Redwoods at Nightfall, part 3

Carlos seemed more pushy than usual, I guess that was due to the rain. The LS River was able to handle large amounts of waters, but the body was currently placed on the flat part closest to the water. It would take much more to actually wash the corpse away, but if the body was placed in water for a while, the time of death could be harder to set down precisely.

“Alright, let’s get back to the station and talk to the kids who found the body.” Jim made a hurried dash to the Washington, and waited patiently for me to unlock the car. As we got in, the two tents had been taken down, Carlos had always been efficient, and one of his assistants was now scrubbing the concrete. With the rain like today a corpse wouldn’t leave much of a mark, but even in an enclosed area like the LS River, homicide and forensics had always had the ordeal to “leave as little trace of corpses as possible”, city hall doesn’t want blemishes on their city, though they aren’t exactly keen on removing grafiti and such. In itself, I understood, if someone discovered a pool of blood, they could panic and start to spread rumours. This task had been partly suspended in certain districts, like Davis and Rancho, due to increased gang activity.

“What do we know about the kids, sir?” Jim asked me, and I shrugged. “Not much at the moment, they dialed 9-1-1 and told that they were racing dirt bikes on the bank of the river. Apparently they initially thought the corpse was just a pile of garbage.” Jim nodded, and scribbled some notes down for himself, he was still scribbling when he spoke again, “So… are we pressing charges for trespassing on them?” I shook my head slightly, as the Washington rolled up to the gate. “It’s not up to me or you, talk to the Bulldog if you want to know. We’re homicide, so unless there’s reason to believe that they are suspects in this particular case, it’s an all administrative decision.”

The different parts of the force had always it out for one another, with traffic being lowest of the low. It didn’t make things any better that if there was even a hint of a case belonging to another part, they could essentially just snatch the case away, demand that the current officers shared everything. Then, months later, they’d get the case back, only to find that they would get nothing new from the other department. This wasn’t just collegiate bullying, it came down to spending, as city hall had made some significant changes a couple of years back. Essentially the state would pay per case solved. Naturally, traffic department more or less got the axe, other than speeding and car crashes, they barely had any people in the streets anymore. Their payment were funneled through P&E for the city, over a weekend, it meant that more than three-hundred men and women were told to find different jobs. Not even the Chief, a personal friend of the mayor, and the governor’s cousin’s husband, could stand and defend that idea, but had acknowledge that “this was the new reality, we all have to do ours for the sake of the city.”

Here in homicide, things had always been complex; if there was a married couple or there were kids in the relationship, it was domestic (unless it was fatal, then we got the case AFTER domestic had looked). It was even worse with non-gang related murders, if they happened in or near the gang-heavy districts, we could be pretty sure that they’d send a senior officer to look through what we could find, and from that deduce whether or not it was a case for the gang department. The mayor had been adamant about taking the fight to the gangs, so the gang department of the force all got reinforced cars, buildings, and all got new computers, and lots of other hardware that was brand new.

The rain was still falling without end, as Jim and I shut the doors to the Washington inside the Mission Row parking garage. “Alright Jim, we’re likely going to have the two of them separated, I want you to take one of them. The guys should run the kids through our systems, to see if they are past offenders of something. Use it as leverage, if there is any. Any questions?” I could see that he had taken a decent amount of notes already. It took him a while before he looked up to nod, “Hmm… Well, just one sir; should I mention about how we think he died?” I shook my head slowly, “No… for the time being, it’s better to refer it as an accident, if it’s brought up at all. I reckon they will be more focused on clearing their own name.”

As we got to the interrogation rooms, an officer stood awaiting with two clipboards. He looked new to me, well-ironed uniform, shiny buttons and badge, and his back stiff and straight as a board. From how Jim was following me, with his coat slouched over his arm, I think it was clear to him that I was more than just another cop. “These are the witnesses for the 10-67 in the river?” The greenhorn saluted, but held the clipboards close, “Sir, yes sir, here’s their files.” I grabbed them both, instantly handing one over to Jim. I didn’t look at it at first, instead I took the time to study the new cop. His demeanor was more fitting that of soldier, possibly a reject. “At ease son, this isn’t the army. You can call me Inspector Bates, and what’s your name?” He seemed to automatically click into a more relaxed pose at the order, “Marvin Petterson, sir.” The army habit was still there, those things don’t disappear easily. “Alright Marvin, you’re fairly green on the force, right? Where did you serve before?” Marvin seemed surprised that I could tell that much, despite it being fairly obvious, a junior detective would likely have noticed it, “Fort Zancudo, sir, Ordnance and Munitions Services, sir.” I nodded, it wasn’t unusual that we’d get rejects or lay-offs from Zancudo or the other way around, there was a mutual understanding that, as long as it wasn’t Merryweather, we’d both give a bit of leeway in terms of letting people in. “Good good, now Marvin, you’re going to monitor me and detective Richards as we interview these young kids, obviously interject if we overstep our duties, or intervene if any of them get overly hostile. Other than that, I’d like you to look for any changes in their posing and facial expression. Alright, we all set?” I said the last part a little louder to Jim, who was sifting through the one clipboard.

The kid in the interview room sat with a bored expression on his face, he had time to settle down and be less panicked about being picked up by cops. I had a cup of coffee in the one hand, the clipboard and a can of e-cola in the other, as I entered, the kid seemed to regain interest. “So what, you pigs are going to let me go or what? You can’t just keep me here, I’ve got rights, you know.” I just shook my head slightly, insults and all that, that’s just part of the job, sliding the can towards him, “Hey hey, calm down okay? I just want to know what you and your friend saw.” He still seemed very defensive; this was going to be one of those days, wasn’t it? He crossed his arms, “I’m not telling no pig anything.” I sighed, okay, that was the attitude, no need to play nice anymore then. Slamming my fist down next to the clipboard, I made it bounce into the air a bit, my sudden change of behaviour caught him by surprise, “Listen here, we’re not not the anti-gang unit, this is murder, and I quite frankly don’t give a shit about what colour cap you’re wearing, or the type of shoes you’re using. I got a dead body, and you and your friend was the first ones to find him, so you tell me what you saw, or I’ll throw you into a holding cell for withholding information, are we clear?” Using his slight pausing to get my point across, I took a deliberate sip of my coffee, to let the message sink in. I noticed over the top of the cup, that he seemed to fidget with his hands on the table. An audible sigh came from him, it seemed reason had won out over his anti-authoritarian beliefs, “Alright alright man, shit… I’ll tell you.” I changed my pose to a more open one, giving him a nod to continue. “We were down racing these new Manches, then it started raining like crazy, you know? So we decided to head on home, then PJ almost hit the body. At first we were like, aww shit that was close, but then we saw the blood and like totally freaked. I was like, yo P, we gotta get outta here, but PJ was all it’s a white dude, it ain’t no ganger. So then we called 9-1-1 from PJs phone and waited under the bridge, it was freaky man, like why’s a white dude gotta jump from a bridge like that?” I nodded slowly while listening, taking a slurp of coffee from time to time while he told his story. It sounded true, he didn’t appear to be lying, at least not from what I could tell. “Okay, just a few more questions, and we’re done here. First off, you said that you two used your friend’s phone, why not yours?” He looked to regain some vigor, but it was still a mumbling voice that I couldn’t quite hear, “I’m sorry, come again.” “I’m grounded, okay? My old man got my phone tracked, so if I run with it, he knows.” I had heard of parents going to relatively extreme measures to keep track of their kids, in the case of a kidnapping, it would be smart, but kind of intrusive otherwise. “Okay, last question. The bikes, these Maibatsu Manches, they aren’t registered anywhere, who do they belong to?” The kid looked it pained him, but finally gave in, “It’s my dad and PJ’s uncle that got them, PJ’s uncle stripped them down and was getting new markers. Shit man, I just wanted to test them out, I didn’t want no body right up my grill.”

With that, I finished up the questioning, it would be some time before we could release those kids, as we’d need to confirm as many things as possible, before letting potential suspects slip through our grasps.

Redwoods at Nightfall, part 2

I grabbed another coffee for the ride, and a lid to put on it in the rain, asked if Jim wanted something as well, but he already had a bottle of water with protein in it. Some cops took to drinking massive amounts of coffee, others took to alcohol. I remember my wife, rest her soul, had tried to get me to eat healthier. Protein was good for building muscle mass or something like that, but the only thing I’d really need muscles for, was for the occasional fist fight or tackle with a suspect, and those were few and far between these days. The Washington rumbled into action, and it made me think of my old car. I used to have an Albany Emperor, a classic box-shaped car with a soft suspension, old girl had to call the quits after I stopped a fleeing bank-robber’s muscle car with it. A damn shame, I liked that car. I had gotten the Washington on offer, from the county no less. Some booser in a suit had fucked up an order for the FIB, added an extra zero, so they suddenly stood with way too many cars for their agents. Looks like your average sleek sedan, but it’s got a good acceleration and turns like a dream too. I could have coughed up another 80.000 dollars, and gotten the federal agent version, tinted glass, reinforced tires, enhanced engine performance, but why would I ever want that? Back in my younger days it might have interested me, but I saw no point in sprucing cars up like that. If it could drive, had a roof and functional air-condition, that was pretty much all I needed in a car.

I had met Jim a couple of days prior this case, he and some other young officers had all passed the academy. Turns out his instructor was none other than my old partner, Johnathan Chesterfield, so Jim knew a lot about me, well he knew whatever nonsense John had stuffed his ears full off. As I told him, when he began to ask about the numbers of case that I had worked on, “Son, I don’t give a crap about how many, I’m here to do my job and that’s it.” Jim understood, it seems, and began to ask about more technical stuff, I told him what I could remember. As I turned the car off of Mission Row, looking for service entries to the river along the Little Bighorn Avenue, I calmly asked him, “So, have you heard of Carlos? Or did John skip that part?” Jim looked puzzled, no wonder, John had never been keen on seeing dead bodies, but in a gang-town like Los Santos, you’d get used to it pretty quick. “Well, Carlos is Mission Row’s forensic expert, perhaps the best in Los Santos, he’s a fucking lunatic with bodies, but he knows his stuff. He likes to creep out greenhorns, just a heads up. You don’t have to get close to the body though, if you don’t want to. If you do want to see, don’t touch anything unless Carlos says you can. I finally found the chain-link fence with a gate. “Ah shucks, figures Carlos would have an assistant close this again,” I tucked my coat up around my neck, “hey, check the glove compartment, there should be a set of service keys in there.” Jim reached in, past my service 9 millimeter, and found the set of mostly green keys. I nodded as he showed them, “Alright, they should be labeled, one that says “river access” will be the one you need, I’ll drive the car through when you’ve open the gate, and will wait for you to close it up again.”

Jim tucked his raincoat over him, no complaints about going out in the rain. The gate was narrow, and as civilians weren’t really meant to be running around along the river, it wasn’t an obvious entrance. The light from the front-lights helped Jim find the padlock and open it, he pushed one side of the doors open, then the other, for me to slowly pull the car through. Behind me, Jim closed and locked the gate once more, and rushed to get into the car. The narrow concrete entrance was steep, but soon we reached the river, dark and close to the secondary plateau, if this weather carried on much longer, the entire river would be full. The dim purple lights under the bridge to Mission Row mixed together with a brighter white light coming from some standing spotlights. We could see two small yellow canvas-tents. I parked under the bridge, no need to get it wetter than it already was. An unmarked white van, a Vapid Speedo, was parked near the furthest of the two tents. Yellow and black tape on the entrance to the closest one, told me that the body was in there. Carlos could be in either tent, preparing the body or waiting with his assistants in the other.

The dry warmth of the car was switched out for a drenched, eerie cold, I had the cigarette in my mouth and lit it. The fabric of the tents was thick, waterproof and it wasn’t possible to see if anyone was inside of them or not. Jim was on my heels, a big kid, 6′2″ or so, back in my days as a greenhorn, big guys like that usually didn’t end up in homicide. I had noticed a small notes-block and a pen in one of his pockets, so he wasn’t for taking notes on his phone then. While walking towards the non-taped tent, I spoke, loudly enough to penetrate the rain, and presumably for Carlos and his team to hear me, “So, you want to look at the body first or after we’ve talked to Carlos?” Jim shrugged, “I don’t know, sir, but shouldn’t we hear the forensics first, before starting the investigation?” Just as we approached, a person stuck their head out. “This is a murder… Oh, hey Graham, do come in. New assistant?” As always, Carlos was not one to care much for grade, rank or anything, as he once said; “if you end up on my table, you’re going to be a corpse either way.” Carlos opened the tent’s zipper-door for us to enter.

Inside the tent was cramped. Carlos, and his two assistants, had two tables and a miniature version of a whiteboard set up inside, from what I could tell, they had scribbled down what they had gathered so far, and the personal belongings was placed on one of the tables. The two assistants, both young-looking, a man and a woman, both stood up from the table. It seems all they had been waiting for, was for a detective to call the shots, and tell them to haul the body back to the station. Carlos looked Jim over shortly, then turned to me, “So, Bulldog’s got you to take it? I can tell you this much straight away; there’s not a whole lot to go on. But, you’re used to that by now. Alright, Ted and Ellen, move the van closer, prepare the boxes for belongings, and get the stretcher out. Ted, make sure the camera is protected from this weather, don’t want to lose the photos or have them damaged.” The assistants both moved out of the tent, and Carlos signalled for me and Jim to follow. Carlos had some blue latex gloves on his hands, as per usual really. I sighed, just having gotten used to the dryness of the tent, oh well it was part of the job.

We looked at the body, Carlos and his team had cleared up nicely, but it was still not a pretty sight. The man was Caucasian, relatively average in build with brownish hair. He had a blue designer polo-shirt tucked in his fitted cream coloured pants and a pair of white running shoes with reddish accents. His body was lying face down in a washed out puddle of blood. The rain had made the blood slowly trickle towards the river, but the main source of the blood wouldn’t be emptied that easy. Carlos grinned in his own creepy way, “That’s just his back, his face isn’t exactly pretty now.” Without further warning, Carlos latched a hand onto the corpse’s polo, and lifted him up by the shoulder. As his face left the concrete, we could see the smashed remains of his face, an open fracture had his cheekbone visible. “Jesus Christ!” Jim instinctively took a step back. Carlos chuckled his raspy laugh, “I should think not, he certainly didn’t fly coming off of the bridge. That, or someone hit his face really hard, with something really heavy.” Despite Carlos’ laugh, he wasn’t joking, never did. Jim regained his composure, fishing his note-block out of the pocket, “So, do you think he was pushed or fell off of the bridge? The fall would have been lethal with a fall like that, I presume.” Carlos dusted himself off slightly, but kept sitting by the corpse, “The fall probably would have killed with that landing yes, but I have my doubts to it being the cause of death,” with that, Carlos turned the man over on his side, “it’s more likely this, of course it’s too early to say for sure.” Carlos pointed towards a a darkened crimson slit in the light-blue polo; the head-wound was not what had caused the blood. This man had been stabbed. “There is only a single entry wound, but it’s very close to his heart, once I’ve gotten him on the slab in the lab, I’ll know if it was lethal.” Our small-talk about the body was interrupted as the beeping of the Speedo backing up, cleared through the rain. With that, Carlos let the man slump back down to the concrete, “Well, I’ll call you once I have the autopsy done. The personal items should be available within a few hours.”

The Iron Heart

The embers died out
And the anvil no longer sings
With the beating of the hammer
The mighty bellows
Once wielded a gust of progress
Now stand vacant
Empty

The long-since abandoned place
Is silent
And no weathered hand
Holds the tong steady

A bucket stands desolate and rusted
The handle went to better places
The bottom used to be covered
In the chilling liquid
From the dried-out well around the corner

The bricks stand
Yet they keep nothing neither in nor out
A bent pipe turned towards the sun
A wept quietly with an orange glow

Down the street, between the shelters
There’s this strange little girl
She watches me
Watches me work

One day, she took my hand
Softly, gentle
She gazed her olive-green eyes
Towards the horizon
And with a voice like a tiny harp
She asked me:
“Why are we here?
What did we do?
What did we do?”

Blood, Whiskey & Parfume

Last night
I looked up at your open windows
From the muddy yard, beneath the old, crooked yew
Your curtains seemed like yellow silk
In the rainy darkness

I was silent as the drunkard came through
And silent the chef took the maid from the restaurant
To the darkest corner of the yard
I was silent when the dogs chased some sap in the alleys
I was silent, because I was afraid that you’d hear me

The light from your windows
It was like angels in the night
I knew you were sleeping
But, standing in that light
Made me feel closer to you, somehow

I have seen you
Once, a hot summer night
You leaned out the window in a white night-dress
Like a ghost, I hid behind the trunk of the tree
The wind made the dress dance
And in the light from your room, the shadows danced too

When you stopped, I felt my mind dancing
Dancing to that lonely jig
I imagine your smile
Your lips
And I’ll come back here
Again, tomorrow

Redwoods at Nightfall

2:57 am, Graham Bates’ apartment, Lindsay Circus, Los Santos

It was 3 am, when was I brutally awakened by the noisy ringing of my phone. I thought about letting it ring, but the display told me it was my boss. Already having a hunch, about what the call would be about, I got out of my bed to get dressed while I was talking. The Bulldog sounded the same as always, his grumpy, baritone voice was pretty easy to remember: “Bates? Yeah, someone have found a body in the River… So, get yourself up and come down to the station, oh and give that Jim Richards a call, he could use the experience of some night-time work.” I didn’t get to say anything, not that I planned to really, when the Bulldog is talking, it is just so much easier to shut up. While I descended the staircase from my apartment on the third floor, I phoned Jim. Jim, or James as his name is, had applied to become a detective’s assistant, eventually hoping to become a detective himself one day. Some guys up high, even above the Bulldog, had decided that I should have the “honour”, of having a young, overly-eager officer running tail on my day. I was worried at first, but Jim turned out alright, he’s got a good head and he knows when to use it.

The phone didn’t ring for long, and Jim sounded a lot more awake than me, despite being woken up in the same way as me. “Hey Jim, boss says we’ve got a 419 down in the LS River, briefing’s at the station in one hour. I’m coming by to pick you up, so be ready, alright? Be there in 10.” Jim doesn’t have a driver’s license, and he refuses to borrow his wife’s Radius, until he have a license. Not that anyone would bat an eye if he didn’t. No-one really cares in this town.

As I walked out onto Lindsay Circus, I lid a cigarette. As expected, the weather was awful, it was raining heavily, and the hot summer night made my overcoat stick to my body, like wet paper. Before getting into my car, a dark burgundy Washington, I checked the tires and the engine. just to be sure. The Korean Mobsters of Little Seoul usually wouldn’t tamper with such, instead they’d go straight to the man. However, the gangs had been on their toes recently. Apparently, shootout between the Lost MC and the Vagos happened on the parking lot next to the Del Peiro peer just last night. Of course, we got no notice from the hospitals, that someone had entered with a bullet wound.

I parked the Washington outside Jim’s house in the Vespucci Canals. I was in no mood to get out in this kind of weather, so I just honked the horn a couple of times. It didn’t take long for Jim to come, he was already in his uniform, with an apple in his one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. I had told him, he didn’t need the uniform as a detective, but as Jim pointed out; he wasn’t a detective yet. Considering the size of Los Santos, there were surprisingly few cars out on the streets. I guess the weather didn’t exactly call for a nightly drive. In my job though, I couldn’t really be that lucky to have a choice. Driving through Downtown was like a haunted house, only a few windows high up on skyscrapers, had the lights on. Like eerie, yellow eyes staring down on the little man.

The bridge across from Downtown to East Los Santos was empty, looming over Mission Row, as I turned the car in and down into the parking garage below the station. The rain could still be heard, battering at concrete and tarmac all the same. I looked at my watch, we were here fifteen minutes earlier than needed, so when we got up the stairs, I went to get a cup of coffee from the dispenser. Black, of course. As we passed the homicide department, I could see through the window, that the whiteboard for putting details onto, had already been cleaned up. Knowing the Bulldog, it would likely had been the first, the best, officer, he met as he came in. I knocked a few times on the tinted glass on the Bulldog’s door. The handle turned and the door opened.

The office was fairly large and well-lid, but the presence of the Bulldog, did take the focus off of the rest of the room. Besides the Bulldog himself, there was only one other person in the room, a young, red-haired police assistant, I didn’t know her name. Then again, most of the people I knew on the force, have now retired or perished from police work in other ways. A fancy overhead projector had been set up on a table, the dim blue light fitting on a whiteboard on the wall. Must have been the girl’s work, the Bulldog was notoriously bad at anything that resembled technology. Back in the old days, we used chalk and post-it notes on a black board for these info boards on cases. The Bulldog cleared his throat to gain our attention.

“Alright, we don’t know much about the body yet, other than it’s a Caucasian male. The body was discovered by some punks, racing dirt bikes on the slopes of the river, that was two hours ago, at 2 am. Carlos is already down there, setting up, so he can give you more details, I reckon. We assume that this is not a gang crime, but we cannot, as of yet, completely rule it out. We’ve got the punks sitting in the interview rooms, their bikes weren’t registered anywhere. But head down and talk to Carlos first, see what you can figure out.”

Dusk City

A written assignment from 2009

It was the third of November, rain had poured from the sky the whole day, and water covered the streets in ponds. The rain had not stopped it’s grip on the city, until ten in the evening, and shortly afterwards a thick fog spread throughout the city, laying like a carpet. Now and then street lamps could be seen as vague yellow spots floating in the air, and as they were turned off at midnight, to save power, only the tallest buildings peaked up through the fog. At night the grey carpet, turned into a dark, damp mass of cloud that made the streets feel decaying and old. Here and there the people of the night, prepared to do their bidding throughout the city, thugs and scoundrels looking for easy money, hobos trying to find shelter, and adult dancers heading for the shady clubs.

The night was quiet, a dog barked as someone came to close, only to be silenced as the person left again. The shops all barricaded for the night, no windows to light up street level. On the corner of Cannon and Friday, a shady looking figure was leaning against a street lamp. A closer look revealed the man wearing a black trench-coat, down past his knees and well up over his neck. A small orange glow was seen as the man lit a cigarette, and inhaled shortly. Suddenly a horrifying scream got the man’s attention, it sounded like it was pretty close. Without warning, the man began running in the direction of the scream. The fog quickly took his breath away, his cigarette was left in a puddle. His path took him down Friday, across Queen Victoria and towards the river by Huggin Hill. He stopped, to regain his breath, on the corner of Little Trinity and Skinners, scouting for signs of life, he looked over his shoulder, but even if someone was following, there was no way he could see them, the fog didn’t allow much in terms of visibility. The mist was even thicker the closer he got to the river, and it didn’t exactly help making Skinners Lane more inviting. Known for it’s fish shops and butcher stalls, Skinners Lane wasn’t a place many people would want stay during the night. The man quickly crossed the empty street, his pace slower and more cautious, pressing himself up against a ply wood fence, that shielded the street from a construction site. It was slightly safer here, at least there were no small alleys that people could jump out from. Skinners Lane turned into College Lane, but despite leaving the butcher stalls behind, the man stayed by fence.

Up ahead, on Downgate Hill, the sound of a car engine scattered through the gloomy night. As the man crossed College Lane, another car roared closely by him at high speed. For a few seconds, the man could see another person as the headlights made way through the fog. A young woman, it was almost impossible to tell the age more accurately, she was wearing a hoodie. She didn’t see the man, as she started moving up Downgate Hill. Suddenly she stopped to look down, she picked something up from the street, but the man was too far away to see what it was. The woman threw the item away on the sidewalk and continued up the street. The man found the item, a mostly eaten burger in a wrapper, a nearly dry blood-splatter was on the wrapper. The noticed what the woman was following, a blood trail on the ground, it was just barely visible in the fog. The man looked up again, the woman was heading towards Cannon Street Tube Station. At this time, Cannon Street Station, along with many others, was closed off with a set of heavy iron bars. The man could see the woman carrying something in the front pocket of her, but with her back to him at all time, he couldn’t tell what the object was. By a tight alleyway, the woman stopped to look behind her, the man quickly pressed himself against the wall of a building. She didn’t see him, and so she turned and went into the alley.

She was following the blood trail, mostly out of curiosity. It lead into a ventilation shaft by the ground, the grate had been beaten off and was bent badly. The vent was big enough for her to crawl through, but it was pitch black inside. The blood trail smeared against her leggings, as she couldn’t go around it within the vent. A flickering light ahead, the vent ended in a room with some metal boxes in it; a maintenance room to the Tube. She dropped down, her sneakers making a soft thud as they made contact with the concrete. The blood trail ended here, by the body of a man, a construction worker judging by his florescent vest. He was laying in a large pool of blood, and his head had been cut off. The cut was uneven, several deep chopping wounds were in the man’s shoulders. Trying not to look at the man’s still bleeding neck, she started searching the man’s pockets, a simple silver ring was placed on his finger, swiftly, she slipped it off of him and into her own pocket. The man didn’t have any other treasures on him, so she left him there, making sure not to step too much in the blood. A trail of bloody foot prints lead out from the room, and into a part of the tube used for repairing and cleaning. The lights here weren’t working, and as she had just been in a bright room, everything was suddenly even darker.

Back in the alley, the first man took out a clipboard and used his lighter to read on it. He couldn’t enter the vent just yet, as that would surely be heard. The description of the criminal gave him chills down his spine, how could anyone do things like that? If that was the guy on the loose, the woman would be in serious danger, but if he went in too quickly, she might scatter off and the criminal would get away. After having read what he felt was enough, he crawled into the vent, he was bigger than the woman and could only barely squeeze through. He almost landed on the corpse, the sight making him gag. He had seen corpses before, but the way that this one had been desecrated, made his stomach turn and clench. He reached into his jacket, and planted a small tracing device on the corpse. Holding a gloved hand in front of his mouth, he continued, happy to get out of the room. The man reached in under his jacket for something, grabbing a hold of it, without drawing it out.

Further into the tube, the only light was from the commercials dotting the walls of the station. The flickering light from behind the panels had once been white, but a bulb had not been switched, and was now in a dim creamy-yellow colour instead. Her shadow was cast against the white painted concrete walls, her step almost silent. A sudden sound caught her attention, a low, almost inaudible sniffling. It was impossible, with the echo from the round tube tunnels, to tell where the sound was coming from. The girl stopped, making sure to make as little sound as she possibly could. Realising that her shadow could give away her position, she pressed herself up against the concrete. she climbed up on the platform next to the track. The white marbled walkways were more open and more comfortable, now that her eyes had gotten used to the darkness. A steel door into a cleaning cupboard was ajar, and from the small crack between door and frame, a light beamed out. Steadily, she inched herself closer to the door, but stopped as she thought she heard a sound coming from behind her, in the tube where she was a few minutes ago. A different sound caught her attention back to the door again, the low sniffling she had heard earlier. It sounded to come from inside the room behind the steel door. The crack wasn’t big enough an opening to allow her view into the room, but it was large enough for her fingers to slide in. She began to pull, and though it took some strength, eventually the door began to sing out towards her. It was now open enough for her to peek in, she made sure that the door didn’t open further, so that she wouldn’t compromise herself. She felt something sticky on her hand as she retracted it from the door, in the light she could see the crimson, almost black smudge on her hand, there was no doubt; it was blood. Wiping her hand off in her pants, she slowly titled her head in through the door opening.

The sight was gruesome, in the middle of the room, was an odd figure kneeling over something, which wasn’t to be seen from the girl’s angle, all that she could see was the figure, a blood trail and orange hard hat laying upside-down. But it was clear that the figure was eating something, the slobbering and crunching noises weren’t mistakable from this range. Finally it dawned on her, the figure was eating a head, that was the part that was missing from the body in the maintenance room. The realiasation caused her to let out a slight squeak, and to her horror, the figure turned his head towards her. His chin and cheeks were covered in blood, his brown eyes had lost all signs of reason, instead the madness shined back at the girl. The figure snarled and surprisingly quick got up, grabbing a bloody hatchet, lunging himself towards her. She only just reached to slam the door, as he reached it, but the door couldn’t be closed completely, as the lock had been busted. The girl began to run, stumbling to gain her footing. Behind her the door slammed open, the obstacle had only worked to madden the man even further. Snarling angrily and hungrily, the man quickly gained on her, the thought of double the prey seemed to fuel him. Closer and closer, he could almost taste her succulent flesh already. She was on the track now, a little further. A final leap, he plunged through the silent air in the tube, landing himself in full force on her back, knocking her over, quickly he were on top of her, licking around his mouth as he held her pinned. Why did they always have to wiggle and twirl? Raising his axe above her, his next meal was right here… And it was fresh and warm too. But just as he was about to strike the girl’s throat, a bright orange and white flash exploded in the tunnel, it was as if his arms wouldn’t move, his entire body felt heavy. He felt blood in his mouth, tasting it proved to be his own. With a gurgle, he looked down at himself, and perhaps the red splotch in his chest was the last thing he saw, as the madness drained from his eyes, and his limp body slumped off of the girl.