.
Once again, there was no answer. He glanced back at the older officer before knocking again. As he did so, his partner turned to Ashley.
"You said there was a back door?"
She nodded, then showed him around to the back. Officer Allan followed behind them, peering into the windows like she had been. When they arrived in tiny backyard, she pointed out the door at the back of the house that led into Marcie's kitchen.
"She keeps a spare key in a fake rock back here somewhere." She gestured at the shrubs by the door. "I think she once said that it was next to a gnome?"
"I've got a garden gnome over here, Lon," Officer Allan said, bending down to dig through the bushes. "There's a large rock next to it. Yeah, it's a fake."
The older officer, Lon, shook his head. "Keeping a spare key outside like this is never a good idea, even if it is to our advantage today."
Once the door was open, Ashley breezed past them and through the kitchen, calling out Marcie's name.
"Ma'am!" Officer Lon called after her, but she ignored him as she headed to the stairs.
"Marcie's room is up here," she said to them as they followed her through the house.
Officer Allan followed her closely. "Ma'am, we need to ask that you stay behind us."
"Oh please." She turned and frowned at him. "I've seen those cop shows on TV. You think that something's happened to her. Trust me, she's probably fine. She went out with friends last night and is probably just sleeping it off."
She turned and continued up the stairs, aiming for Marcie's room. She definitely owed her now, even if Officer Allan was kinda cute. She'd nearly been arrested just because Marcie decided to sleep in. The door to Marcie's room wasn't fully shut, and she pushed it open as she entered, pausing when she saw the room.
"Oh my god," Ashley said, feeling her knees go week as she started taking deep gasping breaths. There was blood everywhere.
"Ma'am? Ma'am you need to-" Officer Allan was in front of her, trying to guide her out of the room, saying something, but she couldn't tell what it was, couldn't hear what it was.
All she could hear were screams. And she had a feeling they belonged to her.
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