Shadows of Deception Ch. 02

Note: Depending on when this is published there may be a discrepancy in Roman's name from Solis to Aurelius. I wasn't 100% sold on Solis, it was just a placekeeper till I found something I liked more. His name is Roman Aurelius. Happy reading.

Two: Can't Sleep, Can't Breathe by Digital Daggers

Belladonna lounged in her chair, a subtle scowl permanently etched on her face. There were a few things in life that irked her, and right at the top of that list were cats, people, and the insufferable optimists who dared utter phrases like "looks like someone has a case of the Mondays." Seriously, who came up with that? They should be forced, for twenty years, to sit next to someone who's crocheting something, that isn't there.

But this particular optimist was Daisy. Belladonna's assistant, her well-meaning but persistently cheery assistant, with all the little cousin energy one could be afforded. She seemed to have made it her personal mission to gauge Belladonna's Monday blues. Every day throughout the week, without fail, Daisy would inquire if Belladonna was still suffering from a "case of the Mondays today." Belladonna's response was as consistent as her disdain -- a stern resting bitch face that would make even the most resilient souls wither. But, it didn't deter Daisy in the slightest. The woman was seemingly immune to Belladonna's blatant irritation.

It wasn't entirely Daisy's fault, though. This wasn't just a bad day; it had been an entire week of unrelenting crap. Belladonna had faced challenges, annoyances, and setbacks that would make even the most stubborn person consider a career change. Yet, Daisy's persistent cheerfulness kept pushing through. It was like trying to rain on her parade with a water gun -- futile but slightly entertaining. Daisy would just start singing in the rain.

Despite the daily irritation, Belladonna couldn't bring herself to hate Daisy. In fact, Daisy was the closest thing to a friend that Belladonna could tolerate. It wasn't for lack of trying on Belladonna's part; work just had an uncanny ability to consume her time and attention, and then there was always Belladonna's penchant for living an emotionally closed-off life. So, begrudgingly, she endured Daisy's relentless optimism, secretly grateful for the one person who refused to be scared away by her resting bitch face.

Oh, Daisy, bless her heart.

She was the epitome of sweetness and brightness, with those pretty eyes and a work ethic that could put a beaver to shame. Fashion was her world, a realm where she lived and breathed with an enthusiasm that was almost contagious, almost.

Belladonna, on the other hand, preferred to take measured gulps of the toxic air of the fashion industry only when absolutely necessary.

Spring Fashion Week loomed on the horizon like an impending hurricane. In two weeks, Belladonna's life would transform into a chaotic whirlwind of agents, models, designers, shows, after-events, and fellow photographers, all jockeying for the best work and the spotlight. The right photo could be on the cover of every major fashion publication for the next season and of course, everyone was practically eating each other to eliminate the competition. At least they were eating something.

The imminent frenzy included shows, parties, dinners, and endless small talk with strangers and the occasional prissy fashion designer. God, she hated fashion week.

Belladonna hadn't picked up a camera to capture glossy images of rail-thin models parading in expensive dresses that clashed with her personal taste. No, she picked up a camera as a tool of rebellion against the conventional, preferring to shoot objects instead of people. Architecture, graveyards, and boudoir shoots were her preferred subjects; inanimate entities provided a canvas that didn't come with the relentless demands of the fashion world. The boudoir stuff was a bit of a wildcard but she found she had a knack for it back in college. She liked making other women feel and look sexy, especially considering how cutthroat her industry was. Fashion may have been Daisy's domain, but Belladonna could do without it.

And her preferred type of photography was going out of style, not too many people shot actual wet film; everything was digital now. Her favorite pastime was going the way of the dinosaurs, which made her a bit old school. Or so everyone who'd ever set foot in her apartment ever told her, not too many people had their own personal darkroom but that just made it more of an art form. Nice and easy, a calming rhythm in the process, and it was as good as therapy; though probably not much cheaper.

Yeah, maybe a few hours in her darkroom this weekend would settle her down, and quiet her mind. It sounded like a nice and easy weekend in, and she needed nice and easy after the week she'd had.

With the crew gone, it was just Belladonna, Daisy, and the newest intern, Tate. Yet, her day wasn't ready to call it quits. Amusement flickered in her eyes as she dove into reviewing the day's shots--angles, colors, and lighting all under her discerning gaze. Her skilled hands danced across the keyboard and mouse, her degree earning its keep.

And then, the post-production hustle began. Emails demanded attention, Daisy's appointments awaited confirmation, and there was that dreaded task of planning the next two weeks--a chore she preferred to postpone for as long as possible. But Belladonna, ever the maestro, tackled each with a relaxed resolve, turning what could be chaos into her own orchestrated rhythm. After all, in the world of Belladonna, even the mundane had its own kind of grace.

Her darkroom was looking more and more inviting every second.

Intermittently, she glanced up to observe Daisy and Tate's lively chit-chat; they two looked nothing alike but could easily be mistaken for siblings or cousins. Not that Belladonna would know about that, she was an only child and if she had cousins, they never crossed paths.

Despite the ongoing tasks, Daisy and Tate always found moments to exchange playful banter and laughter, infusing the studio with an air of positive energy. Tonight's topic of discussion had started with Tates new boyfriend, he was a waiter maybe? She wasn't sure, truthfully she was just relieved to not be the center of Daisy's attention. Tate was looking for love, Daisy just wanted good sex, and Belladonna? Well, at this point she would settle for a man who wouldn't dump her at the first sign of trouble, or strangely attractive men whowouldn't deliver thinly veiled threats against her life.

As the trio continued to restore order, the studio underwent its transformation. Props were returned to their respective shelves, furniture was moved back into place, and clothing items found their way back to the well-organized racks.

It became apparent that Daisy had been talking to her when a hand waved over her face and she felt a hand on her shoulder. She jumped and looked at a startled Daisy, usually their evenings were filled with idle chatter but tonight she knew she wasn't an active participant.

"Sorry, what?"

Daisy blinked, "What's got you wound up so tight?"

"Just a long day."Not a lie.

"More like a long week," Tate muttered in a voice loud enough that Belladonna was meant to hear.

"What's going on with you? I've never seen you so... robotic." Belladonna shook her head and shrugged. "Does this have anything to do with what happened last Friday?"

Her blood ran cold and she froze. She hadn't said anything to Daisy about what happened, hell she didn't even tell her she'd been out.

"What do you mean?"

"The voicemail you got from Jackson?" Daisy pulled up a chair near the desk.

"The ex-Jackson? He called you?" Tate hadn't gotten that memo and now he was waiting for Belladonna or Daisy to spill the tea, he promptly sat himself on the arm of Daisy's chair.

Jackson!

Relief flooded her, and she made a mental note to cut Daisy some slack the next time she asked her if she was having a case of the Mondays. She slumped into her chair and groaned internally, truth be told she'd forgotten about her ex's phone call. The thing that had prompted her to go out in the first place.

"I'm busting my ass working fifty hours a week on a good week, getting further and further away from any thought of him, and then I hear he's engaged and I'm jealous." She released a deeply held breath, "Why am I jealous?" Better question, why did she sound so pathetic?

Who sat heartbroken over a man who just up and left her after shit hit the fan? Her and Jacks had been steady for two years and then an on-again and off-again thing for over a year and while there were promises of getting through their hardships together, over time, it fizzled out. Some things couples just couldn't survive. Their chemistry faded as Belladonna struggled with recovery. Promises stopped being kept and eventually stopped being offered at all, and fewer and fewer text messages, and infrequent phone calls until the two were practically strangers. On the one hand, she couldn't blame him, it was hard with their conflicting schedules and demanding jobs; adding the attack onto it only complicated things. She knew she wasn't fun to hang out with when she was terrified to go out.

"How about we go out and have some fun at a club? Grab some drinks and maybe flirt with some cute guys?" Daisy thoughtfully suggested, Tate perked up and was quick to offer his agreement, offering to call his boyfriend so they could make it a night.

The thought made her feel sick, like 'she might puke all over her six thousand dollar desk' sick. She shook her head as nonchalantly as she could manage.

"No, I don't think so."

"You sure? It's Friday night, anything can happen."

'Don't I know it?'

"No, I think I'm going to go home and binge-watch Lucifer." Daisy didn't seem convinced, "Seriously, I am perfectly happy spending time alone."

Tate and Daisy exchanged looks, they looked at her like a teenager looks at their single or divorced parent when they insist they don't want to date again. It was from a place of concern and the notion was touching but there was no way in hell Belladonna was setting foot out into a club again. She'd get that cat Roman assumed she had, despite the fact she didn't like cats, and live out her days aspinster, she believed was the term.

"You sure, you don't want to come with us?" Tate and those damned puppy dog eyes, he had plenty of men and women wrapped around his manicured finger and on most nights it might have swayed her. But not tonight. She gave a gentle shake of her head and a resolute look on her face, the stone wall.

"No, go enjoy your weekend while you can, guys. We've got about two weeks until Hell Week. Go have fun."

"Well, if you're sure. We'll have a lemon drop in your honor." The gesture was sweet. Daisy and Tate were nice kids but they were both younger than Belladonna. Still in that clubbing, lemon drop drinking phase. She remembered those days. "See you Monday."

Tate, always the sweetheart, jumped up and offered Belladonna a hug and his customary kisses on the cheek before grabbing his coat and Daisy gave her one final wave. They both seemed genuinely hesitant to leave her, but they all worked together long enough and knew one another well enough to know when they all needed their space.

The studio fell into complete silence with their departure and she breathed a heavy sigh of relief. She had forgotten about Jackson; she reached into her desk drawer and pulled out an old photo. It left a bittersweet taste in her mouth. She wasn't even sure if she missed him so much as she missed having someone in her life that she was comfortable with. She shouldn't have missed him, and it shouldn't have hurt that he moved on so quickly. But it did hurt, it hurt that when she needed someone, Jacks had jumped ship.

Fuck.

She couldn't think about this, right now, she flung the photo back into the drawer and slammed it shut. This exact train of thought was what led to what happened last week in the club. Her desire to fuck away the pain and loneliness had directly contributed to the mess she was in now. Don't go to clubs, stay home, watch TV shows, and buy a really good vibrator. She should have done that.

She needed to get out of there, but she was still looking at several hours of editing and retouching but it wasn't going anywhere but she could do it later. The closed laptop, was judging her but she didn't want to stay up late working, there would be plenty of that soon enough. She grabbed her jacket and purse before locking up the studio and setting the alarm.

It was a bit late for the subway and she didn't see any taxis so maybe walking a few blocks would help clear her head. It was a short walk and the streets were well-lit, it was fine, she'd be fine. She hadn't gone far before she realized someone was following her. Her blood ran cold and flashes of last year pulsed through her mind like a strobe light, paralyzing her. She wanted to run but didn't see the point, it hadn't done her any good last time.

A hand reached out behind her, clapping her shoulder, she shrieked and spun in her heels.

"Belladonna Black?"

Her eyes were wide in fear and as they met the disinterested faces of two men in off-the-rack suits and two badges made a quick appearance.

"Detectives Ramirez and Craven with the police department, we've got a few questions for you."

Interrogation rooms were really as bleak as they seemed on TV, the room was almost too chilly to be comfortable. The table had endless graffiti carved into it, from dicks to swear words and one leg of her chair was short enough to make it so the chair rocked whenever she shifted her weight in it. There was no clock in the room but her watch told her that she had been waiting thirty minutes by the time the detectives finally entered carrying a file. Before a single word was exchanged a tape recorder was sat in front of her and the first thing she heard was the loud clack of the device's recording function.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Black."

Sure. Like they weren't sitting on the other side of that two-way mirror talking about her.

The two detectives sat down and looked at her for a minute before saying anything and they wore fake sympathetic smiles; must have been standard procedure. She didn't much like Ramirez or Craven right off the bat; they gave off the vibe of being men who had only been promoted to detective because either there was no solid case against it or because their bosses wanted to make them someone else's problem and be rid of them. Pass them along to another department rather than due to any stellar competency, a tale as old as time.

They looked like every bad cop drama cliche, dress shirts that looked like they'd been worn for days, and their ties were messy, and loose, like they'd been tied by toddlers or by someone who had never seen a tie before. Growing guts hanging over their belts which were doing overtime and the nicest and shiniest parts of their uniforms were their badges. Craven looked like the type of man who spent more time in a dive bar than a gym; the sort of guy who watched old Clint Eastwood movies and relished the days of'good old fashioned police work' which was probably coercing confessions and beating up minorities for funsies.

As for his partner? Belladonna got the distinct impression that by noon his ensemble would be complete with either powdered sugar or a mustard stain somewhere. Ramirez had an air about him that suggested he thought he was smarter than everyone, the kind of man who managed a sudoku puzzle and thought he was worthy of a MENSA membership. He constantly looked unimpressed like he had so many better things that he could be doing, despite the fact he probably only had a room temperature IQ. The strongest of the weak.

"We'll try not to keep you too long. We just need to ask a few questions to tie up a few loose ends on a case that we've been working on." They didn't give her a chance to respond or ask a question.

"Miss Black, does the name James Angeloff mean anything to you?"

She shook her head. "No, should it?"

"We're investigating his murder."

One of the detectives, Ramirez, flipped open a file to show several crime scene and autopsy photos. It took every ounce of willpower for her to keep a neutral expression and pretend as though she'd never seen his face before. But she had.

It was Jimmy. Jimmy from the club.

Jimmy, who she had shot. Jimmy whose murder she had been intimately involved with.

He spread out the photos, every grisly detail there to see. His body looked cold and his skin held a pale almost bluish quality, she didn't know if it was from death or decay, was that what bodies looked like? He almost looked like a mannequin, not even real.

"Fished him out of the Bay three days ago. Whoever tossed him in, didn't do a good enough job weighing him down. Bobbed right up like a tide buoy."

She saw the bullet wounds and tried to keep her breathing steady and unaffected. A heavy lead weight dropped into her stomach. She felt sick.

"You alright, Miss Black?"

She must have had a look on her face that she was unaware of. "Never seen a body before."

Liar.

She'd seen enough crime shows to know that she needed to show a limited response to what she was seeing.

"What'd he do?"

"Well, nothing that we know of. Trying to find out what's been done to him." In an instant Belladonna's survival instinct kicked in, these cops were her enemy, not her friends.

"I'm no detective but I would venture a guess he was shot." They smirked at one another, Craven nodded and Ramierez tilted his head to the left, their close mannerisms suggested that they'd had a long history together and were comfortable as partners, which didn't do her any favors.

"We should hire her," Craven remarked while Ramirez chortled. She ignored the sarcastic joke, meant to insult her.

"James Angeloff has a lengthy criminal record but it's mostly for petty crime. Low-level drugs, breaking and entering, attempted assault. But nothing he's ever done seems to fit with his injuries. He was shot three times in the heart at close range and once in the liver. The three to the heart killed him but honestly, whoever did him could have just stopped at one bullet to his liver and he would have died anyway."

"My anatomy is sketchy, is the liver one of the ones you can live without?"

"Nope. That's why it's calledliver." Har har. This guy should have been a comedian, then she could throw tomatoes.

"We've been retracing his steps in the days leading up to his disappearance and the last place he was spotted was a popular club calledNexus in the Bowery. Got him on camera at the entrance, the bar, and at one of the employee entrances. Credit card receipts put him there along with a cab ride to the club and several witnesses IDed him." The heavy weight in her stomach bottomed out and she felt another wave of sickness. Now was not the time to puke. "Thing is, Miss Black, we also have you on the camera too, going through the same door not long after he did."

Oh. Fuck.

Sure enough, they produced a few more photos of the club and there she was at the bar, looking out of frame at someone, and going through the 'Employees Only' door looking over her shoulder like she was being watched.

"Yeah, I was there. I didn't see him though."

"Ok, well would you mind telling us why you went into a popular club, didn't drink, and eventually went into the 'Employee Only' area not fifteen minutes after our victim did?" There was a shift of Craven's voice with that question, this was the point in the conversation where it was made clear that she wouldn't be leaving as quickly as she would have liked.