Back at the fire station after her inspection of the gutted warehouse, Shamira stared at the reports, flipping through them over and over. There was something about it all that made her search the reports over and over again, that made her search her memories, her senses of what she'd felt when she was there. The first thing that came to her was it was a moment, a moment firmed in time that no matter what may be attempted in the past the result would be the same. Her tongue clicked softly, considering the options of reviewing all that occurred, should she dare to rewind the hours to view the events? Rewind to a moment she could not change? Something about it all was just.... wrong.
A soft huff of frustration escaped her, finally flipping through the files to the Officer currently taking lead on the case. A quick phone call to the Police and she was being directed to the number of a Lyidya Chapman.
"Hello, Detective Chapman, this is Shamira Harshaw from the Arson squad at Fire Station 53. I wanted to discuss the warehouse explosion in the Ninth Ward. I was wondering if it was possible for me to interview the survivor."
Llidya received the voicemail the next day. She dialed the officer back only to get her voicemail. Chapman only smiled at the game of phone tag.
"Marshall Harshaw this is Detective Chapman returning your call. The last I saw, Gellar was fine and able to talk. I would give Dr. McFarland a call for the medical all-clear, but you're fine by me to interview him for further investigation. Give me a call if you need anything else." Chapman hung up the phone and glanced at her car.
Phone tag and apparently she was it. Shamira sighed when she received the message from Detective Chapman, making a not fo the informatino provided regarding the victim. A quick call to the hospital provided her with the information that Mr. Geller had been released.
She leaned back in her chair, considering for a long moment before closing her eyes. Before her mind's eye time reversed, bringing her back to the moment she stood on the site of the fire, allowing her to replay that moment. This time she focused on senses other then the obvious, ignoring sight and scent and focusing instead on the way her skin seemed to crawl, the slight tensing of her muscles.
She sat up with a soft gasp, time re-syncing with the present, fixing her in the time-now rather then time-then. There was something profane on the site, something literally diabolical in nature.
Her hands went to the computer, searching for Charles Geller, getting his addresses before heading out. She had to meet him, see him, a phone call would not be enough.
