Hold On To Your Heart (TAG)

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Cassandra Stormchapel collapsed on the couch in Book & Candle Restoration’s back room without brushing her teeth, washing her face or anything. Working on paintings as large as the current one, a gigantic 5x10 foot modern art piece full of impasto, made her ache for days. She hoped she’d be able to work tomorrow, because she’d really, really overdone it by working this late.

Her back throbbed as she lay there on her side, musing about what steps to take next with it, and about some of the stranger and more esoteric paintings the museum had given her to work on. Astoria City was smaller than DC, but even after just three weeks, she’d seen a lot of things her past self would have never believed - and not just the weird paintings. She’d never met another person with powers in her life, but here, it felt like they were everywhere.

She slowly drifted off, and was just beginning to dream of her grandma's stuffed shells. She hadn't found any good Italian food since being here, and was suffering. The taste of ricotta bloomed sweet in her mouth and then… the familiar dropkick to the stomach jolting her out of her dream, like a trapdoor to the void opening inside her. Accompanying this was a feeling of terror and loneliness, and a sharp pain in her head.

Cassie gave a heavy sigh and scrambled for her phone. Once, twice - then it clattered to the floor, and she rolled to the ground to get it. "Hello, 911? Yes, I'd like to report a murder. I uh… yeah, I witnessed it." She felt herself turning red out of fear as she continued to give the details. Thankfully, it seemed the operator didn't catch the stumble or feel the need to question her. When asked for the location, she oriented where that feeling had come from versus the map on her phone. "It happened at 7th and D. My name? Oh, um, Cassandra Stormchapel. 202-855-5156. 650 Emerald Street #315.” She paused. “Oh, sorry - that’s my home address. I’m currently at Book & Candle Restoration, 2400 Jefferson Street #800. Thank you."

She hung up the phone. Oh shit, she thought belatedly, they’re going to have questions, and I definitely don’t need questions. I suppose what’s done is done, though. She fell asleep on the floor right where she’d fallen, fitfully.

Cassie had to start remembering to take her sleeping pills, or this was going to be a long six months.

-

An indeterminable amount of time later, and Cassie bolted awake to the sound of the elevator's approaching chime, footsteps, and then a sharp knock on her door. She looked at her phone groggily. 2 AM. Who in the hell came to an art restoration studio at 2 in the frigging morning? She got up, ran a hand through her hair, and straightened her chunky-knit sweater as she shuffled to the door. Opening the door to the extent the chain would let her, she croaked, "The hell do you want?" at the figure in the hall.

[Deleted]

He received the call from dispatch, who informed him of a woman going by the name Cassandra Stormchapel when she reported it earlier, and went to the crime scene to investigate it after the crime scene investigators did their thing. He was there for a while until moving on to the caller’s workplace to ask her questions about the murder she witnessed. When he arrived, he went up the elevator of the building and knocked on the door. He doubted anyone was still inside, but blinked in surprise when he heard sounds of footsteps from inside, approaching the door, and then it opened to reveal the most grumpiest woman he’s ever met - granted, she looked like he woke her up from her sleep, and smiled apologetically at her.

Luca raised his hand to show her his detective badge he pulled off at its place on his belt. “Cassandra Stormchapel? Sorry for waking you up, ma’am, but I’m Detective Luca Moretti with the Astaria Police Department. You called the police earlier about a murder that happened on 7th and D.” He paused, putting his badge back on his belt. “I just finished up at the crime scene and wanted to ask you questions and get your statement as soon as possible.”

Then he asked, "Can I come in?"

@mayhem

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The distinct stink of rabbit skin glue from a canvas patch repair she'd done earlier permeated the entire studio, and wafted out into the hallway. Oh, right, she had called the police, she dimly remembered. Cassie grimaced at the indignity of having to deal with a cop in the middle of the night, which was interrupted by an almighty yawn.

"Ugh. Don't have a whole lot to say, but, yeah, sure." She undid the latch, and gestured to the couch at the side of the studio, which had a small lamp on beside it. She briefly thought about turning on the overhead lights, but realized it would probably blind the both of them.

Cassie rubbed her eyes, suddenly conscious of her unbrushed teeth, and that there was a carpet impression down one side of her face. She could feel her skin still prickling. She sat down at the other end of the couch. "What do you need to know?" Half-asleep still, the words slurred into one.

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Luca grimaced at the smell coming from the inside of the studio, but didn’t say anything as it smelled a lot like a rabbit than human remains. He kept his thoughts about it to himself as he waited until she let him inside. His eyes scanned the studio while he approached the couch she gestured for him to sit at, and sat down. He shifted around on the couch so he was somewhat facing her easier, and took his notebook out from the pocket from the inside of his black parka, and a pen from the pocket of his black jeans he was wearing.

He cleared his throat, grimacing slightly at the glue’s stench, but eventually became accustomed to it.

“Did you see the murder as it happened, or did you find the body of the victim after? If you did see it happening, did you get a good look of the murderer?” He started, speaking mildly to her, rather than authoritatively.

@mayhem

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Too tired to say anything but the truth, Cassie replied, "Not that you'll believe me, no one ever does, but I can sense when people have died, and how. I was here when it happened, woke me up right as I was about to drift off. So I didn't witness anything directly, and maybe I shouldn't have called it in, but... I don't know. Whoever it was felt really lonely when they died, and it was this brutal head wound, and I just felt awful for them, you know? Like at least I could do something, even if I couldn't be there."

She made a dismissive motion with her hand, getting up to make hot water for instant coffee without bothering to wait for a response. "I'm stupid," she muttered to herself, leaning her head on the kitchen tile as the water started bubbling to a boil.

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Luca gradually leaned back against the couch as she explained to him how she was able to sense the dead. He gazed on with a look of curiosity instead of what she was probably used to seeing, that is, if she noticed his expression. He wrote down a few notes of her answer onto his notepad, and glanced up as he opened his mouth to ask her another question, but stopped when she went to the kitchen. At first, he sat there, with his lips slightly parted, but then he managed to get himself to stand up off the couch and went to the kitchen.

He stood in the doorway quietly for a few moments, looking at her before he asked, “So…your power…you can sense death, and feel what the victim is feeling during their last moments? Can you…” he tilted his head, lightly pressing his fingertips against his lips and chin as he thought about his next question. “...Are you able to see the one who did it, too? Or is sensing death the extent of it?”

As an afterthought, he whispered, “You’re not stupid, by the way. You seem to genuinely care about the one who died, and while they felt alone during their last moments here, maybe they felt your presence with them somehow too.”

@mayhem

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Cassie squinted at him in the doorway, nervous edge that had been building easing away at his words and his open, warm expression. The direct experience she'd had with unpleasant police officers in the past was warring with her nature to be kind to everyone she met and give them the benefit of the doubt. Finally someone believed her, and he was being so nice about it. And it was a hot cop. She rubbed her eyes again, smearing her mascara a little. She must clearly still be asleep. But no, still hot. Oh no. "Col cavolo," she muttered to herself as she stirred condensed milk in her coffee.

"D'you want anything, while I'm at it? We've got tea too, boss is British." She gestured at the assorted drink ingredients and rack of mugs. "Thanks for that. I hope what you say is true, honestly. I hope they knew."

Taking a long drink of ludicrously sweet coffee, she continued, "No, unfortunately, that's all I can do. I wish I could sense more... maybe I'll be able to, one day. It's not something I was able to do until I was 16, and after that it's gotten stronger year by year, so I get the sense that I'm still growing into it." The hand not holding her mug worried the edge of her sweater with her black acrylic nails, visibly a little agitated at the last thing she'd said.

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He chuckled lightly at the phrase she muttered. “Wow,” he exclaimed, “I haven’t heard anyone say that around here in a while, if at all.” He took a few steps further into the kitchen.

“Uh…” Luca was slightly taken aback by someone offering him something to drink, as it was always so rare for anyone other than the elderly offering him tea or coffee to drink while he’s visiting them for questioning. He nodded after some thought of her offering tea to him. “Okay, sure. I’ll take some.” He said as he nervously fiddled with his notepad before putting it down to carefully pick out a bag of black tea and a mug, and started fixing himself a cup.

While stirring and waiting for the tea to steep for a few minutes, he glanced over at her as she explained to him about how her sensing death ability worked. “Hmm. I know how some abilities someone with powers have can take months or years to completely form and improve.” He leaned against the counter after setting his cup of tea on the counter-top, and scratched at his jawline, noticing she seemed agitated, but wasn’t sure if it was because she was tired, or if it was because he woke her up in the middle of the night, or at what she said about her power. Or a mixture of all three reasons.

“Do you also physically feel what they’re feeling during their murder?” he wondered, "I mean...do you feel like you're being shot, stabbed, beaten...?"

@mayhem

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"Tu parli italiano?" Cassie replied, then laughed a little into her coffee. "Moretti. Of course. Christ, I can't tell my family about this, or Aunt Francesca will never let me hear the end of it." She stopped to put on an imitation of her aunt's thick New Jersey accent. "Oh, you met a nice Italian boy? Good for you! When's the wedding?" She laughed a little more, not being able to help herself, having to set her coffee down so she wouldn't spill.

A few moments later, and her laughter died off with a sigh. "Huh. I never knew that, 'cause I don't have anyone to learn about these things from, anymore. And yeah... I do feel what they feel. Thankfully for only a minute or two, but it's disturbing enough to where I take sleeping pills to get through most nights. Got sick of waking up to heart attacks. I've almost started feeling like they can hear what they hear, too, which is spooky."

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Smiling in amusement, he nodded, and then laughed nervously. “You too, huh? I get that a lot.” He crossed his arms. “To answer your question…Sì, certo. Parlo italiano. Sono anche un poliglotta.” He flashed her a friendly smile and picked up his cup of tea and took a sip, before heading over to sit on a stool of the island in the middle of the kitchen.

He listened intently, looking at her empathically as she answered him. “I’m sorry you have to deal with all of that too, ma’am. Truly.” A pause, thinking it would be good to move on from the topic. “Is there anything else you can tell me? If not, I would like for you to write a statement before I go, and if you aren’t up for that right now, you can always come by the police station later today. Your choice.”

@mayhem