The midday light filtered through the towering windows of the Third Eye Private Investigators office, sending fractured streams of silvery sunshine onto the glossy hardwood floor. The office itself was a blend of contrasts: sleek modern furniture clashing with personal clutter, a polished attempt at order overtaken by the entropy of lives steeped in mystery. Worn-down desks dotted the room, each customized by its occupant—coffee-stained files here, a chipped nameplate there. The sign outside still bore the faint smudges of fingerprints from passersby pausing to investigate the curious name, as though expecting to find psychics inside instead of private investigators.
Anna sat slumped at her desk, the tangled frizz of her auburn hair catching the light as if trying to outshine the chaos of her desk. Papers were scattered in every conceivable direction, interspersed with half-empty coffee cups and pens that no longer worked. Through the glass, the bustle of Boston’s streets created a muffled hum, the sound of the living and their daily struggles a sharp contrast to the stillness of Anna’s inner turmoil. Pedestrians hurried past the building, unaware of the storm brewing behind those windows, in that one particular corner where Anna stared blankly at her notes. Her Red ruby eyes—usually sharp and calculating—seemed distant now, glossy, anchored to unseen depths.
In her mind, she replayed the haunting imagery of her dream yet again—fragments of her sister’s laughter, now distorted, echoing in the shadows of memory. A faint citrus scent, the one her sister used to wear, teased her senses, though it had been years since she last smelled it. The memories pressed against her like a lover turned antagonist, familiar yet suffocating. No case, no file, no client would penetrate the thick veil of painful nostalgia consuming Anna this morning.
Across the room, Phara watched closely, her sharp, discerning eyes narrowing behind thin-rimmed glasses. Unlike Anna’s unbridled chaos, Phara’s presence breathed confidence and control. The office owner had an uncanny ability to see things others didn’t—facts in plain sight, lies behind kind smiles, and, most annoyingly, the emotions Anna tried so desperately to bury. The silence stretched between them, taut as a violin string.
“Anna, are you okay?” Phara ventured cautiously, her voice soft but weighted with the kind of directness that Anna could never escape. She leaned against her desk, arms crossed over her deep navy blazer, her concern palpable.
Anna’s eyes snapped up from her desk, their dull glaze replaced by a spark of irritation. She didn’t like being probed. "I’m fine, Phara," she responded brusquely, the words slicing the air like shards of glass. Her tone carried an edge sharp enough to silence most, but Phara didn’t flinch.
“Anna.” Phara tilted her head, her voice steady and smooth, like a hand on a jittery pulse. The crackle of her leather boots against the hardwood filled the space between them as she stepped closer. "No, you’re not fine. You’re still thinking about your sister.”
The name—“sister”—landed heavy and unwelcome, like a stone hurled into a deep well. Anna’s fists curled on her desk, a crumpled piece of paper caught in her grip. Waves of anger rolled across her like a storm cloud blotting out faint sunlight. She flared her nostrils, the rapid rise and fall of her chest betraying emotions she swore she had long since buried.
“Stay out of my head!” she snapped suddenly, the volume of her voice startling even herself. “I don’t need your pity or your constant reminders!” Her chair scraped against the floor as she pushed back, creating a jarring echo. Tinged with desperation, her words lashed out at Phara like thunder following lightning. A palpable tension now hung between them, sharp and jagged. While people on the sidewalk outside passed in happy ignorance of the exchange, to the three in the office, the room turned suffocating.
From the far end of the office, Theodore’s voice broke through like a gentle current weaving its way through troubled waters. His deep, deliberate tones carried calm, an anchor in a sea of unrest. “Phara’s only worried about you, Anna. We both are. We want to help.”
Anna, her face set in a rigid scowl, shifted her intense gaze between Phara and Theodore, her expression etched with deep-seated resentment that seemed to emanate a chill. Her voice, cold and sharp as a blade, cut through the silence as she responded with palpable bitterness, "I would rather we focus on finding our next case."
Theodore, attempting to diffuse the tension, leaned forward, his features etched with concern masked by a deliberate calm. Ignoring Anna's hostility, he gestured towards his phone, signaling an attempt at reconciliation. "I just emailed you some information on a new case. Maybe, if you opened up a little about your past, we could better understand and support you," he suggested, his voice soft yet firm, a stark contrast to Anna’s icy replies.
At this, Phara, ever the mediator, gently placed her hand on Theodore’s arm, her voice laced with caution as she intervened. "Theo, that might be going too far. Let’s not push her." Her words floated softly yet carried an undeniable weight.
The clasp of Anna's laptop echoed like a gunshot as it snapped shut, reverberating against the old wooden walls that seemed to absorb no sound. Rising abruptly, she slung her laptop bag over her shoulder, her movements deliberate, filled with a resolve that bordered on defiance. "No, let’s do this." Her voice now quivered with a mix of anguish and boldness. "How far back do you want to go, Theo? How about my entire childhood?”
Reluctantly, walls crumbling, Anna succumbed to the eerie embrace of her memories. Her voice softened—a whisper almost lost amidst the overpowering silence—as she revealed a fragment of her tormented past. "My mother's castle… you could never escape the screams of her victims. I spent sleepless nights trying to drown out their agonies that penetrated even the thickest of stone walls. Even now, those horrific cries haunt the corridors of my mind, reverberating endlessly."
Anna's glare, sharp as a shard of glass, bounced between Phara and Theodore, a simmering resentment etched across her features. The fluorescent lights above flickered intermittently, casting a sterile glow that felt all too reminiscent of the cold memories she sought to evade. “I would rather we focus on finding our next case,” she retorted, her voice laced with bitterness that hung heavy like humidity in the summer air.
Phara’s voice trembled with empathy, a velvet thread weaving through the tension-heavy atmosphere. “Anna, he didn’t mean that. We care about you.” The sincerity emanating from her was palpable, a soft comfort in a moment taut with unresolved feelings.
Theodore, standing awkwardly by the desk, opened his palms in a gesture of contrition. “Anna, I am truly sorry.” His deep-set eyes reflected genuine remorse, glimmering with the weight of unspoken regret.
For a fleeting moment, Anna's anger melted, replaced by a warmth that surged in the pit of her stomach—love, understanding.. “I love you both, and I know you mean well,” she replied, her voice softer now, like a gentle breeze on a summer's day. “Just…it’s not always good to bring up the past.” The words slipped from her lips, carrying the weight of an unsung lullaby.
With those final words echoing in the sterile air, Anna turned on her heel, the worn hardwood floor creaking beneath her purposeful stride. She stepped out into the bustling streets of Boston, where the cacophony of life embraced her like a long-lost friend. The city hum was a symphony of laughter, conversation, and the distant rumble of the subway, all weaving together to mask the darker shadows lurking in her mind.
Approaching her motorcycle, a sleek black machine that glimmered against the concrete jungle, Anna took a steadying breath. The bike stood resolutely, a symbol of her independence and resilience. She retrieved her cell phone, its surface cool against her palm, and secured it into the holder like a compass guiding her through the unknown.
With a flick of the ignition, the engine roared to life, vibrating beneath her as though echoing her own determination. Straddling the motorcycle, the wind suddenly whipped through her hair, a wild rush that felt like a cleansing storm. It tousled her dark locks, a tangible release that swept away the ghosts of her past, momentarily silencing the echoes that clung to her heart.
***
As Theodore sat ensconced in the dim glow of his desk lamp, the rhythmic click-clack of his fingers against the keyboard reverberated softly through the stillness of the cluttered office. Papers were strewn about like fallen leaves, each one hinting at unfinished thoughts and unprocessed emotions, while the faint smell of old books and burnt coffee curled pleasantly in the air. His brow knitted in concentration, he barely noticed Phara’s restless energy as she darted back and forth in front of his desk. Her vibrant presence was a stark contrast to the murky shadows that clung to the walls, her eyes alight with unspoken worries.
“Theodore,” she sighed, the sound a mixture of exasperation and concern, “Anna is not herself. She hides behind a fa?ade, a false smile—maybe I should do a tarot reading for her, see what lies beneath.”
Theodore glanced up, the flickering candlelight catching the sharp line of his jaw as he contemplated her words. A fleeting shadow of worry crossed his face. “You promised her, Phara. Remember? No more meddling with her emotions. Give her some time, and I’m sure she’ll find her way back.”
With a reluctant nod, Phara perched herself on the edge of Theodore’s cluttered desk, the scattered tarot cards whispering secrets beneath her fingers. “Very well,” she conceded, her tone shifting from uncertainty to a resolute calm. “But let’s not forget our work. Have you processed the payments from our last client?”
A hint of weariness washed over Theodore, pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Yes, I have. But honestly, Phara, I think we need a bigger case—something more substantial. It might help attract more clients and bring in new opportunities.” His voice held the weight of his aspirations, a distant hope shimmering beneath the surface.
As she gazed out of the window, the bustle of the city beyond pulsed with life, a cacophony of laughter and chatter flitting like fireflies in the night. “Until then,” Phara replied, her voice steady with determination, “we must do what we can to help those who seek our aid.”
Throughout the day, a procession of troubled souls wound their way through the door, each one weighed down by their fears, seeking solace and clarity amid the confusion of their lives. Most were married individuals, their faces etched with signs of betrayal, doubts swirling in their minds like autumn leaves caught in a swirling gust. Theodore felt a pang of annoyance wash over him, burdened by the fragility of trust that seemed to crumble so easily in the hands of the unsuspecting.
As the hours trickled by, Theodore and Phara sat as patient sentinels, actively listening to each client’s anguished stories, their voices weaving a complex tapestry of human emotion. Each confession drew Theodore deeper into the intricacies of human relationships—how delicate trust was, yet how it could be woven back together with threads of understanding and compassion. He felt a flicker of faith that, like their clients, Anna would resurface from the depths, finding her way back to herself in due time.
As the day drew to a close and twilight settled, Anna finally pushed open the creaky office door. The hinges groaned like old secrets awakened, and in her arms was a tempestuous cat, its claws digging unceremoniously into her shirt. Phara glided over, her movements like a whisper on the breeze, and with a gentle touch, she cradled the agitated feline. Instantaneously, the cat’s tense body slackened, its sharp claws retracting as it surrendered to a rumbling purr, an unlikely transformation unfolding with effortless grace.
Amused by this sudden change, Anna chuckled, “Please no more lost pets, tomorrow I want a real case. That cat is a true nightmare! How on earth did you manage to calm it down, Phara?”
Theodore, grinning at the scene, sauntered to join them. With a playful glint in his eye, he quipped, “Ah, my dear Anna, everyone loves Phara. It’s almost too easy for her.”
Unable to resist Theodore’s light-hearted nature, Anna laughed, her weariness momentarily forgotten. But when Theodore reached out to pet the cat, he was met with a fierce hiss and promptly recoiled, raising his hands in mock surrender. Anna’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she teased, “I guess even Phara has her limits, Theodore.”
With a determined air, he declared, “Well then, I shall take it upon myself to call the client and arrange for them to pick up this feisty feline.”
While Theodore made the necessary calls to return the cat to it’s owner, Anna busied herself tidying their shared apartment upstairs the familiar scents of home wrapping around her like a warm embrace. As she polished the last remnants of the day’s turmoil away.
Later on, the golden glow of the evening sun cascaded through the windows of the Boston apartment, casting elongated shadows across the polished hardwood floors. Phara stepped inside, her senses awash with the faint scent of rosemary wafting from the large open kitchen, where Anna stood, a determined look etched across her face. Theodore trailed behind her, his brows furrowing in surprise as the warmth of their typically chaotic gatherings was replaced by the unusual tidiness of the space.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“This is different,” he murmured, almost to himself.
Anna, with her back to them, spun around sharply, her dark eyes flashing with mock indignation. “I can hear you,” she replied, sarcasm tinged with amusement lacing her voice.
Phara, sensing the light-hearted tension, glided over and slipped in behind Anna, wrapping her arms around her in a gentle embrace, her presence a soothing balm to the fraying edges of their evening. “What are you trying to do to that steak?” Theodore interjected with concern, detecting the acrid smoke beginning to rise from the frying pan.
Anna shot him an exasperated glance, her features softening as laughter danced in her eyes. “I thought I was cooking it. You can take over,” she said, handing him the spatula, her tone lightening.
In that moment, warmth filled the air—not just from the impending meal but from the sense of camaraderie that enveloped them. Theodore stepped closer, enveloping them both in a three-way embrace, creating a cocoon of shared laughter and mutual respect that felt like a refuge from the outside world.
“Let’s salvage this dinner together,” Phara suggested, her playful push against Theodore’s side making it clear that they were in this as a team, an unspoken bond connecting them through the intricate web of friendship and the mysteries that lingered beneath the surface of daily life. The burnt edges of the steak were a trivial concern in comparison to the flickering connections that bound their hearts, cemented by laughter, shared moments, and the lingering sense that something extraordinary might just be waiting around the corner.
***
A dark night hung over the city of Chicago, casting a shroud of mystery over the dimly lit streets near the warehouse district. Inside one of the abandoned buildings, a vampire man was being forcefully dragged by two men, their grip firm and unyielding. But within the confines of captivity, the vampire's will to submit suddenly waned. He went limp, slipping out of the men's grasp and collapsing onto the cold, concrete floor. One of the captors responded with a harsh kick, his words laced with impatience, “Get up.”
The vampire, seemingly drained of life, surprised them both. With a sudden burst of strength, he pushed the men away, their hold broken like fragile twigs. Without hesitation, he bolted towards the exit, his eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger for freedom. In a swift and agile motion, he leaped out of a nearby window, soaring through the night air before landing gracefully on a rusted dumpster below.
The two men, momentarily stunned, quickly regained their composure. Knowing the stakes were high, one of them urgently exclaimed, “Let's go get him, before he escapes!” With determination etched on their faces, they rushed outside, their footsteps echoing through the desolate alleyway.
They reached the dumpster, their breaths heavy and hearts pounding. But to their dismay, it was empty, the vampire having vanished into the shadows of the city. The realization struck them like a sudden gust of wind, chilling them to the bone. The other man, his voice laced with urgency, spoke through gritted teeth, “Go get the van, we need to find him before the boss finds out.”
The badly injured vampire stumbled through the bustling streets, desperate to escape the clutches of his pursuers. His once majestic wings were tattered and torn, barely able to carry him as he darted through the crowds of revelers. The pulsating music and laughter blurred into a disorienting cacophony, but he pressed on, his survival instincts kicking in.
With every labored breath, he could feel his strength waning, his body aching from the wounds inflicted upon him. The taste of his own blood lingered in his mouth, a bitter reminder of the battle he had fought. He knew he couldn't afford to rest for long, not when his enemies were hot on his trail.
Seeking refuge, he leaned against a building, his heart pounding in his chest. The throbbing bass from a nearby nightclub reverberated through the walls, adding to the chaos around him. In the distance, he heard the screeching tires of the van, a chilling sound that sent a shudder down his spine. He knew he had to move quickly.
Summoning the last ounce of strength he had left, the vampire pushed himself away from the wall and stumbled into a dimly lit bar. The dim glow of the neon signs cast an eerie ambiance, matching the vampire's wounded appearance. He scanned the room, searching for a safe haven, his eyes landing on a woman who seemed to exude compassion.
As if sensing his desperation, the woman approached him, concern etched on her face. “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice laced with empathy.
The vampire mustered a weak smile, appreciative of her kindness. “I will be,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “I must go now.”
His departure was swift, his determination to reach the tall black building in the heart of the city overpowering the pain that coursed through his body. Every step felt like an eternity, his senses heightened as he constantly scanned his surroundings for any sign of the dreaded van.
The city's maze of alleys and backstreets became his refuge, his movements fluid and elusive. He ducked into shadows, his supernatural abilities aiding him in remaining unseen. As he weaved through the urban maze, he couldn't help but glance over his shoulder, his eyes gravitating towards the van that seemed to haunt him at every turn.
Though his body screamed for respite, the vampire pressed on, knowing that surrendering was not an option. He ran past street performers, their music blending with the distant sirens, creating a chaotic symphony. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, fueling him with a determination to outwit his pursuers.
The men in the van had been driving tirelessly for hours, their eyes scanning the city streets in search of any signs of the elusive vampire that had managed to slip through their fingers. Frustration permeated the air, as their failure weighed heavily on their minds. The man in the passenger's seat let out a sigh, breaking the silence that had settled between them.
“Boss will not be happy about this,” he said, his voice laced with a tinge of anxiety.
The driver's grip tightened on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched. “We will just catch another vampire and not tell him about the missing one,” he replied, his tone laced with determination.
The suggestion hung in the air, a desperate attempt to salvage their mission and avoid the wrath of their boss. The man in the passenger seat nodded, though doubt lingered in his eyes. With a shared understanding, they decided to try their luck near the airport, hoping to find a replacement vampire before their boss discovered the truth.
As the van raced towards O'Hare airport, the neon lights of the city blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors outside the windows. The night was alive with the vibrancy of the urban landscape, but their focus remained on their mission. They knew time was of the essence.
The airport loomed ahead, a behemoth of modernity and chaos. They parked the van close by, blending in with the bustling crowd of travelers. The air was filled with the commotion of arrivals and departures, a symphony of voices in different languages. The atmosphere was electric, charged with anticipation and adrenaline. The two men stepped out of the van, their senses heightened, searching for any hint of a vampire amidst the throngs of people. They discreetly observed the faces around them, looking for the telltale signs of pale skin, sharp teeth, or an air of otherworldliness. But the sea of humanity seemed impenetrable, each individual lost in their own stories and destinations.
Hours passed, and the men grew weary. Doubt started to creep in, threatening to shatter their hope. Just as they were about to give up, a figure caught their attention. A young woman, her eyes sparkling with an otherworldly glow, stood alone near a deserted terminal. It was as if she was beckoning them, her presence drawing them closer. They cautiously approached the woman, their hearts pounding in their chests. As they got closer, they could sense a strange energy emanating from her. The woman turned to them, her smile revealing a set of gleaming fangs. They had found their replacement vampire.
Without hesitation, they swiftly captured her, their expertise in handling supernatural creatures coming to the fore. As they secured her in the van, a sense of relief washed over them. Their mission was not in vain; they had found their replacement vampire. The weight of their failure had been lifted, replaced by a renewed sense of purpose.
***
The storm clouds loomed over Chicago, dark and heavy, casting a somber shadow over the city. Rain poured down in sheets, drumming insistently against the pavement, while flashes of lightning illuminated the stark silhouette of a tall black building at its heart.
On the top floor of the building, within a room reminiscent of an art gallery, stood Anastasia, surrounded by paintings chronicling her existence throughout history. Each canvas captured an essence of time, but the ones featuring her sister, Anna, drew the most attention—a haunting reminder of a bond that once reigned unbreakable. The figures in the paintings portrayed Anna dressed in exquisite garb, her likeness rendered nearly doll-like, pristine, and untouched by the passage of time. As Anastasia, clad in modern-day attire, stepped into this room brimming with history, the storm outside echoed the tempest within her heart.
Her gaze settled on a particular painting, one that froze a moment involving her and Anna, its brushstrokes whispering secrets of days long gone. Before it, a massive chest rested, its surface as dark and polished as the midnight sky outside. Delilah entered, her presence a warm contrast to the tempest outside, and stood beside Anastasia, her eyes shimmering with shared memories.
“You always stare at this one when it rains,” Delilah observed, her voice soft and inviting against the sweep of the storm.
Anastasia’s attention remained fixed on the canvas. “The rain reminds me of Anna; she always hated the rain.” Her words were a fragile sigh, coated in nostalgia and sorrow.
Delilah, ever the pragmatist, reached out, her fingers brushing the cool surface of the chest. “Anastasia, you must give up on her, the ways she gave up on you.”
With a gentle but firm motion, Anastasia moved Delilah's hand away, her response laced with an edge of protectiveness. “Don’t speak as if you know my sister. For centuries, it was me and her against the world; my lovers would come and go, but she always remained—until she became involved with that Wendigo.”
“What happened?” Delilah prompted, her voice barely rising above the din of the storm.
Anastasia’s gaze fell, her expression darkening. “I had to do it. It was a time when we were always on the run from the priests, those fanatical cultists who hated my mother.” Her finger grazed the chest, and suddenly the air shimmered around her, the world fading to a blur, ushering her into a vivid flashback.
The 1700s in Boston unfolded before her, a world of dirt roads and candlelight, where the cries of newborns echoed within the walls of an ancient hospital for births. There, at Anna's bedside, Anastasia witnessed her sister stir awake, confusion clouding her expression like the fog rolling in off the harbor.
“Thank god, I found you,” Anastasia gasped, enveloping Anna in a protective hug. “Why did you cross England for this land? Asher is married!”
Anna pulled away, her eyes wide with panic as she dashed across the room, her feet moving on instinct toward the crib that lay empty. “Where is my baby? My son?” Her voice crescendoed with desperation, sharp as splintered glass.
“He is safer with his father. We are still being hunted.” Anastasia’s tone was steady but laced with urgency.
“No!” Anna’s fear transformed into rage, her face flushed as she turned with ferocity. “They are hunting you! No human knows I exist! You had no right to give away my baby!”
Anastasia’s heart ached at the rawness of Anna’s pain, her voice thick with emotion. “It will be okay. It will just be me and you again.”
But Anna’s response was a visceral rejection. “No! Stay away from me!” And with a swift motion, she vaulted through the window, her form dissolving into the dark night, a fleeting silhouette against the tempestuous skies.
In that moment, Delilah’s gentle tug on Anastasia’s arm pulled her back from the depths of memory, and her eyes sparkled with a mischievous light. “Let’s go do something fun tonight. We have a few hours before the sun rises,” she whispered, the anticipation in her voice a soft counterpoint to the storm’s wrath.
The suggestion caught Anastasia off guard, but a smile began to bloom on her lips, momentarily chasing away the shadows of her past. “That sounds wonderful,” she replied, curiosity and excitement bubbling within her.
Without another moment’s hesitation, they hurriedly dressed, their hearts thrumming with the thrill of adventure, and stepped into the cool embrace of the night air. A sleek black car awaited at the curb, its polished exterior glinting in the faint illumination of the streetlights. The driver, a silent guardian of their whims, held the door open, offering a passage into the unknown.
As they weaved their way into the very heart of the city, the bustling streets painted a picture of life against nature's fury. The night wore on, and soon they found themselves stepping into the dimly lit vampire bar, where the atmosphere vibrated with an intoxicating blend of energy and danger. The scent of blood lingered in the air like a forbidden perfume, enticing and alluring.
Once inside, however, an unusual stillness coursed through the space as they navigated toward a secluded table. The air, typically electric with the camaraderie of creatures of the night, felt curiously stifled.
Anastasia leaned closer to Delilah, worries knotting in her stomach. “Do you think something happened? This place is never this quiet.”
“Let’s find out,” Delilah replied, the glint in her eyes promising mischief.
Approaching the bar, they found a lone bartender polishing a glass, his nervous demeanor betraying something darker lurking beneath the surface of the night. Delilah flashed her fangs with playful confidence and leaned against the marble counter. “What’s going on here tonight, my friend? The lack of patrons is quite unusual.”
The bartender’s voice quivered as he shared the unsettling rumors. “There have been whispers of a powerful vampire hunter lurking in the shadows. Many have disappeared, never to be seen again. Fear has gripped the vampire community, keeping them away from places like these.”
Anastasia’s heart raced with dread, but Delilah simply smiled, her eyes hungry for challenge. “Well, we’re not afraid of some vampire hunter, are we, Anastasia?”
“No, we are not,” Anastasia declared, the fire of determination igniting within her. “Let’s show them that no amount of fear can keep us from enjoying our night.”
They made their way onto the stage, where the band paused in their playing, eyes widening in surprise as the two women took the spotlight.
Delilah addressed the growing crowd with a charismatic smile. “Tonight, we shall dance, we shall drink, and we shall celebrate the spirit of the night. No hunter can diminish our passion for life!”
As applause filled the room, the atmosphere transformed, energy crackling through the air like the electric charge before a storm. The band resumed with frenzied vitality, their music wrapping around the patrons like a warm embrace. Delilah and Anastasia danced with fervor, their movements hypnotic, a dazzling display that ran counter to the night’s earlier dread.
As the night wore on and more vampires trickled in, the space became a sanctuary of defiance, the fear that had previously loomed dissipating into exhilaration. With every swaying step and echoing laughter, they embraced their freedom with a vengeance.
But as the dawn began painting the sky in muted shades of pink and orange, a familiar urgency flickered within Anastasia. The night's escapades were coming to an end, the sanctuary of night giving way to the dawn. With fingers entwined, the two women navigated their way through the city streets were quiet, the echoes of life still cradled in the shadows, as they climbed into the waiting elegant black car, its sleek body reflecting the first tentative rays of sun.
