I used to take part in a weekly challenge such as this called Monday’s Finish the Story, but I believe it has ceased, so now I will take a stab at FRIDAY FICTION with RONOVAN WRITES. This past Friday (May 6, 2016) had this: Prompt Challenge #25-A guest appearance.
Sophie Marceau was groggy even after a eighteen minute steaming hot shower where she allowed the scalding water to add a reddish tint to her usually pale face. She knew she didn’t have the time to add her usual makeup. Detective Tom Richardson was sure to knock on her door at anytime, ready to pick her up on the way to the scene of the murder. It would most likely be victim number eight of the Crimson Nights killer.
Captain Redmond would likely have a face as red as hers, but his came from the hypertension Sophie Knew would end his career early, either with a massive heart attack or high blood pressure induced early retirement. This was the third serial killer in her city during his twenty seven year career and she felt this one would cause his end. No serial killer was any better or worse than the other in light of the innocents whose lives were snuffed out, but the Crimson Nights case seemed to be especially troubling to Redmond.
She stiffened slightly when she heard a knock on the door.
Three knocks and then “Sophie!” Three more and “Sophie!” Another three followed by “Sophie!” and uncontrolled laughter. She twisted her face into her most condescending grimace and opened the door to find Detective Richardson leaning against the door facing clutching his gut as he continued laughing loudly.
“I know what you watched last night on the television,” she said waving him in. “Ten minutes.”
“I love what you’ve done with the place Soph!” Tom said, taking in her latest redecoration attempt. He knew she had no clue which channel on her television was HGTV. For Sophie Marcus solving crime was not only a job, but a passion/obsession. The largest wall in her apartment held dozens of clippings describing serial killer crimes from across the U.S.A. Sophie’s psychology degree had led her to take a deeper approach to understanding the why and how relating to what drove serial killers.
“Very funny Bob Vila.” Sophie said through a mouthful of toothpaste.
Tom was as opposite from her as possible with his love of home improvement. He had spent the previous weekend putting the final touches on a bathroom remodel. He could see so many possibilities for her place, but knew any suggestions were useless. All she wanted was a place to keep her clothes and lay her head when she took time to sleep.
“Male or female, young or old, rich or poor?” Sophie said as she came out of her bed room twisting her hair into a pony tail. Tom looked up suddenly and realized it was the official Sophie asking.
“Forty-three year old male, stock broker, found at the entrance to the race track and Farley Downs.”
Sophie looked at him with a frown as she worked shoes on her feet one at a time while balancing herself with the other arm on the nearby sofa.
“Farley doesn’t race on Sundays,” she said.
“Maybe it is a dump,” Tom said.
“Cap isn’t going to be happy,” Sophie said grabbing her purse and approaching the door.
“I can second that opinion,” Tom said.