[Sodium_noir] Friday: The Package

[Hope Zagorski]

Hope Zagorski
Mortal
Neon City

Hope sighs.  The resident manager was a woman one cat shy of being a ‘crazy cat lady’, and the apartment always had a rather strong and distinctive odor of lavender mixed with cat urine.  She was nice enough though, and always quick to help, no matter what time of day or night it was.    

Arriving at the door, Hope knocks three times, the rapping somewhere between soft and too loud.  A confident knock, she supposed.  The woman answers the door.  Hope put her in her late thirties, early forties, and like her, the woman wore no wedding ring.  "Yes?"  But the woman immediately recognizes her and starts to smile.  "Ah, Detective Zagorski, come in."   

Hope smiles back.  This was perhaps one of the rare times she was knocking on a relative stranger’s door when it didn’t involve some sort of police business.  Hope walks into the doorway and winces as the strange smell assails her nose.  She watches the woman turn and walk toward the dining room table, where a vase of flowers sat.  A few packages sat on a chair nearby.  Something rubs against her leg, and Hope looks down to see a pure grey cat circling her.  That was Smoke, as she recalled.  He was the most social of her cats.  The rest tended to hide as soon as someone knocked on the door. 

The manager was now holding the vase of flowers, and Hope could see that it was a nicely arranged mixed bouquet of carnations, white and pale blue in stark contrast to lavender ones.  The manager was positively beaming at her.  "These are lovely."  She exclaims.  "You’re lucky to have a fella that cares enough to send you flowers."  

Hope takes the vase of flowers, but doesn’t open the small envelope on its plastic stand.  As she knew, the recipient of flowers didn’t have share information.  She does take a cautious sniff of the flowers, something that was expected.  "I suppose I am."  She replies.  "Thanks for accepting them."  

"No problem, Detective.  I’m just glad that there’s a police officer living in the building.  It makes me feel much safer."  Hope nods.  Funny, it never really made her feel any safer, and once again, she had proof of it.  She starts to walk out of the apartment, and after heading up the stairs, unlocks her apartment.  Who would send her flowers?  She wonders.  And why?  

Hope removes the small card from its holder.  She opens the tiny envelope and reads the message.
"With my apologies.  Please consider the offer and allow me the pleasure of your company again tomorrow night."  The card wasn’t signed, but she knew whom it was from.  The card falls from her fingers onto the floor.

Hope sets the vase on the kitchen counter and backs away.  What had she agreed to?  Strangely, her memory had failed her on this matter.  She goes to the fridge.  It was fairly well stocked, but she wasn’t interested in eating.  She grabs the bottle of white Zinfandel and pours some into a tumbler, filling the glass nearly to the top.  She takes a sip, then walks into the living room.  She turns on the radio, and soft jazz begins to issue forth.  She walks back into her bedroom and selects a book.  Well, since she was off duty, she could catch up on her reading.  

Hope hangs up the suit jacket and then removes her clothes.  A hot bath would be good.  The skirt is also hung up, but the blouse and undergarments go into the hamper in the bathroom.   She runs the bath, and brings the book and the glass of wine into the room.  The tub was filling quickly, so she adds a scented bath cube to the water.  

She takes a couple of sips of the drink while it fills, and gets in carefully, keeping a towel close by.  For a while, she is able to relax and read in the tub, sipping from the glass, which now had an accumulation of condensation.  

Hope is suddenly aware of a sharp spike in her body temperature and a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.  A feeling she knew far too well.  She jumps out of the tub and runs to the sink, barely reaching it in time.  The contents of her stomach are expelled with violent force, and her vomiting ceases only after all the liquid is gone.  

Hope runs the water in the sink to send the yellowish-green liquid down the drain, and after the basin is once again white, she takes a handful of water from the sink and takes a cautious sip.  She had broken the rules and mixed her drinks, and paid for it dearly.  She looks into the mirror and sees that her skin is pale and beads of sweat dotted her forehead.  She runs a wet hand through her hair.   

Hope picks the towel up from the floor and dries herself off, then allows the tub to drain. It is then that she sees the book in the bottom of the tub.  It must have fallen in during her rush to the sink.  Hope sighs.  A book never truly recovered from such abuse, though in time, it would be readable again.  She reaches in and fishes it out, giving it a good shake before drying it as best she could.
     
Hope sighs and shakes her head.  Well, the book could be replaced if need be.  She dries herself off and dumps the rest of the glass into the sink.  Hair of the dog didn’t work for hangovers, and it never worked for vomiting.  Wrapping the towel around her body, Hope goes to the kitchen and finds a box of Ritz crackers.  She eats five, and her stomach begins to growl.  How long had it been since she’d eaten?  This morning?  This afternoon?  Last night?     

It was still early in the evening.  Too early to sleep really.  Hope dresses again, this time in a nightgown of pale lavender satin.  Lavender was one of her favorite colors, but she rarely wore it.  It wasn’t a color that garnered respect.  Hope attaches the window locks, and then she goes to her blue sofa.  She selects another book to read and stretches out on the blue couch, the soft music still playing.  


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