Eavesdropping
Following his failure to find anything of substance in Rose’s apartment, Aydar found himself disheartened. He was frustrated at himself for making so many mistakes. Even through his meeting with Stephanie Greene was comforting, it was nice to have someone else to share theories with, he still felt stupid. After all, the rose in question wasn’t Pittus, it was Dorothy.
It made perfect sense. She was constantly sneaking around with her camera, taking photos, asking questions. But, despite their conviction that Dorothy had something to do with the murder, Stephanie and Aydar’s fixation on her whereabouts had lead to no new discoveries.
Just last night, as Aydar had sat outside of Dorothy’s apartment, his ear pressed to the door frame, he was startled by the sounds of a conversation inside. So he sat there, eavesdropping. Aydar was pretty sure that Dorothy lived alone, so the conversation puzzled him. Nevertheless, the snippets he overheard were boring, mundane at best.
“Coffee grinds.”
“Last thaw.”
“Negatives.”
Nothing he heard could incriminate Dorothy, yet he was sure that something was amiss.
It still puzzled Aydar how he’d ended up in this situation. Practically stalking the potential murderer of a man he’d never met. It seemed as through his life in New York had happened in a different century. Aydar opened the box that sat on his kitchen counter-top. He glanced at the broken shards of glass, the sad pieces of a skyscraper and the Statue of Liberty lying among white powdery flakes. The trauma of his brother’s death still followed him. Tomorrow was the anniversary of his hospitalization and despite the recent events, Aydar couldn’t stop from dwelling on the loss of his brother.
He had been a fixture in his life. Guiding him, comforting him, being his friend when no one else was. His absence had left a hole in Aydar’s life that he was desperate to fill, regardless of where it took him: a random town, the bedroom of a stranger, even the murder case of someone who had died in far more puzzling circumstances.
It made perfect sense. She was constantly sneaking around with her camera, taking photos, asking questions. But, despite their conviction that Dorothy had something to do with the murder, Stephanie and Aydar’s fixation on her whereabouts had lead to no new discoveries.
Just last night, as Aydar had sat outside of Dorothy’s apartment, his ear pressed to the door frame, he was startled by the sounds of a conversation inside. So he sat there, eavesdropping. Aydar was pretty sure that Dorothy lived alone, so the conversation puzzled him. Nevertheless, the snippets he overheard were boring, mundane at best.
“Coffee grinds.”
“Last thaw.”
“Negatives.”
Nothing he heard could incriminate Dorothy, yet he was sure that something was amiss.
It still puzzled Aydar how he’d ended up in this situation. Practically stalking the potential murderer of a man he’d never met. It seemed as through his life in New York had happened in a different century. Aydar opened the box that sat on his kitchen counter-top. He glanced at the broken shards of glass, the sad pieces of a skyscraper and the Statue of Liberty lying among white powdery flakes. The trauma of his brother’s death still followed him. Tomorrow was the anniversary of his hospitalization and despite the recent events, Aydar couldn’t stop from dwelling on the loss of his brother.
He had been a fixture in his life. Guiding him, comforting him, being his friend when no one else was. His absence had left a hole in Aydar’s life that he was desperate to fill, regardless of where it took him: a random town, the bedroom of a stranger, even the murder case of someone who had died in far more puzzling circumstances.
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