Paige Edwards

United States

The Secrets and Cases of Special Agent Angela Bailey: Chapter 1

November 19, 2019

    A 1970 Ford ThunderBird roared down the desolate plains. The engine of the slick and well kept vehicle purred down the single, lonely road. Windows rolled down and Axl Rose’s voice blasted out into dust and nothingness. The wind combed her hair in a mess of a wild guitar solo. Her smile gleamed, as did her fair skin. This is the way she can be herself. When around others she must be serious. She must be professional. It’s her job. But by herself she lets her true form follow. Letting her hair down. Feeling free, even in this barren place, as it seems to be. She follows the road, nearly forgetting that she has met an intersection. Looks like human society does exist here. 
    She turned down the volume on the radio as she eased upon the brake pedal. The stop-sign she approached looked older than her. Rusted ridges and a worn down octagonal shape. So faded, its red color had nearly disappeared. Nonetheless, she lets her vehicle come to a complete stop. She tapped her thumbs against the steering wheel eager, as she drove past the intersection. It had been two weeks since she had a case and her mind was thirsty for work. Her job may be grim, but her brain feeds on the information and how the psyche works. A sign came within view. Looks as if it has been knocked over multiple times. Only held up with a rusted pipe, not what its original purpose was for. The wood so rotted and deteriorated that you could barely read the subtle rigid letters upon it that read, “Charlottesville”.
    She rolled up the window, reentering work mode. Now look at that, she thought, a little town nestled in the middle of nowhere. She drove down the quiet street, small homes on either side, doors shut and curtains drawn. The only noises heard were the slight grumble provoked by the gas pedal and a small shuffle of the wind against the tattered windows of the aged houses. Something terrible had happened in this town. That’s why I’m here. She let out a slight breathe, steadying it. She made her way to the center of the town, passing gas stations, small shops, and other various buildings. All small, faded with age. Such a rare occurrence, finding a place as original as Charlottesville. 
    The rumble beneath her feet halted when she lifted the key from the ignition. Even in such a small parking lot, very few cars occupied its space. No time to waste, she thought as she rummaged through the backseat and tossed a small bag onto the empty passenger seat. She flipped the viser down revealing the small, rectangular mirror. She inspected the compact, slightly smudged rectangular reflection. Hair in a mess and not a drop of makeup concealing her freckles. She gave a small laugh as she looked at her tangled appearance in the mirror. 
She converted herself from the free living gal she was on the road here, to the stoneface FBI agent, that was her job description. She brushed her raven-black hair into a tight bun, letting her side bangs hang neatly. Her fingers edged around the mascara tube, twisting it open. She let the small, black, and bristled brush comb her lashes with length. The slight pop of the lipstick cap echoes in the silent air. She applied the plum colored lipstick, contrasting well with her completion. Once she was satisfied with the look and completely reorganized with herself, she exited her vehicle. She examined her reflection once again within the tinted black windows of her sleek and polished Thunderbird. She tucked in her violet colored blouse into her high waisted, black suit pants. Her pants were fitted at the waist, but slightly loose near the bottom. She tightened her belt another notch, being such a dark blue that you could barely tell that it wasn’t black. Her boots raised her about two inches. They are not fancy, they are sturdy and easy to walk and run in, but give her the tall confidence she needs to be taken seriously. They lace up to just a little above her ankle. Her right side slightly heavier than her left due to her side piece, which is safely strapped to her boot and hidden underneath her long pants. Final touch. She swung her black suit jacket over her violet blouse giving her the edge and professionality she is enclosed with. 
Once content with her appearance, she opened the backseat car door and grabbed her gun, which she safely secured to her belt, and her small black satchel containing her necessities, such as: a small notebook, files needed for her cases, her laptop, and other assorted items. She slung the satchel over her shoulder and locked her car. 
She walked to the door of the Charlottesville Police Station, stopping at the entrance for a slight moment. She took a deep breath in, holding it for a slight moment, then releasing it from her lungs sending relief through her whole body, readying her for what is about to come. She walked into the police station, confidence within her stride

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