Washington Horror Blog

SEMI-FICTIONAL CHRONICLE of the EVIL THAT INFECTS WASHINGTON, D.C. To read Prologue and Character Guide, please see www.washingtonhorrorblog.com, updated 6/6//2017. Follow Washington Water Woman on Twitter @HorrorDC ....

Thursday, December 06, 2007

First Snow

Atticus Hawk and Bridezilla entered the VIP section for the White House Christmas tree lighting. It was bitter cold out, but Bridezilla was OK because she was wearing an early Christmas present--a white fox fur coat, a consolation prize for not being able to wear that other white thing yet. She had been hoping for diamonds and sapphires, but this was pretty good. She was very proud of Atticus today, knowing that his research had played a big part in the Supreme Court arguments yesterday about the 305 scumbags still held at Guantanamo Bay--who would have been executed in secret if any other nation had captured them! They stared in puzzlement at the sight of Clio, Regina, and Ferguson--who really looked out of place in the VIP section. Ferguson winked at Bridezilla, while Regina stuck out her tongue. "How did they get in?" Bridezilla asked Atticus.

"Reggie! What is wrong with you?! Fergie, come on." Clio planted a hand on each child's neck and steered them away from the ritzy young couple, moving closer to the front where one of the guards could get them a better view. Regina looked up expectantly at the still darkened tree, but Ferguson was looking around at the crowd. He had seen many of these people before and remembered them, especially former Senator Evermore Breadman--who was also disconcerted by an incomprehensible wink from the creepy child. Breadman resolved that this would be his last year at the event--it was too damned cold for this nonsense.

Not too far away, Laura Moreno was entering Bridezilla's empty Prince and Prowling office to drop off some more flagged documents. Laura noticed the quart-sized crystal jar of candy canes and chocolates that had been left on the desk in the same sweep of corporate gift-giving that had netted Laura and the other lowlies a small Prince and Prowling mug full of jelly beans. Laura walked back to her workroom, only to discover that her mug had just disappeared. She rolled her eyes and packed up her things to leave. On the way out, she saw a facilities runner who called out an apology to her--"we had to take back the mug because it's for support staff, not attorneys!" Laura muttered a no problem comment, then hit the down button.

A couple miles away, Perry Winkle hit the down button to the central coroner's office. A few minutes later, he was poring over the autopsy report on Jai Alai's daughter--beaten to death last weekend. There were spatula-shaped marks on her. There were welts on her, probably from a belt. Both her arms had fractures. There were over fifty abrasions and contusions ranging in age from one day before death to nine weeks before death, but the girl had died of a massive cerebral hematoma consistent with having her head slammed into a wall. Winkle looked up at the nearby staff members, who were humming as they filed paperwork. They were the happiest people in D.C. because they came to work every day glad to be alive.

Several miles to the east, Jai Alai sat numbly at the girl's wake, a small bandaged boy leaning silently against her. A small Christmas tree glowed in the corner, which she stared at unblinkingly as family and friends filed past them. Outside the funeral home, a flock of starlings landed precariously on a snow-covered ash tree to peck at the seeds hanging at the very edges of each branch--with snow covering the ground, they had to take what they could get up in the air. Out of the corner of her eye, Jai Alai detected the dark tree shaking outside the window, but she didn't know why.


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