The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!
Captain Frost stared blankly at her laptop, pondering the conversation she’d had earlier with a very strange woman.
Her name was Rose Murphy, and she claimed to be a psychic. Said her day job was an artist.
Humph. Some day job…
The alibi that she and her ‘girlfriend’ were visiting some ‘mates’ in Berlin had checked out.
Frost typed her name into the search engine, and couldn’t help being fascinated by what she found. True, Rose was odd, but the captain had misjudged her. Been rude, even. The woman was quite an accomplished artist, and she couldn’t help but be impressed by the intricately detailed watercolors of insects. Most people wouldn’t have the patience; she knew enough to see the hours upon hours of work involved in creating those types of paintings.
But Rose Murphy had Asperger’s. The article she read talked about how having an Autism Spectrum Disorder enabled her to zero in on things neurotypical people would ordinarily miss. Through her paintings, Rose could show them.
I never do this for money. Not ever. I am an artist by trade. But…the young girl that went missing. Holly Schiller. I developed a connection with her. Her words resonated in Frost’s mind. Vorsicht Autzug—I think that was on one door. Double doors, one window each. Please help her.
Her fingers tapped on her desk as her mind whirred. Then it hit her. She called in her best team.
“I have a lead on Holly Schiller. Search the Geisterbahnhöfe!”
“The Ghost Stations? But Captain, they’ve been abandoned since—”
“Just do it!”
Rose was back home, in Amsterdam, when she got a call from Captain Frost. Tears streamed down her face as she listened. “Holly Schiller was found at an abandoned train station, alive, thanks to you. We are searching for the perpetrator…”
Monica stood behind her, lightly rubbing my shoulders.
“I owe you an apology.”
“None needed,” Rose assured the captain. She was used to people not receiving her well. But Holly was safe…and that was all that mattered.
“Thank you…so very much.”
After they disconnected, Rose asked Monica for her blanket. She was shivering, and being wrapped inside the comforting fabric always calmed her down.
She was cold, so cold. The world around her was slipping away as Monica asked repeatedly if she was okay, and then Rose froze. She heard a scream; saw faded, peeled wallpaper.
“Rose…Rose, are you okay?” She reached out and grabbed her girlfriend’s wrist, the warmth of Monica’s skin melting the frost inside her.
“He’s taken another girl.”
Fiction © Copyright Suzie Lockhart
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
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