“We did not find anything,” BJ said clumsy. His face was red and you can bet that he wanted to be doing to make a good figure in front of his comrades.
“I’m sure,” she replied, who happened to be a tall woman, certainly not a giant, but high enough to overtake some of them from her leather heel boots. She was called Lorna, who was also a name she always liked, maybe a bit rough, but a nice name that was nice and reassuring to her job.
“You will find that we will find something,” she said looking over them, a good piece beyond the square, definitely at a distant point where the Douglas Firs had escaped the slaughter, and where the light was not going to get in.
9.19 a.m. As soon as the light was rising, the Douglas Firs pointed to the rigid sky. It was one of those lights that hurt their eyes, they were silent and did not give up. She had somehow done a reason, but the others did not, and they had all the Ray Ban supplied, they were not even on some South Boulevard, a nice piece to the South. The Pacific Northwest’s climate was something Delicious, she thought intensely. She was somehow benevolent with the tracks, she knew it well. The boys had whispered behind her, and their information, or at least the ones she had on her, were scurrying in the morning silence that turned away on a livid day, full of nightdresses. She had wandered to them and was now at the end of the square, and she was bent over her knees, in an unequivocal position for a certain expert eye that no one of the county police boys had. Had he found something? You can bet. Any eye, one of those who roar on the billboards of which certain streets are scattered (but not the one who carried there, that was certain) would not see anything, just nothing. But pine needles were broken, unequivocally. They were broken in two, and the ground underneath it had a slight curvature, to say the truth was not too obvious, but there was. She passed his fingers slightly above, but the tip of his fingertips: a mild contact that she preferred to be ancestral, because she really was not touching anything but feeling everything because the earth talked to her, not even she was a medium or she knew so, Something like that. To be honest, many were convinced that what she really knew was voodoo or she was close to it. But it was not at all, what would then have served all those years of study, so beautifully beautiful? At that moment, in that contact, she began to know who had gone from there. It was a stage he liked to call first appointment. It was like seeing a person on a long night thinking about the features of the face, how he would react to a joke, in short, things like that. The only difference is that she did not think about it at all, she never really thought of how he was. She only had a fingerprint, often a micro portion of it, sometimes even that, but had left some marks.
[All Rights to Kyt Walken, 2017]