. . .
The wind tore through the streets of Seattle, sweeping up the detritus of a drowning city and throwing it high into the air. Plastic bags continued their assault on the environment, and an obligatory day-old copy of the Seattle Times flapping like an awkward seagull passed closed curtains high above the streets below. No one really knows why old newspapers are so prolific in the field of making an empty alleyway look even more lonely, but it's a dirty job and someones got to do it.
So the ancient media format soared through the air as gracefully as a kitchen mop, passing between the concrete giants of a soggy city trying to sleep through yet another rainy evening. Breaking rank, the tattered mess that was Page 7 beat its way to the front, piloting the flying newspaper to a 6th floor winow that overlooked the alley. This wide glass portrait of a gap between buildings was given an extra bit of scenery, as the triumphant Page 7 smacked aginst the transparent canvas with a dignified "Splot!"
Behind glass, behind curtains, behind a desk sitting in the middle of a cluttered room, was a woman who wore the expression of someone who had just heard something go "Splot!" for the first time. She got up from her desk and walked across her living/dining/bedroom, pulling open the curtains without much fanfare. For a moment, she stared out her usually uninteresting window, eyes barely flitting left to right. Page 7 stared back at her indifferently; an old newspaper was no stranger to being gawked at. Her eyes stopped moving, and she closed them for longer than a blink.
The woman, who could only be described as such because the word 'girl' didn't quite match eyes that old, opened them and turned to go back to her desk. A small table by the front door started to vibrate, its collection of rattling keys a signal that her cell phone was ringing. Or not, as it happened. Grumbling under her breath, she walked over to the phone and picked it up,
"Hello?"
"Hey Sweetie! Why so glum?" answered a deep and comforting voice.
"Oh, hey." she said. "Oh! Hey!" she repeated, remembering her adopted fathers inquiring mind.
"Whats wrong, hon? You can talk to me."
Too late. It was Interrogation Time.
"Nothing, Geoff. Honestly. It's just late and I've been working and I heard something go Splot! and then you called."
There was a pause on the other end of the line. "...Splot?"
"Never mind. Whats up?"
Conversation Change, attempt #1.
"Working? What does a bank teller do this late at night, seven miles from her job?"
Attempt #1; Fail. And apprently he's keeping tabs on me at work now, too, she thought.
"Not work-work. Nursing school applications. I've got about 20 to get through and they're pretty in-depth. Expensive, too..."
Conversation Change, attempt #2.
"Good thing you work at the bank then. Are you alone?"
Fail. "Yes, I'm alone. It's not exactly a group project."
There was a sigh. "You know what I mean. You shouldn't be alone all the time. You need to have some friends over, have a girls night or something."
"I don't know, Geoff. Pillowfights have a tendency to disrupt my papers. Did you hear the library was closing?"
Attempt #3.
"Har, har. Really? Where'd you hear that?"
Success!
"It was in the paper. Apparently they finally got the go ahead on that new super gym. It seems the ignorant masses weren't happy not-using a valuable intellectual resource for free, now they want to not-use another House of Broken Resolutions for a monthly fee."
"Not everyone shares your passion for reading, hon." said Geoff in the weary tones of a long suffering but patient father figure. "Besides, those that do haven't looked up from their screens in years."
She walked back over to the window. "Oh yes, of course. Celebrity gossip and filtered news, THAT'S why we invented digital readers. That's why we're slowly abandoning the trusted methods from thousands of years of human existence. That makes a lot of sense." Page 7 had left the scenery as if an illustration of her words, and the view of the supposedly deserted alley became her main focus by default.
Geoff sighed again. This girl is wiser than her years, he thought. "Then why were you reading the paper?" he said instead, in an attempt to catch his adopted daughter in mid-smuggery.
"It went Splot."
The pause on the other end of the line was longer this time.
"I'm sorry, Geoff," said the woman "but it's getting late. What's with the random phone call?"
The pause continued, or started depending on how long you'd been paying attention.
"Oh... nothing. Just checking up on you. I worry, ya know? You're family. And I worry."
"Uh."
Geoff was offended. "What, we're not family now? Too grown up for your Unlce Gee-off?"
The alleyway below was not deserted.
"Uh..."
"What is it, McKenna?" He could tell something was wrong, he could hear it in the words she wasn't saying. "McKenna, listen to me. If there's someone there, if you're in danger--"
She hurried her words before he jumped the gun. "No! No, it's all right. Don't panic, nothing to worry about. I think."
"Out with it, sweetie." There was nothing sugary in his voice.
"It's just that, well, I don't know how to say this..." There were people in the alleyway.
"But there's a strange man and a midget dragging a body through my alley."
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