A/N: Hello Fictionpress! I am proud to announce my first story here, Enough for Now. It will be a multi-chapter story, which I will try to update every few days or so. However, I'm finishing up my freshman year of high school, and with finals and such, it may be a bit sporadic until the week is out. All mistakes are the fault of myself. Please don't hesitate to review! And without further ado, Enough for Now!
Yawning sleepily, Dr. Elizabeth Glass stumbled into the Delaine County Medical Examiner's Office. Dropping her bag from her shoulder to the crook of her elbow, she rooted around inside of it for a moment before pulling back triumphantly, her own door key in hand. Wiggling the key into place, she twisted the knob fiercely. A soft click, and the door swung open, revealing a standard city space – beige walls, beat-up mahogany desk topped by a mile-high stack of case files, a rolling desk chair whose last occupant had scratched up the onyx seat covering. The laptop she'd bought for herself as an early Christmas present last November sat neatly next to the paperwork, gleaming brightly next to a dented desk lamp she'd carted around with her since she had graduated from Georgetown.
Liz pulled off her long, dark green jacket and slung it over the back of the chair, plopping her bag on her desk afterwards. She was about to start reviewing the case she'd closed the week before when a knock sounded at her door.
"Hey, Doctor G!" a voice called out, way too cheerful for the ridiculously early hour. Frowning amusedly, Liz turned to see her newest lab tech leaning against her door frame.
"What are you on that makes you so chipper in the mornings, Jon?"
Jonathan Wilden, the tech, just raised the cup of green tea he held and laughed. Shaking her head, Liz edged past him towards the break room, firing up the decades old coffee maker with a practiced ease. Jon chattered away as he leaned on the counter behind her, rambling on about some article he'd read in the latest edition of 'Popular Science'.
"…and the gas mixes with the cyanoacrylates to let you lift the-"
"Jonathan!" Liz barked, dark liquid sloshing from side to side in her chipped white DCME mug as she whirled to face him. "It is six in the morning, I still have two trials I have to prep for, and I haven't had a drop of coffee this morning. Please. Just wait until I have had my drink," she begged, lifting up the mug for emphasis, "before you give me the urge to strangle you."
Swiping at a lock of his dark brown hair, Jon replied, "Well, since you haven't had your coffee…"
"Dr. Glass? Jon? Anybody here?" Someone asked from the front lobby.
"In the break room!" Liz yelled, the caffeine boost already taking affect.
Heavy footsteps echoed throughout the hallways, coming closer and closer. After a moment, a dark-skinned face topped with short black hair popped into view, his body following right after.
"Good morning Jonathan, Dr. Glass," he said, chocolate eyes brightening as he reached past Liz for the pot of coffee, grinning.
Jon waved from his spot across the tiny room. "Hello Dr. Cyrus. How are you this morning?"
He took a swig of coffee before answering with a cheerful, "I'm good, thanks."
Doctor Emory Cyrus, born in Atlanta in the summer of 1966, was the DCMEO's head of operations. After a decade of grueling work in one of the coroner's offices in New York City, he transferred to Delaine County, where he decided to settle down after meeting his wife, Cindy. Ten years and two kids later, he had worked his way up to his current position, which involved more press conferences and fewer autopsies. Though he still jumped in on the occasional case, he usually stuck to the front of the building, manning the phones and fielding reporters.
The three stood in a comfortable silence, each sipping on their own drinks as the first shift of workers began to flow into the building. As they finished their beverages, one by one the members of the group slipped away to man their own posts.
Last to go was Liz. After chugging down the last dregs of her now room temperature coffee, she situated herself comfortably in her office's desk chair, grabbing a pen and the first stack of paperwork from her most recently closed case.
Cracking open the file, she was about to begin filling it out when her cell phone rang, the first bars of Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D Minor blaring from the device. Grabbing it off the right hand corner of her desk, Liz flipped it open, knowing exactly who it was. She had specifically set the song as his ringtone, seeing as when he contacted her, it usually meant someone was dead.
Sure enough, he'd sent her a text. All it said was DB Bennett Park, but that was all she needed.