Ron’s affliction has reared its ugly head at this point. Ron struggles to maintain for but a moment. He’s used to this sort of thing. Empaths can relate to an extent, but what Ron experiences when he touches any object that has been handled by any emotional being he sees the life of the object. The lifef history of any physical thing. No, air has no effect on him, only solids hold the energy he is too sensitive to touch.
He was not born this way. Ron had a wife, a career, and was well adjusted to his life before this sensitivity. The short story was that a car accident which killed his wife brought this condition on, and whatever wrecked his car was invisible. More on this later.
For the doubters that such an affliction exists, and that maybe ol’ Ron might be loony, he is pinpoint accurate. The SFPD enlists him on cases that baffle them. unfortunately, those cases usually involve heinous crimes. So, Ron, delicate soul that he is, will be subjected to beheadings, rapes, slaughters that the police department cannot on their own solve. More on this later as well.
Now, Ron imbibes to excess. The emotional history of every single object he comes in contact with has left him. He’s dumb, numb, and schnockered. And this is his preference. From his potato vodka induced haze, he notices a woman of Chinese descent sitting next too him at Ginny’s Tavern. Her outfit outprices the net worth of the other 5 patrons in the bar combined. Ginny’s, dive bar that it is, rarely hosts people of this nature, and though it takes a moment, Ron registers that someone may be out of place. She notices his red-eyed gaze, and slips him a business card for a certain Hu Chin. A wan smile crosses her face before she disappears.
Ron wakes to the empty, R emblazoned bottle being thrown into his bedside wastebasket. Arthur Cummings stands above him waving his hat in front of his face.
“Smells like a cross between a locker room and a barroom floor in here. Heavy on the floor.”
It is just before dawn, and Ron’s lids open to reveal the yellowish reddish tint his eyes take on when he has had enough of his medicine.
Arthur says:”Time to go to work, Ron.”
“So, you’re probably looking for work, eh?”, snaps Arthur. “C’mon, get up, the city will pay you double. This one’s nasty.”
Arthur drives Ron to the fens on the north side of the bay. Orange has begun to tint the sky in the east. Ron holds his loong coat around him stiffly in responsee to the damp cold about him. When they arrive, several flatfoots stand around, while the CSI crew snaps pictures and fills vials.