33 Chapter 31:Monday...
(Monday morning - Hell's Kitchen...)
In a particularly messy apartment, the smell of the previous night still lingered.
Amidst the clutter of cigarette butts, takeout boxes, and empty bottles of alcohol, an alarm clock's persistent beeping was abruptly silenced by a swift, forceful throw.
BAAAA!!!
Its shattered pieces joined the rest of the disarray on the floor.
In the bed, amidst tangled sheets, Jessica Jones, now 50 years old but scarcely showing her age, groaned in annoyance.
Every damn morning," she muttered, rubbing her eyes as she sat up in bed. Her tank top and shorts were crumpled from the night before.
Despite being 50, she hardly looked a day over 30, a small mercy in a life that had seen better days.
Her dark hair was frizzy, probably because of last night's indulgences. Reluctantly, she sat up...
For 30 years, Jessica had led a life steeped in the gritty realities of a private investigator.
Once a hero, those days were long gone, replaced by a lonely life marked by divorce and a penchant for drowning her sorrows in alcohol and cigarettes.
Shuffling through the mess, Jessica made her way to the bathroom.
The mirror greeted her with a reflection of her current state – tired, worn out. "Great, another glamorous day in the life of Jessica Jones," she said sarcastically to her reflection.
She spent the next 30 minutes under the shower, letting the water mix with her tears as she tried to wash away the regrets and memories that haunted her.
Dressed in yesterday's clothes, which passed the sniff test, Jessica stepped out of her apartment.
She greeted the neighbourhood cat, which hissed in response, a regular morning exchange.
"Morning to you too, Fluffy," Jessica greeted dryly.
....
Her first stop was the corner store.
"Morning, Sal. Hit me with the usual," she said to the store owner, who handed her a small bottle of Jack Daniels without a word.
Jessica's private detective office was a mere ten-minute walk from her apartment.
Jessica tried to turn on the heater, which sputtered unconvincingly. "Piece of crap," she sighed, settling into her chair and propping up her feet.
Having propped her feet, she quickly fell back into a troubled sleep, hoping to catch a couple of hours of rest before lunchtime.
But today was not destined for such respite. The ringing of her office phone jolted her awake.
On the other end was a colleague from the 15th precinct, someone she'd worked with before.
Groggily, she answered, "Jones, PI. Make it quick."
"Jones, it's McCarthy from the 15th. Got a case here, twisting our brains into knots. Need your eyes on it," said the voice on the other end.
Jessica rubbed her temples. "McCarthy, you know I don't do fieldwork much these days. What's the catch?"
"It's a weird one, Jess. Four murders, all at midnight. We're stumped," McCarthy explained.
Jessica pondered for a moment. "Alright, I'll think about it. No promises," she replied, her interest piqued despite her reluctance.
They were baffled by the case and wanted her at the crime scene.
As she turned on the TV, hoping for a mindless distraction, the news anchor reported on a series of mysterious murders.
Each had occurred precisely at midnight, with four victims already claimed. The perpetrator was still at large.
Jessica's eyes narrowed as she listened. The details gnawed at her, a familiar itch that came with unsolved cases.
Despite her best efforts to drown her instincts in alcohol, the detective within her was still alive, still hungering for the truth buried beneath the surface.
With a sigh, she downed a swig from her bottle, the warmth of the alcohol doing little to quell the growing sense of intrigue.
Hell's Kitchen might have changed over the years, but the call of a challenging case, the pull of a mystery — those things remained the same for Jessica Jones.
She grabbed her coat, her decision was made. Whatever semblance of peace she had hoped for today was gone.
It was time to delve back into the shadows of the city, back into the world she knew all too well.
The world of secrets, lies, and unsolved crimes.
...
( A few hours later - At a park bench...)
Hours later, Jessica Jones found herself on a park bench, her thoughts swirling around the case she had encountered earlier that day.
Sipping from her flask, she was half-drunk but her mind was preoccupied.
The victim she had seen today was marked by an occult symbol – something eerily familiar yet elusive.
"Where have I seen that before?" she murmured to herself, trying to dredge up the memory from the depths of her mind.
She decided to put the puzzle aside until she was sober.
Standing up, she was abruptly snapped out of her thoughts as a truck, careening wildly, headed straight for her.
Frozen, she realized she had no time to move, no chance to fly away. Bracing for the impact, she knew it would hurt, even with her durability.
But in a blur, someone pushed her out of the way, taking the full brunt of the truck's force.
She heard the sickening sound of bones cracking as the body flew like a ragdoll, followed by the loud crash of the truck stopping and tipping over.
Shaking off her shock, Jessica ran to the person who had saved her. "You idiot, what were you thinking?" she shouted, but her words faltered as she saw the body miraculously heal right before her eyes.
Standing up nonchalantly was Grim, greeting her casually as if being hit by a truck was an everyday occurrence.
"What the hell?" Jessica exclaimed, her eyes wide with disbelief.
Grim nodded nonchalantly. "Hey....Yeah, I'm okay. Perks of being immortal and all."
Jessica, still in shock, punched him in the chest, breaking a rib that immediately healed.
She started to berate him for his recklessness, but her attention quickly shifted to the truck driver.
She immediately ran to the window to see if they were okay, but to her surprise, there was no one in the driver's seat.
As the sound of sirens approached, Jessica realized they needed to leave. "You, follow me," she slurred, still feeling the effects of the alcohol.
Grim, unfazed by the events, followed Jessica as she dragged him away from the scene.
