"Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you."

- Friedrich Nietzsche

00:28 a.m

10 days earlier

By the time he woke, Tim's bed was soaked with cold sweat. Sleeping at an odd angle, his neck hurt and his back froze from the drenched mattress. His room was dark and the outside of his window was shadowed enough that he could not even see the white linings of the brick wall opposite. He breathed deeply, erratically, desperately trying to regain the rhythm of his breathing. His ears rang, hands shook, his eyes strained in pain as he tried to regain his sight in the darkness.

In the shadow of his room, he finally managed to hone in on the chirping of crickets outside as the focus on his surroundings slowly returned. His watch on his desk faced him, and he could make out the faint outline of the time. He had slept the day away.

Like a brick, the thought hit him. “Dad,” He hissed under his breath.

He shot out of his bed, only to have his legs buckle under him as he attempted to stand, forcing him to lean against the wall in discomfort as the grogginess from the medication he took earlier continued to affect him.

Shaking and holding onto the walls for support, Tim made his way out of his small room. He turned the corner that is his living room, leaning against the old CRT Television, sliding over it lazily, his vision crossing as he stepped up to the door of his father's room. He shook his head in a futile attempt to clear the grogginess but only achieved a split second of clarity before being inebriated again. Resigning to his intoxication, he pushed himself through the doorway into Joshua's room.

An odour of rust washed up against his nose the moment he stepped in and for a moment, he saw flashes of the warehouse barrelling past his sights. Tim massaged his eyes in an attempt to rub the images away. The scent of rust overbearing.

No. Not rust.

Blood. He made the connection and slowly waved hands to wipe away his vision.

He had watched films where characters who are faced with death for the first time react in disgust, often vomiting or passing out, usually comically. He felt neither of those things as he stared at Joshua's lifeless body. The older man looked to be at peace in death, the lost look he gave Tim in the dream world etched into his face. Eyes closed, a soft smile. He would have been mistaken for just being asleep and having a happy dream were it not for his blood drenched singlet and the pool of red forming around him on the mattress.

“Dad...” Tim stepped towards the body, the drowsiness having almost instantaneously faded out of him. He was careful not to step in the small puddle of blood that had formed on the floor. He stared at the man with the golden hair. Drunkard. Construction worker. Father. “We were suppose to go see mom.”

A tear rolled down his cheek.

XXX

01:32 a.m

10 days earlier

Tim wasn't sure when he did it or how, but he had found himself in the living room calling the police after discovering his father dead. By the time Detective Julianne Smith arrived on the scene with her partner, Detective Oliver Hardy, the coroner had already stepped out of the apartment, lab kit in hand. An officer stood beside the maroon haired teenager sitting in the corridor outside the apartment, head buried in his arms.

The coroner approached the two partners. “The scene's all yours detectives. I've got another place to get to. Call in for the van once you're done,” he said, yawning as he ended.

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“Woah,” Oliver Hardy said in a gruff tone, raising a tanned, rugged arm to stop the coroner from leaving. The bald detective, with his hazel eyes and rough round face stared down the older man. “That's it? Julie and I just got here. Don't you guys usually stay till the investigation's over?”

Though only in his late twenties, Oliver's well toned body and bulky, muscular arms gave him the size advantage over most men. A thick, dark brown trench coat, grey shirt, black pants and a pair of muddied boots gave him an overwhelming umbrageous aura. Intimidating, often straightforward, most people would think twice of challenging him and his classic hard-boiled police sway; the coroner included.

“Let him go, Olie,” Julie said, putting a gentle arm on Oliver's to lower it. The coroner took the gesture and slipped past the two detective and went on his way, giving her a nod of thanks as he did so. She explained, “They're as swamped as we are with the death rates spiking.”

Tim took the commotion as a cue to look up. His eyes met Julie's and a sudden sense of forebode took over him. The female detective looked nothing like her partner, wearing a more modern set of black suit and pants, white inner shirt and onyx shined shoes. She was young enough that even Tim found her attractive within his age group; even without any visible make-up. Her flame-orange hair, tied neatly in a ponytail, matched the consuming personality that he felt behind her intense blue stare.

Tim told the officer watching him, “I need to make a phone call,” and stood up. Slipping his phone out of his pocket, Tim went over to the far corner of the corridor to make his call in private.

"Weird kid," Oliver watched as the teen walked away before asking his partner, “What do you think of him?”

“Don't know yet,” she replied, the moonlight shining her hair like a pool of blood. “Let's take a look at the crime scene before we make any decisions.”

The detectives entered the small apartment and a stench of blood hung thinly in the air. Even in the now lit home, the place looked dank and murky, but was visibly clean and relatively neat. Nothing out of the ordinary in the detectives' eyes.

Instinctively, Oliver raised his hands to cover his nose. Even after a half a decade on the force, he still could not bear the initial odour of death. “That smell is strong. What time did they say this was called in?”

“Don't be weak. It's been barely an hour since the body was found. The body shouldn't even be smelling yet,” Julie replied nonchalantly. “Now, which room did they say was the father's?”

Oliver pointed to the closer of two doors. “That one.”

“Good. You go check it out,” she headed for Tim's room instead.

“But the body's not in yours!” Oliver called out from behind but was ignored. He gave a sigh of resignation and with a hand over his nose, entered Joshua's room.

In Tim's room, Julie went over to the sweat-stained mattress. The bedsheets were crumpled and the single pillow had been pushed up against the corner of the wall. She was surprised how small the room was. She could touch the desk, bed, bathroom door, and entrance, all by standing in a single spot.

She glanced at the dimly lit brick wall outside the window. “Not much of a view,” she whispered to herself.

Turning on the spot, she easily opened the door to the small bathroom. Like the bedroom, it was surprisingly small and was easy to take in. Nothing was out of the ordinary save for a half opened medicine cabinet. About a dozen bottles of pills were in there. Some she recognized, others familiar, and a few she had not seen before. But from what she saw, she had a rough idea of what they were for.

“Uh detective?” a voice came from outside the room. She stepped out and met the coroner. He handed her a file.

“What's this?” she asked, opening it to glaze through.

“It's my investigation notes. I forgot to hand them to you,” he gave a half hearted salute and walked out the apartment, leaving her to the report.

Oliver came out of Joshua's room, no longer covering his nose, a look of disgust had settled across his face. “That's a straight up murder right there. We should call the morgue and get a bag.”

Julie, after being fixated on the report, closed the files. “Call the precinct to get a room ready while you're at it.”

She made her way out the apartment, leaving a confused Oliver to follow. Outside, the temperature had dropped and a cold wind blew in from the sea. Tim had finished his call when the two detectives walked towards him and he eyed them suspiciously.

“What are we doing?” Oliver asked his partner in a whisper.

She did not reply, taking commanding strides over to the boy. She could see the uncertainty in his eyes as they approached, the look of hesitation on his face. Stopping just short of arms reach from each other, Julie sized up the teen in front of him. Average size, average looking, average kid. Though she felt an overwhelming personality behind his eyes.

Tim could sense something was wrong. Instinctively, he reacted to the sudden hostile movement of the female detective by giving his signature callous attitude, straightening his back and returning a steely gaze to match the composure of the adults.

“Timothy Kleve?” she asked, knowing the answer.

Tim replied, “Last I check.”

A roguish grin formed on her beautiful face. Her hair colour suddenly reminded him of blood. “You're under arrest for the murder of Joshua Kleve.”