Another foray into fiction

Longtime readers of this blog -- of which I count three, maybe four -- know that occasionally I get a hankering to write some fiction. Like a muse that rides in on a mustang, inspiration comes and there's nothing I can do but get on and see where she takes me. Strange places sometimes.

"In the final analysis, we are unable --"
"drug, VY-4837. While effective in th --"
"associated with metabolic syndrome --"
"effects, the most serious of --"
"depression, agitation --"

Taggert flipped the charred piece of paper over. It was roughly the size of a playing card, and the writing had been made in longhand with a fine-nibbed pen. The back was blank save for empty grid spaces.

"Detective! Find something over there?"

Taggert turned his head while keeping his back to the voice and pocketed the piece of paper.

"No, just yesterday's news. Sports section."

He stepped over the blackened tabletop which lay at his feet and gave a half-effort at surveying the scene. Around him lay melted plastic bottles, glassware that had shattered from the heat, blackened boxes that once housed computer equipment. Everything was soaked, but a few piles on the ground still smoldered and sent up thin trails of smoke. He walked back toward the voice.

"Officer, I don't think we're going to find any documents. These people kept all their records on computer. Box up anything that looks like a computer and make sure it gets to CL."

The sun was overhead now and shining through the skeleton of the building. It came hard at Taggert, but the shadow it cast disappeared on the soot-covered melamine. Taggert took one more look around, lifted the police tape behind him, and stepped out, wondering what he was going to do next.