Boredom is a police station.

The sound of staplers and the same old boring ringtone from every phone in this waiting area makes me want to rip out my hair even though this was the norm of after school. Dropped off from the bus after a long day of being a freshman in Northwest high, that private school out on the more rural part of the city surrounded by crops of slowly browning corn left unattended for months.

When I gazed at the streets glossy with rain as kids from the public school took their bikes and skateboards home, few even boarding the subway in groups I felt jealous. That's the life I want but can't get. Because I'm a royalleaf, hiding away from fireleaves that are supposedly living in the city with no proof of their existence whatsoever except for a case that my father can't get his head out of, missing dinner and even sending me home with his annoying coworker.

Not that I'm less intrigued by the investigation with the dead teen being the talk of high school, her band's music being scattered about in my playlist, and the poster of them in my room between the Himalayan salt lamp on my nightstand and a glass cat which was a gift from my mother in California after her and my dad split due to a disagreement about his job and how he nearly lost his life in driveby near the seven-eleven while he was eating a hot dog with one of his buddies, who wasn't a private investigator but a friend who turned out to be a kidnapper on the hideout.

For obvious reasons like her abuse of alcoholic beverages cut her out of the custody fight but still didn't mean that she wasn't working on sobering herself up just to come back and take me away from her ex-husband, Detective Dale Arne of the NYPD.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, down for the count after a long bus ride here, my charger somewhere tucked in the drawer of my room hidden under mounds of clothes just to discourage my unemployed uncle from coming down with a case of sticky fingers.

Just so you know, he didn't lose his job due to the stock market crash he so-called claimed happened (He worked in a thrift store on the outskirts of town) but instead lost his job due to sticking his hand a bit too deep in the cash register. It's a special kind of paradise for him and a pure tragedy for me and his elder brother, taking the joke of professional television watcher to a brand new level.

I slumped down against the cold metal bars holding the plain-colored worn cushion of the chair intact. Everything in this giant room of uniformed people with the same neutral expressions, half-empty water bottles, and particularly eaten bags of chips from the vending machine in the main lobby was draining me of any creativity what so ever aided with the sound of my father's voice every time I asked him more about the case involving Storm Jones, the local seventeen-year-old background singer that most people known as the kid singing with the boy who looked oddly like a passed away singer in the 90's named Kurt Cobain while the bass player and vocal backup girl resembled a more older singer from a band that the classic fangirls called "The Marvelettes". I knew of neither but took the word of the gossipers.

It was something about Storm that made my father prolong the case even after her burial early this morning. She was royalleaf, the scent was glued to her blood during the autopsy. I would have never guessed that about the spunky favorite of many fans because our kind was known for hiding out of the human public eye.

Only fireleaves fearlessly walked among humans, remaining unharmed no matter how many patrols were sent out to chase them out of the territories they toured near. Fireleaves are stronger and way more street smarter than us, disowning their traditional ways and using it against us because the royalleaf faith in folklore was an unshaken weakness, but we would never admit that.

The sunlight drifting through the half-opened door shimmering against the redwood desks lined up in an almost classroom-like organization. I pulled myself upward as the sound of footsteps against the marble floors, it was a clanking like a woman's heels. Probably one of the secretaries around here. As I guess, the door opened revealing a new woman, younger than most people in the entire office but from what I was guessing was somewhere around her early thirties, a folder full of unsorted papers clutched in her left arm.

My eyes caught a glimpse of the necklace hanging from her throat by a silver chain, a stone the color of the ocean itself glimmering at the hollow. I wasn't sure what kind it was, but from the dull shine and mother's strange infatuation with shiny things, I knew it was an artificial fake. I always guessed that it had something to do with her powers, the way she would lift her hand over drainpipes and pull free coins and other metal treasures. It was our way of personal bonding, picking out what lost items would be taken to the pawnshop and which ones would become someone's Christmas present.

Dad always called it a form of stealing but it was a fine line between what he would do to stop her if he didn't want her to snatch him by all the badges and buttons he wore. I could smell the scent of coffee filling the air, wafering from the wide-open space. The woman looked straight ahead at me, a wide grin plastered across her face as the pen in her hand clicked nervously, "You must be Detective Arne's daughter, if it wasn't for the backpack I would have guessed you were a worker here."

"Ah, you are quirky! I like you.", I commented in my head as she pushed up her horn-rimmed glasses up her nose, clearly too big for her narrow face.

"Yes."

She didn't have to say anymore. I reached for my bag, throwing it over my shoulder with slight ease as the only thing inside was a Chromebook and a few papers kept tight by paperclips. She nodded slightly in response. The dispatchers shot annoyed looks at the secretary in the middle of the aisle, pausing from their writing to act as if they weren't watching cat videos in the second tab.

Her hand was extended for me to shake, one gold ring on her finger in the shape of a crown of autumn leaves, silver engraved on the band. Wedding ring. Married. It would be much easier for her to juggle her job and life with a family than most of these people working here. Three shifts for the people that worked her job and she had afternoon which still did not rule out the fact that jobs take away from family time.

I shook her extended hand, her nails unintentionally grazing the palm of my hand. She led me through the doors after the short moment for bonding between a new coworker of my father that probably wouldn't stay in this shift long enough for me to even get a few icebreakers out of her. Each office was occupied with someone sitting at their desk with papers scattered about on a flat wood of the same redwood color. Most of them seemed occupied by nothing, enjoying the gentle breeze drifting through the partly open window.

"So how is it like being the daughter of one of New York's lead detectives, having a bit of action in your life and hanging out here?" Her cheerful voice made me tense, it was extremely rare having anyone here seem so happy about anything. It was either the somber feeling that hung in the air after a crime that left someone dead or like today, just boredom.

"It's good, I guess." I shrugged my shoulders, wishing that I had some kind of name to call her by. She was so excited to have someone to talk to that she forgot to give the base to any conversation.

"Oh, when I was growing up back home in Ohio I wished for a life like this. I lived with a widow dad like you-"

A phone rang in the background of the lobby, "My mom isn't dead, Mrs."

"Sorry, and my name is Mrs. Hilton. Like Paris Hilton."

I massaged my temple out of habit, slightly confused by her fast speaking and wide non-disappearing grin, "It's fine, you can just call me Jay."

"Like the bird?", She asked.

"Yes, like the bird."

My father's office loomed up ahead, the shinny gold plated plack stuck to the door, light brown engravings of his surname on it. Sunlight drifted from the window with shadows cast down on the floor from the tall tree in the window giving both shade and uniqueness.

"I guess you can make the rest of the way."

Mrs. Hilton nearly dropped her papers from her tight grip in the crook of her arm before catching the greater majority of the few slipping and hitting the floor in which I reached for, placing them on the already disorganized stack she had.

"Thanks, Jay, you're the sweetest."

"Don't mention it." I returned a smile, hoping that I hadn't come off rude or annoyed at the least, her jumpy personality seemed more like a front to handle her minors. It was easy to tell this woman had no children or like most of the wealthy living in this city who had nannies or assigned family members raising them.

It was very common among my friends and schoolmates, all living in giant condos or homes near the outskirts, coming home to anyone but their parents, and from the way, Mrs. Hilton was dressed and carried herself, she was one of those people if she had kids at home.

Peaking in, my father leaned over his desk with countless notes written in his fine cursive writing that still after years and years of tracing, the idea of forgery was almost an impossible task for me. Dad was a young-looking man, slow to age like almost every royalleaf, their strong genes and almost unbreakable bond to powers and traditional ways of self-care were one thing we still had beat against the fireleaves if nothing else was going for us.

His fingers return to the keyboard inches away from his hand which was still writing down more things from the computer screen, white reflecting onto his glasses.

"Come on it, Jay, and shut the door behind you, please." His calm voice soothed me, regardless of what he was doing, he was sure to have a calm reaction to the problem.

"Hi to you too, Dad!" I pulled the door shut, then walked straight to the small black mini-fridge in the corner covered in family pictures and old sticky notes he hadn't had time to throw away yet.

The cold air rushing from the open fridge chilled my fingertips, but my stomach dropped at the sight of an empty rack, left unstacked, which was extremely strange for Dad. He lived off the yogurt cups and coke that usually filled the storage. Disappointed, I shut the door and sat down in the seat right behind the black desk where Dad sat.

"How was school today, honey? Any homework?"

I shook my head, "No homework but plenty of work in Spanish today."

He looked up from his computer for a split second, running his hand through his brunette, wavy hair just like the few patches in mine, "I thought you liked that class, you've always gotten good marks in Spanish."

Playing with the strings on my jacket, I leaned on my father's shoulder as I had always done, even before we lived in New York. It was quite an eventful time in my life back then when I was free to run through the streets playing ding dong ditch with my cousins and the other children of royalleaf descent, in our little world.

Dad was happier then and so was Mom, things weren't so chaotic. But that was long before the prosecution of royalleaves had begun after the death of one of our leaders, Lace. She was the only thing keeping the peace, but now, after her betrayal of the kingdom of her people, we aren't allowed to even speak the name of her or her group of misfits bound together by lust and their false hopes of ending the hate between fireleaves and royalleaves, giving it up to pursue a romantic relationship.

Attacks started taking place on the borders of our hometown, dead members of our group would come back on the shoulders of our patrol leaders, tired somber expressions as it became a nearly daily reoccurring event. It took the split of the community to silence the wars on the borders.

"I do, Dad. It's just that-, you know with all the talk about finding fireleaves and the death of Storm. Doesn't it remind you of the grove?" I thought that I wasn't worried but quickly found out that I was only lying to myself for the sake of my father and self.

He gave a slight sigh, placing his pen down on the desk on top of one of his half scribbled on notes, one I guessed he'd return home with later, covered in bright yellow highlights.

"The fireleaves at the grove were way more hostile than any of the ones hiding in the city, yes, you have to worry about making the wrong move, but that is natural to us as the stronger society to be persecuted." Dad said it like he was completely sure about every single word that left his lips as he always had. Trying to be strong for me.

"But we shouldn't have to worry about our lives constantly. I can't even go to the restroom without having a friend accompany me at school. And we aren't stronger than them, I can barely use my powers without being sent to the hospital for "electricity" burns." I would never forget the look of confusion on the nurse's face as my father stuck to the lie. They always conceded and treated the electricity marks on my fingertips, seared with a slight black and bluish color.

When my mother was still living with us, I was prepared for a scolding and one of her famous swats with a speech about the traces I left even though she used her powers whenever she had a chance. Father was different, still discouraging me to use my abilities but not stressing the fact after being a complete hypocrite.

"You are young, Jay. Fighting them should be far from your mind. We don't know if this girl was innocent or dealing with them and broke a promise. Some fireleaves are far from hostile and just want to live normal lives but our kind won't let them."

I couldn't quite process the fact he was taking up for the people who killed our friends with no hesitation whatsoever. Sitting up, he cut me off before I could even speak against his bizarre opinion.

"Let me show you something."

He leaned over the small flower stand to reach for his unzipped bag, pulling free a leather-bound book of huge size, sticky notes, and folded pages, a book I knew about from my childhood studies at the Grove when it was more cared for, weaved and put together by our librarians and their assistants in their part of town. It was little more than a foggy memory now, after all those years of rural living were replaced with urban life.

The engraving on the front of the book had faded away into the dark brown leather, leaving quite the mystery of what the book was,  gone since most of the memories of the things I was forced to study left only small traces of common knowledge and random thoughts.

He flipped it open with a single hand, one of the sticky notes highlighting his wanted page, pictures flipped over so their white backside held the page for him. His eyes scanned the slowly yellowing page before him, lowering one finger to the bold words on the left of the page.

The prints had been done with much skill, very few out-of-place splotches of ink staining the page on the margins, barely noticeable.

He landed his finger on a highlighted group of words, so small I had to strain my eyes to make out the print, scribbles of notes and arrows giving life to the ink in blue and black like clouds of smoke dotting across a sky made of pure white ice, hinted with yellow from the sun's glow.

Notable Fireleaves:

Applauded that such a column would be found in a book written by royalleaf scholars who were known for their bitter discrimination towards fireleaves, I can't help but feel awe. It was a revised version, written with added information when Lace and her group were still alive, before her betrayal and sudden death with her beloved. Still, their bodies had been left unretreaved from the fireleaf mazes that had been sent crumbling down, mounds and mounds of cement and stones killing anyone who'd still been down there.

It feels weird knowing that every time I walk on the pavement, I could be walking on their graves and that even though I was aware of the destroyed passageways, the humans knew nothing of what hid under the caved ground or the graveyard that it had now become. To them, it was little more than an off-limits area on the edge of town.

*Myth Savas
*Ople Night
*Finn Wolfgang
*Lace Withers
*Adam...

The list was short as expected, holding about twenty unrecognized names among the three I knew compared to the list of humans on the other page who offered their assistance in the past. I bobbed my head slightly, soon when this book would be revised, Adam and Lace would be marked out. The betraying bastards. Maybe Finn too, but his past had been polished with good deeds and he still lived a noble life with his family and lover in the hidden German town of Snow where magic was a normal practice.

"Lace was raised as a royalleaf her entire life, you know. Disowning her other side just to protect what meant the most to her." Dad placed a finger right above her name.

"But she took sides with her father, the man who wanted us all dead."

Dad shakes his head, "And if you look deeper into the story, she and Adam led him and his posse into the tunnels, the unstable tunnels. They knew that the only way to kill him was to seemingly betray us, so that's what they did at the cost of their lives."

I'd heard that conspiracy many times before but still made no sense to me. Lace could have easily won against him with her abilities or left the fight to more experienced royalleaves. But instead made an oath to her father, who at the time went by the name Ice.

"It wasn't the only way!"

Dad calmly shut the book back up, "You would have to be in her situation to understand her reasoning. She was too loyal to stop right in the middle of her fight with her murderous father just to take sides with him."

I nodded respectively, even though none of it made quite any sense to me. My father had met Lace before, it must have been something during that interaction that concreted his trust in the dead half-blooded royalleaf.

"What was she like?"

"Like any other teen girl back then, but it was easy to tell that she had confidence in the work that she was doing."

Dad whistled to himself through his tightly pressed lips as the night drew closer, engulfing the sun with a steady fading blackness and the speckles of stars against a sky that would never be completely black with lights of the city reflecting upwards. Bright yellow flowed from the street poles like sunshine while in the distance, straight past the abandoned danger zone stood the empire state building, only the view of the roof could be seen and star-like light hovering above.

I dreamed of running under the giant towering building and embracing the true royalleaf I am, leaping off the concrete and using street signs and park benches as railings to steady myself as my wrist and palms screamed out in pain from pushing myself off the towering glass windows with enough force to send a full-grown man sprawling. But I wasn't free. New York never slept. It was better if that fantasy stayed in my head, fading away like a dream behind my skull.

The outskirts where our apartment was between two other complexes seemed silent, nothing but the sound of a few shady-looking men talking in hushed voices at the mouth of an alleyway half-lit by the lighter the one with the grey windbreaker had in his hand, a bright orange flame bouncing on the wick by the wind's force. And still, these men seemed less interested in us than my uncle was in getting a job.

"Don't stare at people, Jay, it's rude and causes more attention than we can afford to handle at the moment." Dad says as he keeps his hand over his pockets with his bag full of files for him to stare at over a cup of tea with the television playing in the background while he hoped that I was sleep, resting for the next morning. Instead, I would go straight to the book room and look over his old murder cases that he'd cataloged in perfect order.

A sting of embarrassment at his calm but yet sharp response to my roving-eyes made me gnash my teeth together. He expects me to stay as neutral as possible, but it's hard when my interest in a normal life sometimes got ahead me, the want to fit into with the other kids and be normal and curveballs that I just couldn't keep up with. And the death of the Phantom Sun girl wasn't helping.

"But aren't they just humans?" I whisper so only the words touch my father's ears as a car roared past us, sending a thick cloud of grey smoke up in the air like the puff from a smoker's lips. The bright headlights lit up the night for a second before disappearing into the darkness of the curve.

"With guns and a will to protect themselves. Yes, they are humans and even they can be superior to us. And that doesn't make them bad, it makes them like us." His voice sounds hollow and lacking it's normal confidence as he forget his own advice to me and glances back at the three men, a cigar hanging out the right jaws of all of them, still, keeping their heads low in conversation. The look was brisk before he returned back to walking and blowing his breath in the slowly chilling air.

A boy on a bike, probably somewhere in his mid teens paddled pass with a box attached to the back of the seat, where a basket lay lightly between the wheel and the seat but not heavy enough to cause it to topple over. His bronze-colored eyes flashed in the light of the moon as he looked straight at me and then at Dad, who dipped his head in greeting. His eyes glimmered supernaturally, matching the tips of his hair against ebony skin as his head dipped to show respect.

His plaid long-sleeved tee-shirt was rolled up at the sleeves while a silver necklace holding a crystal pendant of a person I knew better than anyone hung just below his neck. One of the royalleaf deities who's entire existence was proven false only a few years in the past when the ally fireleaves took on jobs in the scientific field and found that it was no connection between us and the moon, sun, and shadows but rather just a complex DNA structure that formed and breed for centuries until it became dominate.

The boy gripped the handlebars of the silver bicycle before jerking the wheels with a unnatural speed, sending him down the plight stairs that led down to lower ground and more pavement, the moon goddess charm still glittering and dancing at the hollow of his throat like a tiny star as the feminine carving still held its beauty. Even through the norm would be a shake as each stair when up and down, he seemed to glide with the bike as if they were both as light as a feather floating in the wind.

My heart felt weak seeing another child like me and yet nervous and heavy with a feeling I couldn't quite call to mind as the bike thrust forward off the last step and turned towards where nothing but darkness and dead silent buildings stood on hollows of tunnels that could collapse under the gentle weight of a cat. Intrigued, but remembering my Dad's words, I snapped my head back around despite the growing curiosity as the bike grew smaller and smaller the farther royalleaf boy rode off into the moonlight lit darkness.

The heavy aura and scent of pine leaves still hung in the air around us, mixing with me and Dad's aura.

"Did you see his eyes-."

He shot me a look as another one of my curious questions fell from my lips before I could stop it. Yes. He had seen the copperish glimmer that only one of us could achieve because of the newness of our souls compared to the those of humans and fireleaves who both carried the same dullness and hardly any control over their bodies beyond the criterion. I nodded with respect before losing myself in a thousand questions that I would probably rush to the book room to search through a old file to figure out with some what limited and expanded information but all for the wrong things.

Red bricks stacked high above the electric lines stood only a feet away down the block, windows carved out in the red and grey concrete barricaded large fancy made windows, each with their own assortment of colors that made the curtains give a bit of personality card towards the apartment owner. Some window seals held old dolls faded from the sun while others, glass figurines, sun catchers and unique bottles reflecting colors of yellow, aqua blue and pink onto the clear glass, tinting it.

Counting each floor by the window rows, I found the two windows that made the kitchen and the bookroom's section off wall which split them apart only leaving a narrow doorway to lead you into the other room.

A dim lamp light lit the kitchen while the book room, as usual was pitch black with little dream catchers my mother made years ago when she wasn't stressed to the point that liquor became her friend and the motherly activities seemed to come to nothing. Now all was left was a few trinkets out the city drains and old crafts packed tight in boxes or hidden in random places in the apartment.

Dad tightened his fingers around mine as he stepped off the sidewalk, but yet, I couldn't find myself protesting against this show of affection. He wanted me safe. But with more royalleaves in the city, that might mean we could come out of hiding. The more of us, the more powerful as a whole.

A soft tingling brushed the skin of my wrist and insides of my nose. Despite the biker boy had long disappeared in the dark night, the hundreds of people and faces in this large city would make finding him again a nearly impossible feat.

My breath took to the slowly chilling air as the fall breeze finally surrendered to the cold of the slowly creeping winter when Christmas came and the air was filled with the smell of warm cookies and artificial pine trees sprayed down with a peppermint oil which seemed to still hang on through the best of January. That was one thing I could thank New York for. New traditions to adapt to with much more happiness than our old traditional royalleaf holiday of Newfars, where everyone bragged about status where the humans seemed more content with the fact that they could spend time with family and friends.

Dad walked in the bright yellow lights glinting against the grey and yellow road, our footsteps in sync with other as the gentle taps of his well made leather work shoes made him seem taller than he really was. I sniffed one last time, but came back with the realization that the boy was gone. The chance of finding a companion close in age with the same thing that made us practically a target practice had disappeared with him.

Someone who probably knew the struggle of being forbidden from doing the normal things in life. But he seemed to carefree from the way he threw his bike, clearly using his powers with no regards to the humans in the alley or even us. He acted almost like- a fireleaf.

"I thought I told you about bringing strangers into my house, Andrew. Especially ones that we don't have a clue about." I could hear all the codes in Dad's voice, each and every rule put in one weak sentence to just a stray ear. But to the three of us standing in the middle of the kitchen in the light of a steady burning candle so bright it nearly mimicked the sun, it meant everything.

We are royalleaves for god's sake! Why would you bring some humans in our home with such carelessness in this oasis! My daughter can't even bring a friend over without me pretending to be sick and sending them to the library with money for food. And then I have to spy to keep her safe....

I could hear it just like the skinny brunette man across from me could through the sentence just before he retaliated with a sneer, "Maybe you shouldn't send weirdos here by practically leaving your address to any client then hoping and praying they won't stop by."

My uncle looked barely in his early twenties, freckles dusting his cheeks like specks of flex seed, matching his eyes and a nearly vampiric grin with two sets of unusually sharpened teeth poking from his hidden gums. One of greatest talents was concealing his age to get anywhere he wanted, pretending to be younger than he really was to get sympathy or brownie points. But when he declared his real age was thirty nine, it turned heads. Lots were shocked with awe but most shrugged him off as just some lying college kid.

Sighing, my dad looked at his younger brother with a look of challenge, a high energy raising as his nails buried themselves into the oak wood of the dinner chair, nearly crushing the wood. Slowly, cracks began to grow in the halo.

This is when I feared my father most. When the little power I felt inside of me disappeared. He forgot the humans in the living room who I still hadn't got to catch a glimpse of, concealed by the mint green walls only allowing a straight shot view of the television's glowing blue light reflecting on the walls as a slight voice from the speakers told me it was a rerun episode of "Malcolm in the middle." A show that aired before I was born but I found humorous.

Andrew puffed out his broad chest, letting the hair flip to cover one of his eyes as an innocent but yet patronizing expression on his face like a mask just to annoy my father more and more. "Dale, it's humans in the living room. Remember what mom used to say when the book club came over?"

Dad glanced up at his brother, finally easing up on the chair that was slowly crumbling away from the pillars that held up the backing, "I hated that book club, just a bunch of clucking old woman with wine glasses restraining me. That was before you injured one and forced us to move to the reserve but you ran away to the city."

"You injured a human? How?" I turned straight to my uncle, who's eyes glowed with mischief as I stepped forward, the chair bridge touching the soft spot of my ribs, my thin frame barely bigger than the kitchen chair itself.

Dad whipped his head around to face me, forgetting about the rising tension between him and the man he called his brother. The one he still blames for everything that happened to the reserve because he was too coward to fight. Too coward even though it was nothing he could have done but die.

"Save it for another time, and you-." He nodded at me with a deep commanding tone like a chief giving out orders, "Go see if the guest would like any tea. Be nice to them and act normal."

I shook my head, my hair slapping my cheeks with each turn but truly disappointed that I couldn't hear the story of my uncle and my late grandmother's book club, "And if they don't want any?"

"Keep conversation, but don't let them pry. If they say anything odd or out of the way, come straight back to the kitchen and let us handle it."

Nervous jitters took to the pit of my belly as his words settled and a white light glimmered in the corner of his left eye like the moon. I knew he didn't want to fight them, but to protect the only child he had, I knew he'd rip them to shreds with one motion. My throat ran dry at the thought of blood dripping from the couch and humans left as lifeless hollows.

But the humans have guns. And guns kill anything with a heart. Anything with a life faster than reaction. Humans are vulnerable without them when it came to fighting but when with it, we are the ones that are under their control. A bullet faster than a crashing bolt of our natural energy could ever be. Their wits from years and years of extra academic practice dealing the killing blow.

Shaking my head, giving the slight jitters their own shape, I walked around the table and to the living room, attempting to silently release the thousands of butterflies trapped in the pit of my belly rising as if this was a job interview instead of just two guest in the living room. But that was the point. These two just might be what causes us to leave the city.

"Well ain't that a bite!" A soft southern sounding voice came from the room before I could even cross over to the well lit room, kept bright by an electric lamp that ran nearly all day, with what I guessed was the world's best lightbulb, surviving since I was young.

The voice was female, I was sure but had a edge to it that wasn't like the Hilton secretary at my Dad's work but more like the voice a woman from a time long gone on one of those old recordings except, this time it was remastered to fit into a modern world and stand out like a sore thumb.

I glanced over the mantelpiece where ten glass figurines of an assortment of animals collected from unique places like the garage sales on the rural side of the outskirts, then down at the guest who hadn't even noticed that someone had entered the room, sitting comfortably on the old burgundy couch. Both, seemingly close in age, but couldn't be more different.

A wide expanse kept the man and woman apart, the woman with her eyes glued to the television, the blue, white and red white lights sparking against her narrow face, fading freckles dotting the bridge of her nose while she sat up right with her legs crossed respectively, just below the knees covered with a violet colored dress, robust in designs but yet casual in it's own unique way accompanied by jet black hair pinned up by a hair clip.

The man beside her on the other hand bore a striking resemblance to a face that had been printed in the local news paper since the death Storm, even though most of his face was covered by a mound of long, stringy, dirty blonde hair, the tips touching his nose while the back reached to his shoulders. But he had his own style, his own look from the band leader, with a less sharper jawline and brighter eyes. A notebook from off the polished oakwood was clutched tight in his hand, the cardboard backing falling apart in his hand as his blue ink pen moved across the white paper with a delicate grace, marks of blue on his palms and the fold-over sleeves of his checkered sweater, intentional art spiraled down the faded parts of his blue jeans.

I gripped the fabric of my shirt between my fingers, afraid to break their attention from the things that were clearly keeping them busy until my father finally found it in him to find out what would bring them here on a Thursday, the rush and urgency that Andrew claimed they had about a hour ago seemed to be subsided.

"Excuse me, would either of you like tea?"

The fancy-dressed woman turned to me slowly, still watching the sitcom as if it was a daytime soap opera rather than a comedy, "No Sweetheart, we're just waiting on Dale."

I guessed she'd spoken for both of them since the man on the right of her still seemed not to care about a thing around him, so consumed by the paper and pen that I was nothing but a fly on the wall to him. The woman returned her eyes back to the old box set tv, one that had came with the apartment.

I felt at a loss. Make conversation. But how? Why?

"Good afternoon, how may I help you?" My father's voice came from over my head like a therapist addressing his patient.

Finally, the man responded to my Dad's voice still looking uninterested but respectful enough to give him full attention, two bright blue eyes like lasers looking above my head as if I wasn't even here. The woman broke her attention with the television, a wide smile taking to her face for only a moment before it dropped and her smile turned into a less enthusiastic grimace.

"Hello Mr. Dale, thank you for seeing us." The man ran his fingers through his messy hair in a attempt to make it seem as if he was serious about this appointment made at the spare of the moment, a friendly and yet hushed tone. He extended his hand out, handmade yarn bracelets with tiny brown beads within the yellow chains, red nail polish chipped up to the nail beds. My dad moved past me to take his hand, firmly shaking it and exchanging a whisper of greeting before moving on to the the woman, who politely obliged.

The man kept his hand outstretched towards me, dipping his head scantily. Taking it, he gave me a lighter one, his palms rough in a few parts while other parts had a soft feeling. He smiled and let go, turning back to my father. His eyes seemed to burn a image in the back of my mind, but I shook it away.

"We'd like to report a murder." The woman pulled out a powered pink handkerchief from a sown on pocket on the left of her dress, a scarlet color collected in certain spots, speckling it like stars from the folded creases to the well-crocheted square ends, the design made in a aran.