The detective
pushed away from the table, staring up at it with sudden anger that was almost
as confounding as the speed with which the stain had spread.
As if from a
distance, she heard her two regulars, Jim and Sal, talking. Jim muttered, “You
smell that? Toilets backed up, you think?”
“Must be,” Sal
agreed.
She jerked her
gaze away and stared at the two men in shock. “Look,” she said, her voice
squeaking. She jabbed a finger at the ceiling.
They did, both of
them coming to their feet as they stared at the seeping blackness overhead.
“What the fuck is that?” Sal demanded.
“I don’t know. It
was just a spot earlier, but now—”
A loud buzzing
spun them all around to face the front door and windows. The noise seemed to
come from just outside. Droning and harsh, it grew in volume and intensity as
they watched with mouths open and eyes wide.
Everyone except
the detective.
He knew what was
coming, knew what made that hideous, atonal sound. She could see it on his
face. He scanned from the ceiling to the windows and back, eyes hard, brows
pulled.
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