Weeks had gone by and the sting of loss was still a gaping wound in her chest, a sore that refused to heal no matter how many condolences she received or tears she shed. Her ducts had long dried, leaving her sorrow silent and her mind restless. Regret nagged at her as she endured haunting images of her childhood friend’s lifeless body discarded callously in a dank alleyway, amongst grime and rubbish in a puddle of her own crimson blood. Forever etched in her mind was the vacant look in her eyes, devoid of the playful sparkle they once held. Her heart ached miserably to know that she would never see it again. Pictures didn’t seem to do her justice anymore, and she found them a pale comparison to the memories she held dear. Scattered on the floor of her room were several photos, each one from various moments in their lives. The one she held in her hand was the most recent, an image on her phone taken days before her death. In the shameless classroom selfie the blonde had her arms wrapped around her shoulders with a brilliant smile that stretched from ear to ear. Her blue eyes were gleaming with exuberance, the kind of warmth that earned her the adoration of everyone who knew her. It was why it was such a shock that she was gone . . . at least it was to her.<br/><br/>The media painted her to be a reckless party girl whose carelessness rushed her headlong into the clutches of death. They weren’t entirely wrong. Alyssa Stanton was known for her spontaneity, but she wasn’t without caution. How she wound up a cold corpse blocks from the club she frequented was a mystery to all—even the authorities, who were so perplexed by her grave wounds and the violent nature of her murder that they were left with no leads to follow. The trail was cold, and whatever heartless monster had torn Alyssa to ribbons was in the wind, free while she rotted in the ground. Knowing that, her grief turned to anger, and her anger turned to determination. She channeled her emotion and frustration into action, prepared to do what others could not despite how foolish it might have been to try.<a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fi.imgur.com%2FSbzAnHm.jpg&amp;hash=8ae3250185c7b3adca2c68b91d75edba" href="https://i.imgur.com/SbzAnHm.jpg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">Blair Killian</a>was a sharp contrast to her dear friend. Grounded and reserved, she was always the voice of reason, always the responsible party to her shenanigans. It seemed that she had adopted some of her courage in her absence, a bit of her impulsiveness to her drive for answers.<br/><br/>The skies outside her windows were dark and foreboding, promising rain while deep rumbles in the distance told of more. It was no deterrent. She stepped over and around the mess of pictures and hurriedly moved down the steps, her black<a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fi.imgur.com%2F2CTFZnE.jpg&amp;hash=8e4c390d2f5dcdbb3951adc208511f07" href="https://i.imgur.com/2CTFZnE.jpg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">Great Dane</a>on her heels whimpering softly. From the closet by the door she pulled out a black jacket, slipping it on hurriedly. After flicking her lustrous, brown hair from the collar, she gave the large dog a few sympathetic strokes against his sleek coat. “Sorry, Titan. I won’t be too late this time.” She promised, her heart falling with the disappointed droop of his ears. With her keys in her hand and her phone in her pocket, she left her<a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fi.imgur.com%2FzuJ6jTQ.jpg&amp;hash=1f297acc343ed1c1e3ac008874c985c4" href="https://i.imgur.com/zuJ6jTQ.jpg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">brownstone</a>to get into her Range Rover. The pitter-patter of rain pelted the pearl white exterior. The engine roared to life and she made her way to the outskirts of the city, to the little diner she frequented the last few weekends. It was a few blocks from the alley in one direction and the club in the other. By the time she got there, the light drizzle had turned to a downpour.<br/><br/>Flickering yellow lights greeted her outside of Maggie’s Diner. The apostrophe and the “s” in the sign had already gone out, and no one inside seemed too concerned. Much like they weren’t concerned with the fuzzy image on the TV or the way the old, linoleum and vinyl ripped and peeled. The entire establishment smelled of cigarettes and coffee, but they made a damn good blueberry pie. A favorite of hers, all she had to do was ask for her usual. Blair imagined it was the same for the rest of the patrons . . . All three of them. While she settled into a booth by the window, a waitress approached her with a fresh pot of coffee and a mug in hand. Graciously, Blair thanked the woman as she poured her a cup. She had asked every employee at Maggie’s if they recalled her friend on the night of her death, showed them her picture and read their regretful expressions when they informed her that they only knew her from the news. They had been kind to her, pitied her mostly. It would have bothered her more if it weren’t the only place she could wait while the liquored up club-goers stumbled onto the street after last call. She’d since been banned for waving a picture of a dead girl around to anyone who would speak to her.<br/><br/>“You know, honey. There’s a man who comes around here sometimes. I see him well after dark when my shift is over. Pat back there sees him on his smoke break every now and then.” The woman said, gesturing to the cook behind the counter. “I’m not implying anything, of course. Just . . . It couldn’t hurt to ask. In this weather, you may not have much luck with anyone.” She muttered before trying to offer her a menu.<br/><br/>“I’ll just have the pie again, if you’ve got it. And thank you, I’ll keep an eye out.” Blair doctored up her coffee with cream and sugar, returning her illuminating green hues to the soaked streets. She propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her palm to resume the long wait.<br/><br/><br/><br/><a class="username" data-user-id="114" data-username="@Andraus" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/members/114/">@Andraus</a>