pinning them against the wall to keep quiet
› FIRST TOUCH PROMPTS : accepting
The glow of her phone’s flashlight alights at least a dozen wooden shipping boxes stacked in the hidden cellar they’ve discovered. A few have been stamped FRAGILE in vibrant red ink. Are these the stolen artifacts the museum never received? Expected to arrive at the museum a week ago, evidence to their disappearance was slim. A slain pilot in the airplane hanger the boxes were scheduled to arrive in. Only two dusty boot prints at the crime scene and a discarded list of goods now missing.
The slam of something metal sounds from the floor above – most likely a door, garnering her attention. Karen’s eyes widen and dart upwards then quickly scan the space in search of cover. It is about twenty feet by twelve, with a few pillars, a row of large metal lockers and the crates currently claiming a majority free area in the center.
The heavy tread of a possible night guard or possibly the pilot’s killer stop at the door leading down to the cellar and Karen hears the turn of its rusty door knob. There is no other exit.
She pockets her phone and wraps a hand around the pepper spray attached to her keys. The crates are large enough to hide behind, but do not guarantee cover if the unwanted company decide to look over thier contents.
Elektra’s typical form of dealing with witnesses will most likely backfire if the not friendly visitor doesn’t return from the hidden cellar. There could be other people upstairs or offsite partners waiting to hear from them. Killing someone now will expose Karen’s investigation. What if she is standing in the room with the answer?
“Elektra,” Karen whispers urgently into the dark, “don’t kill – ”
An unseen hand that can only belong to the assassin grabbed ahold of her jacket-covered arm and pulled Karen through the void of dark space to slip behind one of the large metal lockers. She hadn’t realized there was enough space for one person let alone two, ‘enough space’ being a liberal description. Karen’s original instruction halts with her body pressed against the cool wall of the cellar, Elektra between the dark green metal wall of the locker and Karen. Her face is turned towards the open space leading back out into the room as a dim yellow light turns on. If Karen turned her face the tip of her nose would graze Elektra’s cheekbone. The warmth of Karen’s anxious breaths brush back against her lips after contact with Elektra’s cheek. Their shallow, without space between their bodies to properly inhale. Through the thick layer of her trench coat, Karen still feels the exact alignment of Elektra’s body against hers. Hips to hips, torso to torso, Elektra’s heartbeat strong and calm in contrast to Karen’s fear they’d be caught.
Seconds stretch like hours as footsteps descend the stairs and move about the room. The creaking of wood giving way to pressure must be a crowbar prying open one of the wooden crates. Elektra smells faintly like orchids. There had been several varieties of bouquets when Karen’s mother died and the recognizable fragrance surprises her. We’re they not so physically close, Karen would never have noticed.
