| abstract | - Isabella was already late for the briefing when she somehow managed to drop the keys into her cup of coffee on the way out the door. There was a muted ting as they hit the bottom, and as she paused in mid-stride, staring in disbelief at the steaming ceramic mug, the thick stack of files she carried under her other arm slid smoothly to the floor. Paper clips and sticky notes scattered across the tan carpeting. “Aw, crud.” She checked her watch as she turned back toward the kitchen, cup in hand. Albert had called for the meeting and 1900 sharp, which meant she had nine minutes to make the ten minute drive, find some parking, and get her late butt in a chair. The first actual meeting since the S.T.A.R.S. had been established-heck, her first meeting as a S.T.A.R.S. member, and she was going to be late. Muttering darkly, she hurried to the sink, feeling tense and angry with her self for not getting ready earlier. It was the case, the gosh darn case. She’d found her copies of the mission files, and spent all day examining everything, from the autopsies to the witness reports, which were few and far between, searching for something, heck anything, that the cops missed-and felt more and more frustrated as the day slipped passed and she’d fail to come up with anything new. She dumped the mug and scooped up her warm, wet keys, wiping them against her jeans as she hurried back to the front door. She crouched down to gather the files- and stopped, staring at the glossy color photo that had ended up on top. She picked it up slowly, knowing that she didn’t have time and yet unable to look away from the tiny, blood splattered faces. She felt the knots of tension that had been building up all day intensify, and for a moment it was all she could do to breath as she stared at the crime scene photo. Rebecca and Fossy Sweetwater, ages seven and six. She’d flipped past it earlier, telling herself there was nothing to see… When she’d first move back to Danville, she’d been under a whole lot of stress. Besides her two childhood friends and they occasional familiar face, all of which she has not seen in a year, she was truly alone. At one point, she’d been been giving serious though to just blowing out of town, just giving the whole “S.T.A.R.S.” thing up…… Until two little girls who lived across the street had shown up on her doorstep and asked her with wide, tear stained eyes if she was really a police woman. Their parents were at work, and they couldn’t find their dog. The pup had been wandering through a garden only a few blocks away, no seat- and she’d made two new friends as easy as that. The sisters had promptly adopted Isabella, showing up after school to bring here scraggy bundles of flowers, play in her yard on the weekends, and sing her many song that they had learned from movies and cartoons. For the first time in six years, she felt like she truly belonged in the community she lived and worked in. Six weeks ago, Becky and Fossy had wandered away from a family picnic in the Danville park- and became the first two victims of the psychopaths that have since been terrifying the nice city. The photo had trembled slightly in her hand, sparing her nothing. Becky was lying on her back, staring blindly at the sky/ Fossy was sprawled next to her, arms outstretched,. Both children had been dying of massive trauma, before they bled out. It they had screamed, no one had heard… Isabella fumbled her papers into her folder, then rushed into her little silver hatchback, and drove to the station, tears in her eyes…
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