Who's Laughing Now

Several hours into combing through her pictures, Emma enlarged one that she’d had of a particularly heavily wooded area with the sun just starting to peek through the trees. She was fascinated with the way the rays of sun slanted through the trees as small flying insects danced on the beams. Zooming in closer to see if she could capture the image to identify the exact species of insects, Emma gasped and moved back from the screen. Certainly, she wasn’t seeing what she thought she was. Leaning in closer, Emma squinted her eyes to try to bring the image into focus. Frustrated, she rummaged through her desk drawers and finally pulled out a small magnifying glass. Holding it to her computer screen, she once again leaned in close to look at the image. There, lying on the ground below where the sunbeam shone through a tree, she swore was a red high heel with a foot inside. “No,” she whispered in shock. For the next hour, Emma used every technique she knew to get the image enlarged enough to get a clearer outline. Unfortunately, the more she enlarged the shot, the grainier it became. Several times Emma stood and paced around her office, nearly frantic with indecision. What should she do? If she went to the police and told them what she thought she was seeing, they would laugh her right out of the police station. There was certainly no absolute proof, but Emma knew what a shoe looked like and she was almost certain this particular shoe had a foot attached from what she could tell in the photo. After pacing in indecision for several more minutes, Emma finally printed the picture. When it was done, she grabbed it from the printer and raced out her door, barely stopping to grab her keys from the table. Rushing the twenty or so steps down the hall, she knocked briskly on Sam’s door and waited impatiently for him to answer. When he didn’t respond fast enough, Emma used her fist and pounded on the door, calling out his name as the door vibrated under her hand. “What the hell,” she heard him yell, just before the door swung wide and a disheveled and grumpy Sam glared at her. “Do you have any idea what time it is, Ms. St. Claire?” he glowered. Emma took a few seconds to appreciate the well-sculpted, bare, masculine chest before brushing by Sam and entering his condo uninvited. “Look at this,” she said in answer, shoving the printed picture under his nose when he turned to follow her. “It’s one o’clock in the morning, you little hoyden,” he snapped, brushing the piece of paper away from his face. “Have you no manners? Were you raised by a pack of wolves?” “Look at this,” Emma insisted, shoving the picture back at him. “I don’t know what to do about it. I need your help.” Sam glared at Emma for a few seconds before coming to one conclusion. She was obviously distressed by whatever she had in her hand. There would be no more sleep for him unless he looked at the damn thing to appease her. Sighing heavily, he turned on the closest light and took the picture from her hand. “Very pretty,” he grumbled after taking a cursory look and handing it back to her. “Now can I go back to bed?” The woman was obviously talented but delusional. “Look at it,” she argued. Taking a deep breath, Sam brought the picture up to examine it again. After several seconds he looked over to an obviously anxious Emma. “Help me out here,” he implored. “What exactly am I supposed to see?” In frustration Emma grabbed the picture from his hand and laid it on the counter near her and reached over to turn another light on. “Right here,” she said, pointing to a portion of the picture. Tapping her finger impatiently on the spot, she looked to Sam once again. “Here, what do you see?” Sam stepped closer and looked to where Emma was pointing. He pondered the picture for a few seconds before looking back up to her. “What do you see?” he asked softly, his tone indicating he clearly thought he was speaking to a crazy person. “Oh, for God’s sake, don’t you see it? It’s a red high heel. A shoe,” she said in an exasperated tone. “With a foot in it.” Sam took a closer look and frowned back up at Emma. “It’s not very clear,” he speculated. “I think I see a little something red. Why don’t you blow it up?” “I did,” she barked. “The picture gets grainier the more I enlarge it. But I know it’s a shoe, Sam.” “Then why are you here in my apartment? Why not call the police if you’re so certain it’s a foot…or a shoe…or whatever the hell you think it is?” “Because they won’t take me seriously because the picture isn’t clear enough.” “So, what do you want me to do about it?” he asked incredulously. “We need to investigate,” she insisted. “You’re being dramatic,” he accused. “Go back to your place and get some sleep. I’m sure you’ll see things differently once you get some rest,” he placated.