Famous (The Soul of the World Book 1) by David Skato (best book reader .txt) 📗

to a stop on floor 18. The doors open, and the two walk down a hall typical for millennial employees. The murals delight with vibrant colors and images of people breakdancing, doing yoga, and beach bumming.   Jessi and Dontae make it to a room with a single strip of police tape across the entrance. The crime scene door is barely cracked enough for a body to squeeze through. Dontae’ pushes, but the motion is abruptly stopped by something blocking the door. They squeeze through. Once in, they both notice why the door would not open; desks are piled behind it. A cool but strong breeze brushes Dontae’s face as he looks towards the broken window. Paper floats on the wind throughout the room, with most of it planting on the back walls with nowhere else to go. As they walk closer, the sound from the footsteps connecting with the increasing depth of water left by the storm goes from a small pit-ty-pat to almost a gushing.  The glaring sunshine now beaming directly into the office building makes the wet floor appear like an endless pool. Dontae’ approaches a young Hispanic officer scratching his head as he holds his hat with the same hand.

“Give me a rundown of what happened.”

The officer, hat now firmly on his head, obliges the request. “When I first got here, I couldn’t get in.  The door was locked. I immediately called for backup and waited to make sure no one came out in or out.  After maintenance unlocked the door, we still had a little trouble opening it because the young lady had pushed several desks up against it.  After a couple of us pushed it opened, we have what you see here.”

Dontae’ takes a glimpse out of the window, then to the door.

“So she locked herself in?” he asks.

“Yeah. I guess. I guess she didn’t want any interruptions; when; as she; you know.”  He tilts his head in a “diving out of the window” motion.

Without responding, Dontae’ walks to the pile of desks and crouches to his knees. Just beyond his reach, he notices something. He takes his cellphone from his jacket pocket and uses it as an extra extension to slide the object towards him. Taking a plastic glove from another inner pocket, he picks up an ID card. He stands and holds it towards Jessi, who is following closely.

“Now we know how she got in,”' He quips.

Jessi takes a closer look and reads out loud. “Adonis Sterling.”

“How do we know it didn’t just fall off a desk when she pushed them?”

Dontae’ smirks. “Good question rookie. We don’t. But if you look at the clip-,”

he touches an alligator clip placed firmly on the top of the ID,

“-and noticed the sign in the lobby saying all employees must have badges clearly visible at all times, the odds are, he didn’t leave this at work.”

“I see,” She nods.

Dontae calls one of the uniformed officers over. He looks at his badge, which reads, “HernandoVasquez.”

“Got any evidence bags, Officer Vasquez?” He asks.

“Yes,'' Hernando responds.

He takes out a plastic bag and hands it to Dontae’. Dontae’ places the ID inside. He then walks to the window and looks out.

The wind strikes his face causing him to reflect on the fact this it’s much colder than on the ground level. He takes a bird’s eye view of the car that is now being placed on a tow truck, as well as a hearse carrying Rochelle’s body to the morgue. Seeing hearses always drudged up feelings of sadness in Dontae’. He would think about how that’s the person’s last ride. How would his last ride be? Would there be a parade of a hundred cars with a full police escort?  Would he be old because they say only the good dye young? He wasn’t good. But he wasn’t bad either. So, did that mean a middle-aged death? No. He was going to see retirement. He was going to see old age. He was - Bullshitting himself.

Something was different this time. His thoughts were different.  This time he thought about Rochelle, the person. Not just another body. He thought about having it all, then just like that, ending it. (stopped here)

He looks to the right and notices a piece of paper caught on the railing blowing and flailing in the wind. He takes a firm grip on the window frame just above his head. His shoes crunch and swept glass as he plants his feet firm on the wet ground.   He steps out on the ledge, being careful not to lean forward too much because that would result in a fall that Rochelle was all too familiar with.  He slides carefully to the right towards the paper, his back firmly against the wall.

“What are you doing?” Jessi hastily asks.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back,” he calmly responds.

Dontae carefully slides along the building, making sure to keep the back of his head pressed firmly to the wall. A slight slip causes dust to fall and sends Dontae’s heart racing as he struggles to find something to hold. After a couple of tries, he manages to grab onto another part of the window frame and catches his balance. He takes a deep breath and continues. He stoops down and reaches carefully for the sheet of paper. He picks up the paper and carefully slides back to the window and then into the building.

“What is it'?' Jessi asks.

“A note,” He hands it to her.

“Russian?”

“No. Looks like Latin.”

“I wasn't big on foreign language class.” She quips.

He looks around, “This is out of place.”

He takes a picture of the note with his cell phone then calls the officer over. “Put this into evidence with the rest of the things.” Also, get forensics to bag some of that soot by the door. I want to know what it is and where it came from.” The officer nods and walks away with the bag. Dontae’ looks out of the window to the adjacent building, where he can vaguely see a man