Untitled - By Pru/Carmen

The room was quiet; a habit quite usual for the man she expected to be waiting for her.     "Chase?" Carmen whispered and felt as if his name too eagerly tumbled through her larynx.  "This location is compromised," she continued to speak as her body rustled to remove the coat she wore, "We need to--"   He was asleep, on the white sofa lit with a silent television's frozen glow.  While it seemed normal, everything about the scene was wrong.  A glass of spilled bourbon permeated of diffused corn liquor, but the alcohol carried an oddness that the thief noted.  Chase rarely drank leisurely, but when he was alone, or thought he was, his choice of whiskey was scotch.   Reaching down, she touched his shoulder; in addition to his lack of response, he was warm.   Throwing her coat over her left hand, she freed her right to check his pulse: normal.  Before she could continue, the click of a key card and twist of metallic handle set her on alert.  Immediately, she thought to leave, but fear often made victims of fools.  Instead of running, she put her coat aside and decided that she would calmly face whatever came.   "Yes?" her voice rolled out a greeting that solidified its speaker's confidence.   Visible from the shadow obstructing the hallway light, someone at the entrance hesitated then backed away.  Carmen ran to the hall and caught glimpse of a person hastily draped in dusty-coloured jacket and black jeans disappearing at a turn. Apparently, her presence in the room was a variable that someone had not considered, and it was enough to make them leave.  She would have pursued the suspect, had she been in a better position.    Moving rapidly through the room, she checked everything from Chase's possessions to condiments in the mini bar.  His key card was missing, and not a single bottle of bourbon was in the area.  This was a hotel, any forced entry would have alerted staff.  Whoever drugged Chase Devineaux likely knocked at the door, was ingenuously let in, and offered the detective a glass of American Whiskey.  Then they left, along with the bottle, but returned; for what?  The glass?   The phone rang, and Carmen answered.  Speaking kindly, the receptionist informed her that a key card to the room was discovered by a bell boy in the lobby.   Hotels were often helpful, and if trouble were to arise, they were very quick to keep things conveniently quiet, least their image would soil.  Knowing this, she decided to evoke a series of events that would make life more difficult to whoever did this.   "I'm not sure what's happening," she said with a tone of distress, "but my husband won't wake up."   Within minutes, emergency medical services were at the door