The concrete steps were cold and damp but she didn't care. There was more on her mind than getting her jeans wet. Tapping both feet to an imagined rhythm, Emmie lost herself in a train of looping logic - the how's and why's. The outcome. How she would get past what now lay before her. Then, the taste of blood. Gently, she suckled her bottom lip and thought of only one thing: Vengeance. A light mist blew across her bruised face as she pulled a broken cigarette from the pocket of her flannel. It was alone. Apparently her lighter took leave during the struggle. Fuckin' junkies. Always trouble. Their loss becomes yours. Ever-imposing upon you whether intended or otherwise. "May they all die a cruel death" she thought.
Her phone rang. Pulling it from her right front pocket, her jeans now almost completely soaked, she looks down to see a withheld number.
"Yeah..." she muttered in monotone. Five seconds pass before she speaks again.
"On my way." she said before quickly returning her phone to its home in denim.
Emmie was tired and it pulled on her every inch but this was no time to drag. Thirty minutes to get to her destination. This was her end of the road. She had a cop to kill.
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