SEATTLE

2-History

Yes, this story actually requires research. Hope you learn something too. =)

~Saya

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2-History

I woke up the next morning with a plan. The library was the most logical place to start, of course. Well...my laptop would've worked too, but internet information wasn't always accurate. I decided to spend the morning at the library, then surf the internet after my shift at Scoops.

Ahli had spent the night again out of both fear and the need for a ride. She was sprawled out on the couch when I entered the living room, blankets thrown off and her tanktop riding up over her stomach. I rolled my eyes, amused.

I showered quickly and dressed. For the library, Scoops, and home, cargo pants with a t-shirt would be fine. The pants were plain black cotton while the shirt was dark grey with a white leopard outline prowling around the side. I brushed my hair out quickly, put it up, and wrote a note for Ahli before slipping on my customary high-tops and heading out to the little old blue Mustang my mom had given me years ago. Ahli could use my new car.

A fine drizzle was already pouring from the skies above Seattle. I smiled, reveling in the cool air and the wet shine on everything. Even the traffic didn't bother me as I maneuvered my way to the public library. It took me almost twenty minutes to get there, but I had all the company I needed with my music.

I got there and headed straight for the information desk. The librarian, a familiar middle-aged woman, looked up and smiled at me. "Hi Phoenix," she greeted me, "long time, no see."

I grinned guiltily. "Yeah, I've been busy. New job, more hours," I explained.

"Oh? "Where are you working?" Mrs. Crayer asked.

"The Scoops on the east side of the city," I replied. We both smiled. As it happened, we both loved ice cream. In fact, I didn't know anyone who didn't.

"So, what can I do for you today?" she asked.

"I was hoping I could take a look at the newspapers for the last couple weeks," I told her. I was hoping for some kind of clue I might have missed.

Mrs. Crayer got them without question. I wondered vaguely if that was a sign that I often made strange requests. Knowing me, I probably did. When she handed them over, I thanked her and settled down at a table in the back, the thick stack of newspapers on the table beside me.

I had been working for maybe fifteen minutes when the chair across from me was pulled out and someone fell into it. Looking up, I was met with the sight of long, silky, black hair and pale skin. As his gold eyes met mine, I smiled.

"Hey," Francis said by way of greeting, "find anything?"

I sighed, scanning the crime log in las Sunday's paper. "Not yet," I grumbled.

Francis picked up one of the other papers and started skimming through it page by page, glancing over the headlines. As I tossed yet another paper onto the "useless" pile, as I liked to think of it, I looked up in time to catch and expression on his face that contorted his feature with sympathy and disgust at the same time.

"What is it?" I asked quietly, both peeved that he had gotten a fruitful paper where I had gotten so many useless ones and curious as to what he had found.

With the dry crinkle of the thin, ink-soaked pages, Francis folded the paper back, exposing the page which had caught his interest, and slid it across the table towards me. His long, thin finger rested just above a bolded article title. The article had no picture and was only a couple paragraphs long. "Recovering From Shock," the tiny headline read. I began to read.