Drabble Advent Calendar - Dec 1 - Profiler
1 December. A Profiler drabble for velvetwhip who requested Jack/Grace.
The bedroom smells of cigarette smoke, and Grace freezes in the doorway. She knows he's no longer there - he never stays long enough to be caught.
Despite herself, she finds her resistance wearing down. It has been so long since she's been pursued. (Perhaps she should say something to someone; this is not a healthy path she is treading. This way lies madness, at the very least.)
This time he's left more than a scent; there is a long-stemmed white rose lying in the centre of the bed.
Maybe one of these days he will not leave before she arrives.
. . .
And there are still 6 days left up for grabs.
. . .
My mom and I were watching the Crime & Investigation channel over lunch. (Random and possibly scary fact: this is the most frequently watched channel in my house. Hmm.) Probably not the best idea to watch it while eating, but whatever. At one point in the programme, the narrator commented that the body was identified by a tattoo. The following conversation ensued:
Mom: Hmm, I should tell Eric. Maybe he could use that argument to get Dad's permission for a tattoo.
Mel: What? In case he dies and needs to be identified?
Mom: But I don't think your father will go for it.
Mel: And a tattoo won't help if he's too decomposed. Eric doesn’t need to worry though; he's got that pin in his thumb from when he broke his finger playing rugby.
Mom: Ah. Good point.
Mel: And I've had my wisdom teeth out, so you can use dental records for me.
Mom: Me too.
Mel: What about the other boys?
Mom: Well, Michael fractured his cheek when he was small. But we're going to have to do something to Donovan.
Mel: We could implant something. Or amputate his toes. He doesn't need his toes to play Playstation.
And so the conversation continued, in a similar vein.
So. Not. Normal.
The bedroom smells of cigarette smoke, and Grace freezes in the doorway. She knows he's no longer there - he never stays long enough to be caught.
Despite herself, she finds her resistance wearing down. It has been so long since she's been pursued. (Perhaps she should say something to someone; this is not a healthy path she is treading. This way lies madness, at the very least.)
This time he's left more than a scent; there is a long-stemmed white rose lying in the centre of the bed.
Maybe one of these days he will not leave before she arrives.
. . .
And there are still 6 days left up for grabs.
. . .
My mom and I were watching the Crime & Investigation channel over lunch. (Random and possibly scary fact: this is the most frequently watched channel in my house. Hmm.) Probably not the best idea to watch it while eating, but whatever. At one point in the programme, the narrator commented that the body was identified by a tattoo. The following conversation ensued:
Mom: Hmm, I should tell Eric. Maybe he could use that argument to get Dad's permission for a tattoo.
Mel: What? In case he dies and needs to be identified?
Mom: But I don't think your father will go for it.
Mel: And a tattoo won't help if he's too decomposed. Eric doesn’t need to worry though; he's got that pin in his thumb from when he broke his finger playing rugby.
Mom: Ah. Good point.
Mel: And I've had my wisdom teeth out, so you can use dental records for me.
Mom: Me too.
Mel: What about the other boys?
Mom: Well, Michael fractured his cheek when he was small. But we're going to have to do something to Donovan.
Mel: We could implant something. Or amputate his toes. He doesn't need his toes to play Playstation.
And so the conversation continued, in a similar vein.
So. Not. Normal.