The Search

(The floors are a cheap, wholesale, white tile that's been put in unevenly. Lining these poorly done floors are rows of shelves. At the front of the room is a pair of glass doors that probably haven't been cleaned in a week. Next to that is a large wooden counter with a short, sweaty man behind it. His hair is greasy and thin. It's slicked back with either months of not showering or some sort of repulsive goop. His eyes look out over the shelves filled with various bottles of alcohol. At the moment he has no customers. He'd consider it relaxing, but right now he needs the money.

He wipes the counter with a dirty rag while muttering under his breath. That's when the movement of the doors causes an annoying bell to ring. Turning to great his new customer he finds himself rather uncomfortable with what he sees. Rounding the counter and stepping in front of him is a raven-haired woman dressed in all black with a non-descript, long, black coat. Her skin is rather pale; contrasting with the straight, black hair that hangs down her face. Her white/blue eyes flare with impotent rage as she looks over the man. Of course that's not what has him so uncomfortable. It's thick webbing of scars across her forehead. Scarring so thick she must have met with a gruesome accident. Stopping in front of him she glares at him as if she had animosity for a man she's never met. It's then she speaks.)

Woman: I'm looking for someone who may be one of your customers.

(The man is quick to reply. He just wants her to leave. There's something odd about her. A hard edge that may be cutting too close to the line these days.)

Liquor Store Man: I have a lot of customers miss.

(She is undaunted by his words. Her eyes narrow as she looks him over.)

Woman: Oh you'd recognize her. She frequents run-down places like this. I'm going to show you a picture and you're going to tell me if you've seen her.

(Her tone has become more threatening and he's trying to figure her out, but at the same time he just wants her gone. He tries to dissuade her once more.)

Liquor Store Man: You can show me the picture, but I'm telling you it won't matter. I have a lot of customers and I highly doubt I woul...

(He doesn't get to complete his sentence as she extends her arm quickly and wraps her thin fingers around his throat. She pulls him forward until his face is within inches of hers. Her tone doesn't just grow more threatening now. There's a slight quiver to it that shows she's close to losing control.)

Woman: Listen closely grease ball. You will look at this picture now. The only way I want you to speak is if I tell you to. Don't irritate me further.

(He nods in reaction while she fishes a photograph out of her pocket. She lets go of him and places the photo in his hand.)

Woman: Her name was Holly Caust. I don't know what she calls herself now, but I know she's in this area. Now nod your head if you've seen her.

(Rather than his head moving, his mouth moves to speak. It's more than her patience can handle. She slams her scarred forehead against his. The sound is unmistakable. Metal impacting bone. The man slumps to the floor, his head bleeding profusely. She looks down at the picture he's dropped. It's a familiar blonde woman. A certain female wrestler...named Summer Ashton.)