Half-Soul

Chapter 1 : The Oppressed Artist

12:08 P.M. Tuesday, June 6th, 2015

Domu Apartments, Chicago, Illinois

Another rainy day in Chicago. Must be a day ending in Y.

A strong wind blew by as she almost lost her grip on the raggedy second hand umbrella she owned, her brunette and gray hair soaked and hanging around her head. She was struggling not to get blown over by the strong winds as she walked along the soaking wet sidewalk, deducing that it had not in fact been a good day to skip getting a cab. Thankfully there weren't that many people out and about, which meant less bumping into others and having to mutter a half-assed apology.

"Hey God it's me Lulu.... Can I ask you for a solid? Even though you're giving me nothing but liquids?" Lulu asked herself more than anyone else in a quiet tone, making her way to the apartment building that had been the talk of the town for the last three hours.

She'd almost missed it, a breaking news report about an assault that had taken place early in the morning. A newly wed couple, Joseph and Sasha Brando, had experienced a..... Hiccup in their happy marriage. Apparently Joseph had lost his mind, attacked his wife, and then after beating on some neighbors who had come to investigate, had taken off and the cops were currently on a manhunt for him. She'd been brushing her teeth in her condo-office when the report had come in and at first she'd been about to ignore it and move on with her day....

But the hairs on the back of her neck had stood up, an icy feeling had washed over her, and when she'd seen a picture of the wife, Sasha, being transported out into an ambulance, she'd seen the wound on her face and something inside of her had clicked.

This is legit. The first case I've had in months that may get me what I need.

That, and the poor thing looked heartbroken and devastated. She needs her husband back.

So count this as another potential good deed under my belt eh God? Maybe another notch the angels will look at when I get up to the pearly gates?

Her name was Lulu Murphy, a twenty five year old woman of Irish descent, her grandparents having come to America in the 20s. She had brown hair with gray streaks, green eyes that had been compared to grassy fields, and was somewhat short and skinny, standing at a mere 5'2 and weighing only about 85. At this moment she was wearing a maroon-colored trench coat and rain boots, a pistol hidden underneath her coat and hanging at her hip though she'd never had to fire it.

Simply because as a paranormal investigator, she'd never faced anything that could be shot, and even if it could, she doubted a bullet would do anything to stop it.

Her thoughts and inner monolog were interrupted as she rounded the corner and checked her phone's photo gallery, making sure it was the right address. The police cars parked outside were somewhat of a giveaway but considering the mounds of garbage, graffiti and smell....

I mean, these are my people. I grew up in a neighborhood like this so I'm not a snob or anything.

But..... it does make finding a crime scene just a bit more difficult. Not that I don't appreciate a challenge every now and then.

There was a small crowd gathered around the small three story building, the cops blocking entrance to everyone including the residents as a flurry of reporters were holding microphones up and trying to get statements. Lulu was almost hit by a car as she carefully ran through the flooded street and heard an obscenity shouted at her, waving in a silly way like her friend Axel had done once.

Dumb ass..... Good thing he's cute.

"All right people move along! No one is getting in right now, we've got a crime scene so go find another story to write a tabloid about! Move it!" One of the cops yelled, a larger dark skinned officer with dreadlocks who shooed several of the reporters away. Lulu's face slowly stretched into a smile as she saw another of her friends and weaved her way in and out of the crowd, the cop with dreadlocks seeing her and going stiff.