Minding my own business, is dangerous

You wouldn't think so, but walking down 10th yesterday morning minding my own business turned out to be just that, dangerous. Not impressed with the outcome.

So, here's how it happened:

I was walking back to the office, with coffee. I like to get coffee from the Firehook. Their double espresso - is pure awesome.

So, there I was carrying my coffee back from the Firehook at Columbia Square on 13th - heading to my office, minding my own business and something hit my right shoulder.
WTF?
I didn't bump into anyone, and there was no one who could've bumped into me.
Something hit me - kinda by my collar bone, just maybe half an inch higher.

Annoying.

Unexplained.

My coffee did not spill. (Lucky!)

I carried on walking. It wasn't until I lifted my cup to my mouth that I noticed my arm felt a little unresponsive. I switched my coffee to the other hand, let's protect that precious liquid at all costs.
When I tried to rotate my shoulder, to loosen it... it complained loudly. Sending sharp pain down my arm.
My brain said, "That's not right."

I kept walking. No sense being a drama queen in the middle of the sidewalk. It wasn't that far back to the office. I had quite the dilemma... I couldn't hold my coffee and make a phone call at the same time. I'm left handed phone user - which should've been fine, but I had my cup in my left hand!

Anyway I got to our building, set my cup on one of the large square bollards out front - they kinda make an attempt at planters but fail. Pull my phone off my belt, discover that to be quite painful. (I wear it on the front right, next to my gun.) Here I was right outside the building, so close to a few uniformed agents that I could asked for help... but that seemed so, well, dramatic. They weren't taking much notice of me, what with people walking past constantly and mine being a familiar face.

So, what to do? I leaned on the bollard/garden and called upstairs. I hadn't bothered to touch my shoulder but I was pretty sure the drip drip drip off my finger tips was blood.The sticky substance on my phone smelled suspiciously like blood. The thought that I'd done something monumentally stupid was simmering close to the surface.

Kurt answered his phone on the second ring. He went quiet when I told him I was outside dripping blood. Turns out he went quiet because he hung up and was RUNNING down the stairs. He flew out the door onto 10th.

No one hit me. Some bastard shot me. How fucn rude!

Now I have to type one-handed... and Delta are not happy, and woo hoo - I have my own protection detail. (Like that's going to fly for long!)

At least the shooter was shit. Must've been close too - probably in a door way, semi obscured... yeah, let's go with that. Maybe a silenced handgun. Possibly 9mm. It's not that big a hole.

Disgruntled lunatic? Fucktard?

I have to go now.

Ellie.

Killing the dead.

Not zombies.

(Although... no,no,... he is not a zombie.)

There was an incident and it makes no sense.

Pretty sure everyone who attended was left feeling the same way. It makes no sense.

My husband is dead. I was there. Okay not when he actually died, because that was on an operating table at Inova Fairfax and they wouldn't let me in to observe. But he is dead.
In fact, I had him cremated. (Yep, there I go flouting tradition... pissing his family off and adhering to the terms of his will all at the same time.)
There is a headstone in a cemetery, and buried beneath it are his ashes.
It's pretty final.
Not many people survive death and then cremation.

So, the incident.

We all know Mac didn't go quietly - right? He talks to me -always has. Messenger windows were his thing for along time, then text messages from beyond, then I'd see him places. Once Carla did too... that was weird. Having Kurt hear a male voice come from the bathroom when it was me talking to a dead guy... that was weird.
But this... this is fucked up.

This was - ah, crap... this was this:

He started to stand up, as he did, my hand wrapped around the grip of my Glock. I lifted my arm. His face registered surprise.

“Ellie, don’t,” he said. I fired twice. My bullets tore through his forehead. Blood sprayed across the back of the couch. The gun fell from my hand, dropping into the coffee table and sliding across the surface to tumble off the edge onto the silent carpet. I watched Mac fall in slow motion. He crumpled onto the floor, just missing the coffee table.

A voice from the front door called out.

“Conway?”

“Living room,” I replied and sat back in the chair. I could see Mac’s blood all over the couch. I could see the bullet hole in the wall. I fired twice but could see only one hole. Hot damn, now that’s impressive shooting.

Booted feet ran up the hallway from both directions.

I saw the gun before I saw the man holding it. Sean stepped into the lit room, dressed head to toe in black.

“You all right?”

“Sure.”

He wasn’t looking at the couch or the floor or me. His steel grey eyes were on the right side of the room. Another man had come in behind him and he had the left. There were more feet out in the hall, going room by room.

“Clear,” they both said together.

Clear? Dead body. Hello. Blood all over the room.

“Did you do that?” Sean asked tilting his head toward the couch.

I nodded. “I shot him.”

“Who?” He attracted the attention of the man with him. “Could be a wounded man somewhere.”

“I killed Mac. Double tap to the head.” The words made no sense to me and I was the one saying them.

Sean frowned.

“Where is he?”

Oh, come on. Open your eyes.

“Right there,” I said pointing to Mac’s body between the table and the couch. I didn’t want to get any closer than I already was, just in case it wasn’t Mac but Whoopi Goldberg. My head was jumping about flashing between the present, my past, and the movie Ghost. I didn’t want to have shot Whoopi. She was one of my favorite actors.

Sean turned to the other man and said, “Stand down.”

I leaned back in the chair until my head touched the leather.

The smell of blood made me feel sick. Its cloying stench permeated the room. I don’t like the smell of blood.

“Can I get a drink of water?” I asked the armed man in black.

He pointed to the glass on the table.

I shook my head. “I don’t think that’s water.”

Sean picked my gun up off the floor and shoved it in his waistband.

“What now?” I asked Sean.

“Now, we make this go away.”

I killed Mac. That doesn’t just go away. Or does it. The bloodstains on the couch started to shrink. “What the hell?”

“Everything is going to be fine,” Sean said. I recognized his tone. I used it on Carla often enough, when she was upset or panicked over something. “Just breathe.”

“I’m okay.” Okay. Yep, I felt okay. I just put two bullets in my dead husband’s head and I felt okay. There were so many things wrong with that I couldn’t begin to comprehend them all.

The blood vanished. The smell evaporated. I stood up and peered over the coffee table. He was gone. The only thing left was the hole in my wall. “I’m okay.” Uh huh. Never better.

“Shall we listen to the audio?” Sean offered.

My head nodded without my bidding. Audio. Sound bites. I just hoped I was going to hear two voices and not just mine. The doubt was there and building.

He dialed into his office and then pressed a bunch of numbers. His phone was on speaker. We sat down and listened. Me talking to someone. Crackling, hissing, and a voice reply. Me talking again. The same crackling and hissing then another reply. Definitely a male voice replying. We listened to the whole thing. My yelling, his barely audible replies. What to believe?

“Can you hear it?” I asked Sean.

“Yes.”

“Not just me?”

“No, I can hear a male voice responding to you.”

The voice stopped with the gunshot.

“He was here,” I said. “I shot Mac.”

Sean nodded. “I heard him.”

“I don’t know how to process what happened here tonight.” Honesty tumbled from my lips. “I don’t know how to make sense of this.”

“Sit tight. I don’t know either, but I’m going to figure it out.”

A chicken walked across the coffee table. My first thought was one of finality. My brain was over cooked and I was done. The very familiar chicken stopped, turned, and looked at me with beady black eyes. Her rusty brown feathers shone in the light. Her name rolled around my mind, stirring up memories of her before she was nailed upside down to the door of my home in Mauryville. Abigail pecked at the pale table surface, pausing at the glass. She stuck her beak in and tasted the liquid. It didn’t agree with her. She shook her head violently and disappeared.

Great, first, I shoot my dead husband and now my pet chicken, who I incidentally also shot, comes back from the grave.

I curled my legs up underneath me. I needed a drink and I didn’t want water. I wanted to know what was in the glass on the table. Something chickens don’t like.

“What’s in that glass?” I asked.

Sean leaned over and sniffed it. “Tequila. You weren’t drinking?”

“No, Mac was.” And then Abigail tasted it and was highly unimpressed. Probably best to leave that out.

He turned to the other man and said, “Don’t touch this glass.”

Do you see my dilemma?
Can you imagine how Kurt is going to react to this?
This ghost thing has gotten out of hand.

Slighty unorthodox blog post... Romeo and the Chicken.

This is your chance to read part of 'Romeo and the chicken' a book written for 5 very cool kids. (And my first real attempt at a kids book. lol)

Click on the pictures to see them larger!
Obviously this is not the whole story. Due to the amount of downloads (yes, I have been watching, and that means I have logged the ISP's and I can find you - just so you know.)
I have removed the parts of the story pertaining the children and I shall again draw your attention to the copyright at the bottom of this post. The copyright has been there the whole time... it's not new. Downloading parts of this story are a copyright infringement UNLESS you have permission and I've only given download permission to one person regarding anything posted on any of my blogs - and that is someone from GAP and she has it in writing.)

And that is some of "Romeo and the Chicken"

copyright Cat Connor 2011.

Russian roulette is for retards...

But that's how you roll, be my freaking guest - shoot yourself in the head. As far as I can tell, that's one less fucktard for me to have to worry about. I am not going to be wasting my time trying to stop you.

Probably not the most politically correct blog title ever - and probably not ideal considering so many of the Foundation kids read this blog. Pretty sure you guys know my feelings on sheer stupidity by now, right?

Moving right along.

Rowan is still hounding me about going to another Grange concert - he assures me nothing bad will happen - he tried the "lightening doesn't strike the same place twice" line and I shot him down in flames. Hello - what about that guy who was struck seven times? Pretty sure Roy Sullivan would've disputed Rowan's argument! If you want to know more about the very lucky US Park Ranger from Virginia - go here.
Rowan changed tactics. He tried to convince me that hanging out with him on stage (is he insane??) or backstage (really I wanna look at his ass all night?... actually, that's not a bad view!) would be perfectly safe.
Hang on, let me enjoy the sound of a million woman sobbing when they read this... I'm pretty sure there would be a lot of women who would jump at the chance to hang out at a concert with Rowan. Sad for him that his girlfriend isn't one of them. I do have a pretty fucn respectable reason for my resistance.

Remember Christchurch? Not the earthquakes - although had I been at a concert during them, I wouldn't have been thrilled. No, not that. The kids, Hawk, the explosion, and the young woman I couldn't save - remember that?

Grange concerts (or any concerts) are not in my immediate future.

Meanwhile - it's the weekend, and I'm actually having one! :)

It's a Bon Jovi day...

I've got way too much energy for the waiting game I'm playing at the moment... it's driving me nuts. (Okay, more nuts...)

Why people expect me to be patient - I have no idea... it's not in my nature. I'm not the sit quietly and wait type. If I were I wouldn't have accomplished so much.

I hate it. HATE it.

I truly dislike the lack of communication I'm currently experiencing. Questions from at least two weeks ago unanswered. Chasing people and getting half answers or no answer at all, no matter how nicely worded, is fucking me off.

Makes me antsy.

Makes Mac start talking again.

Just recently I've been doubting his motives... but not today. I think he's right. I think I should be looking around, putting some lines out and see what bites. I have nothing to lose. And they're particularly dangerous words.

Ones eggs should not be all in the same basket.

Who knows, it might be kinda nice leaving the house without a sidearm and a badge, and being a normal regular human being. I can hear you laughing... I can't imagine me doing that either. But maybe I'd like to give it a try.
It's very much a maybe thing at the moment.

And yes, this is all because a case has hit a wall and I HATE waiting.

Or maybe it isn't... perhaps it's time to take up a few of these offers. I do know it's not going to be a transfer to SWAT - talk about hurry up and wait. :)

Meanwhile... I go talk to Cat and help her finish a scene. I'll just show her the images she can find her way around it after that, I'm sure. It's all about having a little faith.

And maybe some Bon Jovi won't hurt....

Finally - I think she's got it!

Afternoon boys and girls,

How is everyone today?

It's been a busy week for us here in Delta. Lot's going on, moderate to heavy case load. The usual.
Special Agent Ridiculously Good looking, Sam, and Kurt want me to say hi - so Hi!

Apparently, that's not funny. Uh huh. I hate to be the one who tells Lee, that, it's ALWAYS going to be funny.

The blog title? You wanna know what that means? I suppose I could tell you.

Cat's finished writing the 5th Byte novel - but she couldn't figure out something. It didn't matter how many times I tried to tell her, 'you started in the wrong place', she wasn't getting it. The thing she couldn't figure out makes sense when the story starts in the right place.
She must've finally heard me. Because she wrote a new first chapter... and - it works.

It's a little violent with it's imagery, but it works.

It's a lot freaking insane - but that too works.

Kurt is laughing - pretty sure he helped write that chapter.

That's all from us here at Delta A - we'll be back sometime.

- Ellie, Kurt, Lee and Sam.

Going around in circles...

It's me Ellie - I know it says it's Cat who posted this, but that's because I couldn't remember my log in so I used hers. Really, let's not be surprised. I think you'll find I'm lucky to remember my name at the moment.

Seems to be that sort of day... circles ever spiralling and getting nowhere.

Not so helpful.

Not so much fun either.

Dizzy making really.

I blaming this or him:

My head was so heavy that if I leaned down to get my cup I knew I’d fall off the sofa. I watched my fingers open and close. I watched, but couldn’t feel them. Was there pain? Not that I could determine. Heaviness, fog, stars swimming in front of my eyes. They needed to stay still.

I knew I was alone. That probably wasn’t good. What used to make sense seemed like hard work.

Slow motion. Sweaty, clammy, dizzy, sick. My left hand pulled my phone from my pocket. Who you gonna call?

It took forever to find Kurt’s number. The slowness frustrated me. I knew what I had to do but couldn’t seem to do it.

Forever became nothing. Time stood still. My thumb pressed the call icon on the screen. The phone rang. I couldn’t count the rings. I was trying but the numbers spiraled out of sight hiding behind the stars.

Then there was a voice spilling words. They weaved between the stars but couldn’t catch the numbers.

“I need you.”

His words jumped a tall building and swooped around me. “I’m coming. Don’t move.”

Two words hovered right above the coffee table.

“Don’t move.”

Fascinating. Sparkly.

I don’t know how long they were there or how long I watched them.

Maybe I closed my eyes.

Words came back. Clearer but not sharp enough for me to understand them.

More words.

The voice.

I knew it meant I was okay, I could hear him talking to me, but was clueless as to what he was saying and if I was answering.

There was something very wrong.

Something was on my face.

Slowly the room came back.

“Ellie?”

“Kurt.”

“Welcome back,” Kurt said with a small smile. “Can you tell me what happened?”

I pulled the mask off my face.

“I don’t know.”

The walls undulated, picking up pace and gathering the rest of the room into a writhing mass.

I knew what came next. I struggled to my feet with my hand over my mouth.

Kurt was right beside me. He knew too. I leaned on him, I had no choice, walking was supremely difficult. He opened the bathroom door.

I figured this would be funny one day.

We’d been here before, but last time he held my hair for me, it was self-inflicted. I did not do this to myself by drinking too much champagne. No, I did not. I ate a candy bar.

I ate a fuc’n candy bar. What the hell?

A cold towel was waiting when I stopped talking to the porcelain. I sat on the floor and hit the flush button feeling instantly sorry for short people without a decent reach.

“Feel better?” Kurt asked.

“I think so.” I took a breath. Black spots danced in front of my eyes. Saliva built up.

Oh God.

I leaned over the toilet bowl and hurled again.

Rinse and repeat.

Rinse and repeat.

Eventually even the gagging stopped.

“How about now?” Kurt asked.

“Yeah, no. Jesus, Kurt this is not good.”

He helped me stand. Shaky didn’t begin to describe how I felt. Swirling grey edged fog wafted in and over me. The floor wobbled away from my feet. Stumbling is so attractive. Way up there with vomiting and drooling.

“Kurt, I’ve been drugged.” I tried to get the wrapper from my pocket.

Oh boy...