Chapter Fifteen

1433 Words
Across town at the University... Hanna is now dressed in her work attire. A simple cream-colored buttoned-up dress shirt, a flowy calf-length brown skirt with sensible brown flats. She wears a lab coat, like the minions down in forensics. Her long dark curly hair is pulled up at the sides by barrettes. Walking up to Professor Patrick Bryant's office on the third floor, she carries a bag holding the school's memory cards that she retrieved earlier that morning and a file folder holding students' lab papers from the night before. She knocks on his door and gains immediate entry. “Here are the memory cards from the cameras, and the lab papers from the first-years' labs from last evening,” she simply stated as she handed them over to the Professor with an obviously looking bad hang-over. Remembering why Mitch had to leave in a hurry yesterday, Hanna could only look at him sympathetically as she grabbed the box of papers to be graded for that day. The less she said, the better. She turned and made her way out of his office, heading back downstairs into the science lab. Hmm, she's a minion too. Two hours later, back at The Chronicler... An HR minion, ahem, I meant to say, an employee comes rushing up to Mr. Sims' office with a file in hand. The young man hands it off to the Assistant who hands it off to Mr. Sims. “Sorry, that it took so long Sir,” the employee apologized. “We had a difficult time finding his employment record in our system. It appears someone forgot to put it in. We had to find his hard copy for now.” “Yes. Well, thank you,” Mr. Sims grumbled. “Isn't there someplace you need to be?” The HR minion-employee made haste out of the Editor-in-Chief's office. “So, what did my newbie reporter do to get you, detectives, here in my office?” he asked inquisitively. “Naomi, send Peter Bryant to my office. Perhaps he can explain whatever...” he barked waving his arms in our direction. “Mr. Sims, according to his time card, he hasn't reported for work for the past couple of days,” she tried to explain. “Well, where the hell is he?!” Mr. Sims screamed demanding an answer. “Currently, he's in the City morgue,” I replied nonchalantly having my arms crossed over my chest. I'm not amused and I would rather get this interview over with. I also would like to get his murderer off of the streets as soon as possible. Cue the deer in the head-light look. “What do you mean he's in the City morgue?” Mr. Sims muttered. “How? When? Where?” “It's currently an active case Mr. Sims. You know the protocol,” Cass politely reminded him. “Right, right,” he muttered under his breath. “So what do you need from me?” “We need to know if he went to The Roundhouse on assignment?” Cass inquired. “No! No, of course, he wouldn't be there. We are following Mayor Jabberwocky's request. So none of my reporters would even darken that district. I especially would have never sent one of my green reporters to that dump,” Lester Sims spat out with anger. “If he went there, he was there on his own choosing. And dammit, it cost him his life! He had such great potential. What a waste of talent...” he rambled on rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you know if he would have had any enemies, problems with potential co-workers, anything?” I inquired. “No. Nothing that I can think of,” Mr. Sims quickly answered. “Thank you, Mr. Sims,” we said standing up from our chairs. “I suppose Doc Jacobson will be sending out the cause of death shortly?” he wondered out loud. “Probably, we're still waiting on his report as well,” I muttered back ready to leave the stuffy office. “Thank you for taking time out to speak with us, Mr. Sims. We do appreciate your help concerning Peter Bryant,” Cass spoke politely reaching out to shake his hand. He returned the gesture. Always the professional, and for that, I am grateful that she is my partner. We quickly make our way back through the cubicle maze and onto the elevator once more. We both are grateful that that particular task is done. “So did you get J. Jonas Jameson vibes from him too,” I teased. Trying to hide her smirk, Cass turned her head to hide her small chuckle. “Mike!” she laughed nodding in agreement. “Should we watch out for swinging web-crawlers?” Cass couldn't hold in her laughter and nearly double-over stepping out of the elevator. Heads automatically turned in our direction, clueless to the joke that they were not privy to. “You're terrible, Mike. You know that?” Cass stated still chuckling, both of us headed toward the SUV. “Yep. Would you rather have me be serious all the time?” I sincerely asked, opening the passenger side door to get in. “Oh, please, no. I rather gouge my eyes out,” she declared in obvious exaggeration. Before stepping into the driver's side, Cass takes a genuine long look at me. “What?” I can't help but ask at that look. “Are you feeling okay, Mike?” she sincerely inquired. “You look...I don't know how to put it,” she began, touching the side of her neck. “I'm just concerned.” “I'm fine, Cass,” I half-lied. “Honest. I usually have a rough go this time of year,” I spat out. “You know this.” “I'm sorry, Mike. I forgot,” she quickly apologized. “So, how about we call in and grab a bite to eat?” I asked changing the subject. “Who's calling it in, you or me?” she asked. “Seriously? Dispatch likes you better,” I quipped back. “Fine,” she huffed agreeing as we both plopped into the seats and closed the doors. Simultaneously, across town at the University... Sitting at her once light-stained grungy oak desk. Hanna totally engrossed in her work doesn't hear Mitch approaching her with a heavy duffle-style travel bag in hand. “Ahem,” he gently grunts, but still manages to catch Hanna off guard. “Oh, Mitch! You startled me,” she jumped looking at him in a half-chiding way. She quickly puts down her red pen and rushes around the small desk into Mitch's arms. “What are you doing here?” she asked with a look of both surprise and confusion. “Yeah, that,” Mitch began with a sheepish look. “I'm needed to go look at a couple of promising students for the cross-country team.” “Oh,” she said, “whereat?” Holding onto Hanna tighter and leaning his forehead into hers he whispered, “just a couple of states over. Will you miss me?” Swallowing her saliva Hanna quietly answers, “Yes, I believe I will miss you.” Mitch is a fast-mover. Here's hoping Hanna is up for the challenge. “I'm glad to hear that, because I'm really going to miss you too,” he smiled in the giddiest sort of way. His sparkling eyes, wide smile with hints of dimples. It's no wonder why some students refer to him as “Coach Eye-Candy.” However, she definitely wasn't ready to kiss him just yet. She gently pulled herself away from Mitch's closeness. “So how soon do you have to leave?” Hanna quickly asked to change the awkwardness of the moment. “I'm leaving for the airport in the next few minutes,” Mitch answered sounding deflated. “I'll call you as soon as I land if that's okay?” “Of course that's okay. I'd be worried otherwise,” Hanna reassured him. Mitch sighed letting go of the breath that he'd been holding. What is it about Hanna that takes his breath away? “Yeah, so I guess I better be heading out then,” Mitch sadly stated trying to procrastinate as long as he could. He grabbed his travel bag and stood at the doorway taking in one last look at Hanna. “Talk to you later?” He asked once more. “Talk to you later,” Hanna replied.
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