Aura - Pt. 1

            Aura moved against the lights of the club, chasing them. It was early in the night still, the time that she liked to dance. She was good at it, a childhood of ballet and gymnastics saw to that. She had lived in poverty with a hippie mother and a dead beat father. There had been many struggles that lead to her need to find a release. She found it in dancing, with the help of a kindly neighbor who let her work in the dance studio to pay off her lessons. No matter what had happened in her life, from her mother’s cancer to losing her best friend at sixteen, Aura could focus on her dance. She had tried to find work in the ballet, but it was too competitive and political. She wanted to teach, but that takes a good bit of start-up capital. So she worked at the post office down the street and in her spare time walked down to the club not far from her downtown apartment.

            When she arrived to the club early the dance floor was not crowded. Aura had room to move and be free. It was not crowded, like it would be a few hours from now. There were no men trying to rub up against her or dance with her. She did not mind being hit on, or even dancing with someone, but few could keep up with her. No, there was a freedom to this. She could just feel the music coaxing her to move along with it, turning what she was taught and her own style into a beautiful performance. Moments like these, at the top of her game, she loved these moments most of all.

            Her body moved against the music, making it her own as she let loose. Her form pushing the air around her, side to side, in the dark jeans with the silver studs that formed the bird shaped pattern on the lower right leg. Aura’s balance did not falter, even in the two inch pumps. A close fitting shirt with the bell sleeves and low cut V-neck completed her ensemble, letting her stand out with splashes of deep reds and dark purples. The Hispanic girl wore a thick red lipstick that accented her brown skin big silver earrings that formed multiple crosses.

            She would dance until the club filled up, until her friends got there. For now though, it was just her and the DJ, Rick, she came here so much she knew most of the staff by name, and they knew she wasn’t there to try and get laid or pick up anyone. So they smiled at her and left her alone to do her thing. They were all nice to her, even the owners. They liked girls like Aura coming into the club, attractive young girls brought in more young guys. So they encouraged her to keep coming, buying her a few free drinks and watching her perform. Hunter had even once told Rick that he thought she looked like an angel when she moved.

            She would do this once or twice every weekend, up until the night she disappeared.

            MISSING PERSON REPORT

            Case #83927

            Name: Aura Lilly Johnson

            Age: 28                                   DOB: 01-08-85

            Height: 5’8”                            Weight: 118

            Hair: Black                             Eye: Brown

            Ethnicity: Hispanic                Primarily Language: English

            Phone#: 478-955-3743           Other Languages: Spanish

            Blood Type: A-                       Health Risks: N/A

            Last Known Address: 938 College Street Macon, GA

            Last Place Seen: Club Ragnarok

            Last Seen Wearing: Jeans, heels, purple and red top

            Safe Word (if any): N/A

            Relationship to missing person: Acquaintance

            Synopsis of events leading up to disappearance: Subject last seen on 6/22/12 at club Ragnarok. [Address attached] Crime reported by the bartender, Hunter S. Stuart. Stuart claims that she was dancing in the second room of the club and vanished around 2:20 a.m. He tried to call and went to her apartment afterwards with no answer. Johnson did not show up for work the next morning either and after forty-eight hours is now officially considered missing.

Additional Information: Johnson’s father has been contacted. Edgar Johnson claims he hasn’t spoken to his daughter in nearly three years.

           

            Her file had lain on Dwight’s desk for nearly thirty minutes. He had read it almost six times now. His head was hurting and the constant ringing phones and slamming of file cabinets were not helping. The detective couldn't see the pieces of the puzzle yet, because there wasn’t much to see. Nothing was falling into place. The crosswords didn’t have enough letters, the sudoku problem did not have the right numbers, and the hangman’s bar was short a few spaces. There just was not enough for him to contemplate yet and he would need to go talk to the suspects. Interviews would have to be conducted. From the initial reports no one that really knew this girl could be reached, and that was annoying. Something had kept him here though, re-reading that file. There was something that stuck out to him, an irritation, but he couldn’t put his finger on it and he was out of time.

He stood, pulling his coat up from the old decrepit office chair. He had been asking for a new one for three months now, even though it wouldn’t matter soon. He wrapped the long coat around him tightly as he headed to the side exit of the second floor. The police station was crowded, stuffy, and loud. It had been a busy summer, with several unsolved cases and two state manhunts that had put half of the black and whites on overtime. Tempers had been flaring between a lot of the guys and Detective Dwight Richtor was tired of it all.

            The rain had not stopped in almost a week. Off and on, it had almost drowned them out. Much like the water expelled from the heavens, the cases had continued to pile up on his desk. Most of them really could wait, or were just near-unsolvable. There were several that would remain unsolved, ones that he had no hope for. Some, he could pass off to others. The Johnson case though was the newest and most pressing on a very large pile that had begun to lean a bit to the right.

            Stepping out under the overhang he glanced over to one of the secretaries from the arson unit smoking a cigarette with Denise, a regular prostitute who was most likely there to bail out one of her cohorts. He did not go near them. He had been down a long hard road out of hell to quit the things and didn’t want the temptation. He had forsaken all of his old smoking partners and with that, much of the habit. It was now just a matter of keeping his hands busy while his mind worked to keep them away.

            Leaning against the wall he looked out at the sheets of rain that fell against the beautiful grey sky. He couldn’t help but watch it for several long moments, eyes trying to catch each droplet as it fell with such force from up above. In his mind, it was like the falling rain was some kind of pattern or code. When he was able to pull himself away from the peaceful white noise that Mother Nature was making he reached into his coat pocket. From there Dwight pulled out a near-completed Rubik’s cube. His eyes quickly studied the different colors and where he had left them before his fingers began their work. The act soothed him. His headache was subsiding, slowly but surely.

            “You just gonna play with your toy all day there, Richtor?”

            Well, it was. Dwight looked up and with a nearly audible sigh he slid the cube back into his jacket pocket.

            “Something I can help you with, Drake?”

            “Oh no, nothing,” Detective Drake said as he leaned against the wall and pulled out a cigarette. “I just couldn’t help but notice a lot of good hard working cops busting their butts in there,” he lit it. “Then I come out here and you’re taking a moment for a brain teaser while you have plenty of those sitting on your desk. I heard you had a new missing person’s this morning.”

            Richtor took a step away as two large puffs of smoke escaped Drake’s mouth. When the man spoke he waved his cigarette wielding hand around to emphasize his point, which sent a thin trail of smoke waving around under the protective cover of the buildings outside, and spread the aroma of the expensive cigarillo, the brand he had always smoked.

            “I was taking a break, is there something on your mind or are you just out here to bust my balls?”

            “Stating an opinion,” he said defensively, “nothing more.”

            “Well Drake,” he said leaning off the wall. “You picked a hell of a time to get a stick up your ass, get it in while you can though.”

            Richtor didn’t wait for a response, he had somewhere he could get more thinking done and more questions answered. He headed out into the rain, the brief trip to his car soaking him, showing the storm’s power.

            Drake watched the other detective hurry through the bad weather to his car and simply shook his head in disappointment. He flicked the cigarillo out into the drink and went back inside to the station with the metal door making a loud clanking sound as it bounced shut behind him, something akin to his mood now.