2010-05-31: Secret

Starring:

Tracy_V5icon.png

Date: May 31st, 2010

Summary:

The past always comes back to haunt you.


"Secret"

Tracy's Apartment

Washington, D.C.

Home, sweet, normal home.

Whether or not the apartment Tracy called home until the life of a fugitive whisked her away elsewhere fits into this new, as of yet incomplete phase of her life is undetermined — but she likes her apartment. It's a nice apartment— the door of which opens now to admit its resident, a pair of sunglasses in one hand, a small black box and a few envelopes in the other, and purse over one shoulder. She's in a slim white sheath dress with a more casual, warm grey cardigan.

It's Memorial Day; she's been paying her respects at one of the nation's capital's many events.

It's bright inside, clean, full of morning sunlight from the airy white drapes across the apartment at the window. The décor is as it was: her usual perfection. Tracy sets her sunglasses on a nearby stand, nudges the door shut and locks it twice.

On her way to the living room, Tracy rifles through the mail she was late in getting from Saturday. All the envelopes appear to be bills. One gets behind on affairs when they cease to exist for several months. With a bland, unconcerned roll of her eyes, she tosses the envelopes on the rounded glass coffee table beside a polished black faux alligator attaché (looking very much like something that holds legal documents, because it does) and her laptop. She might not actually have a job, but she does have a personal mission.

Also atop the coffee table's shined surface is her checkbook, a pen, and a handwritten note: Thank you. I don't want to be in anybody's debt. Signed: Tracy Strauss. The check itself is half filled out, as though abandoned midway. PAY TO THE ORDER OF: Taine Wh

The computer is brought back to life with the press of a button as she sits down on her couch; white, quite like her dress. She crosses one leg over the other, bare from the knee down, while the laptop screen goes from black to her e-mail account; she clicks a new <No Subject> mail and leans back.

Now only the small black package is left of her physical mail. While the computer does its thing, the package is looked upon with bored sort of curiosity. She's not expecting much of it, whatever it is. It's only as she turns it over in her hands that she realizes it's … a little on the bizarre side.

No return address. The box itself is black and the words 'DeadEx' have been scribbled all over it… as opposed to the classic FedEx logos.

Brows coming together somewhat incredulously, Tracy pries the thing open, pulling out what seems to be a tiny … coffin? Yes and no. It's a jewelry box. She's convinced, already, that she doesn't want what's inside. Lifting it up for closer inspection, she discovers a tiny gold plate at the foot of the "coffin". It bears the inscription ~IW~.

She lifts it open to reveal a string of elegant pearls. They're familiar, in that she's worn the same style before. Except for one small detail…

These pearls are stained in blood.

"What the…" Tracy stares, her open-mouthed bewilderment soon turning to confused (and a little disgusted) horror. The jewelry box is dropped back in the package, and the whole thing is shoved onto the table in front of her as she hurriedly rushes to her high-heeled feet.

Staring at this mail, she doesn't see, just yet, that she has more waiting for her on the screen.


To: moc.liamg|ssuartsycart#moc.liamg|ssuartsycart
From: moc.uoyf|ohwsseug#moc.uoyf|ohwsseug

Subject: <No Subject>

I'VE GOT A SECRET.
I'VE GOT A SECRET.
I'VE GOT A SECRET.
I'VE GOT A SECRET.
I'VE GOT A SECRET.
I'VE GOT A SECRET.
I'VE GOT A SECRET.
I'VE GOT A SECRET.
I'VE GOT A SECRET.
I'VE GOT A SECRET.
I'VE GOT A SECRET.
I'VE GOT A SECRET.

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