Zone B. Alley across Amber Beans (Café) – 17th October 2015, 6:10 AM
“Detective Carter. Good mor—”
“Brief me,” Evelyn cut him off curtly as she ducked under the tape and entered the alley.
“The victim is a woman,” the officer began, his voice trembling. “Her face is… unrecognizable. But we found an ID on her. 37, Abigail Foster. I was the first to respond, but there isn’t much to say beyond what’s already there. The person who discovered the body is waiting on the other side of the alley.”
Unrecognizable? She thought, a sense of unease washing over her face as it turned pale.
She approached the medical unit—they were crouching, examining the body. But she halted midway, clenching her fists as she Took a deep breath. Stepping forward, the metallic tang of blood struck her, faltering her resolve.
Instinctively, she closed one eye, shielding herself from the gruesome scene ahead.
But it wasn’t enough,
Her whole body shuddered, and her breath caught when her gaze landed on the victim.
The victim’s face was a grotesque, swollen mess, battered beyond recognition. Strands of hair clung to the torn skin like glue. Her chest was a hollow cavity, her heart missing, and ropes of intestines bound her hands.
The gash on her throat was deep and brutal, and a dark pool of blood spread beneath her, glinting faintly in the dim morning light, reflected into Evelyn's now wide-open eyes.
Her stomach churned violently. She clamped a hand over her mouth, stumbling a step back. The bile rising in her throat became unbearable, and she darted to the side, bracing herself against the wall as she retched.
“Evelyn!”
A familiar voice cut through the haze as a gentle hand touched her shoulder.
She glanced up, vision blurry, to see Sarah Collins, the forensic pathologist, crouched beside her, Holding her hair back as Evelyn struggled to breathe.
“It’s okay,” Sarah whispered in her ear. “First time seeing something like this?”
Evelyn nodded weakly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
Sarah smirked, poking Evelyn lightly on the cheek. “You’re too innocent for this line of work, Carter. Sure you didn’t pick the wrong job?”
Evelyn managed a weak laugh as she replied curtly. “What do we know so far?”
Then forced herself to straighten, swallowing the bitter taste in her mouth. Her mind raced to focus, even as her body trembled with the weight of what she’d just witnessed.
Sarah sighed, standing up. “My estimation is she was killed around midnight. The throat was cut—clean. The rest...” Her tone darkened. “That was rage. Her face was struck multiple times, probably with a bat. Don’t know how many blows before...”Her voice trailed off as Evelyn approached a toppled trash can. Sarah slipped her hands into the pockets of her lab coat and followed her friend.
Evelyn steadied her breathing as her eyes scanned the area. Her gaze locked on blood splatters on the wall, about four meters ahead of the body. She pointed toward it. “So, you’re saying she was hit at least once, then tried to run?”
Sarah nodded.
“Anything else? Fingernails?”
“Chipped,” Sarah replied curtly, then turned to rejoin her team.
Evelyn lingered for a moment before calling out, “Is Eric here yet?”
“Who?”
“My partner.”
“Oh, yeah. He went to look for witnesses.”
Nodding sharply, Evelyn began moving through the scene, taking in every detail. As she left the alley, a whistle broke through the air.
She followed the sound to find Eric leaning casually against a lamppost, cigarette in hand.
Evelyn marched up to him and snatched the cigarette from his lips, taking a drag. “I’m not a dog.”
Eric smirked, raising an eyebrow. “For someone who claims not to know love, you sure do kiss.” He stretched out a hand. “Mind giving it back?”
"No." She exhaled sharply, smoke curling between them as her eyes dared him to continue. “What’ve you got so far?”
He sighed, pulling another cigarette from his pocket and lighting it. “The guy who found the body? Frankie Dell. Homeless—claims it’s temporary. Says he came into the alley to take a piss and found her. For now, he’s a suspect. If this turns out to be rape, we might already have our guy.”
“Surveillance?” Evelyn pressed.
“The only camera nearby belongs to Amber Beans.” He gestured lazily toward the café.
“Did you ask them for foot…”
“Of course,” he replied, cutting her off with a smirk. “But here’s the kicker—I asked everyone in the area if they heard screams. Nothing. Patrol already went door-to-door, same story. No one heard a damn thing. Strange, huh?” He took a long drag. “Judging by the way the killer removed her organs, I’d bet this is their first time. Amateur work. Messy. Let’s hope forensics can solve the case by themselves.”
Evelyn’s tongue clicked as she threw the cigarette to the ground, crushing it under her feet.
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Meanwhile, in Zone G—an outskirt district to the northwest—its poor status was painfully evident. The air reeked, was a result of local neglect as residents dumped garbage in the streets for collection. Stray dogs rummaged through the trash, spreading it further until the roads were layered with filth. Yet, ironically, it was one of the safest zones in the city. Crime was low, though starvation often claimed lives instead.
Every corner held a begging hand—pleading for money, food, or anything. The walls were plastered with graffiti, cursing the country, cursing the new laws, writing verses of the holy book that promises hell upon the rich who ignore their pleas for the sake of unnecessary items, and philosophical musings. One line scrawled in large, uneven letters caught the light: “The only blessing of being worthless is not attracting evil.”
In a cramped apartment on one of its blocks, music blared as Johan danced between the table and kitchen counter, preparing a simple breakfast of tea, bread, and scrambled eggs. His spirits were high after landing a client yesterday, and he sang along with the music.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
(thud)
A loud knock came from the floor below, accompanied by muffled shouts. “Shut up! It’s seven in the morning!” Johan imagined. His eyes widened briefly before he turned the volume down with a sheepish grin. Once he finished eating, he grabbed his keys and headed toward his car.
Sliding into the driver’s seat, Johan glanced around the gloomy streets and muttered to himself, “This zone is so damn depressing.” With a sigh, he started the engine and drove off.
The scenery gradually shifted as he entered Zone B. The cracked, uneven roads gave way to smooth, well-paved streets. Johan rolled down the window, letting fresh air flood the car. He inhaled deeply and smiled. “Now that’s oxygen.”
Then he passed by David and Abigail’s house, slowing down as a thought crossed his mind: Did they manage to solve their issue?
His gaze lingered on their door when something caught his eye—a black car with tinted windows parked nearby, its lights still on. Curious, he leaned closer, squinting for a better look. That’s when he noticed the small siren affixed to the side.
“Detectives?”
Shaking his head, he leaned back into his seat and resumed his speed, leaving the scene behind as he headed toward his office in Zone A.
Meanwhile inside that car,
“What are we waiting for?” Evelyn asked, shifting impatiently in her seat.
Eric smirked, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Oh, I thought you weren’t ready.”
She turned to him, narrowing her eyes and pressing her lips into a thin line, silently screaming, Really?
Without waiting for her reply, he pushed the door open. Both detectives stepped out and headed toward the house.
Evelyn rang the doorbell, as her partner began knocking aggressively on the door.
“Chill,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder.
A few moments later, David opened the door, his eyes heavy, barely open. Clean bandages wrapped around his hands, and the sharp scent of alcohol lingered in the air. "Who are you?" he asked.
The detectives exchanged a glance before flashing their badges. They stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, their eyes immediately scanning the pristine living room.
“You’re Abigail Foster’s husband, right?” Evelyn asked, her gaze locking onto his.
David hesitated, his lips parting as if to answer, but before he could, She continued. “We have a few questions.”
Both detectives took a seat on the worn sofa, motioning for him to sit as well.
David complied, his body trembling slightly. He sat on the edge of the chair, his hands fidgeting in his lap. “Did something happen?” He stammered.
Eric leaned forward. “We are investigating your wife’s death?”
When the words hit him. His breath caught, then came in ragged bursts, as though his chest had forgotten how to function. His hands trembled slightly, not enough to be overtly noticeable, but enough to betray the tightness in his grip. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came. The silence stretched longer than it should have. All the while the detectives narrowed their eyes absorbing every movement.
His eyes flickered toward the detective, then quickly down to his lap, his fingers tapping the edge of the chair nervously "How... how did it happen?" The words stumbled out, as he cursed himself inwardly for the hesitation.
They didn’t answer.
The air around him thickened, and he rubbed the back of his neck as his eyes, blurred, darted everywhere but at the detectives.
Eric began taking notes, the sharp scratch of his pen cutting through, as Evelyn kept her gaze fixed on the husband, the weight of her stare heavy before she finally broke the silence.
"I'm sorry for your loss."
Her gentle voice and soft tone unraveled something deep within him. Before he could stop it, tears welled in his eyes, slipping down his cheeks in quiet surrender.
“When did you last see her?” she added.
“Yesterday. At 2 Pm when we had dinner,” he replied his voice low barely audible.
“Where were you and what did you do, after that?” Eric asked.
David choked back a sob, and wiped his tears, glancing up. "I went to see a private detective at 3 PM. Then work from 4 to 8. After that… I went to a bar. On my way back, I passed by 21st Street. Her car was there, so I stayed for a while, but I was drunk... I didn’t think it through. Around midnight, I headed home.” His voice trailed off as he lowered his head into his hands. “So she’s dead.” His eyes were wide open, fixated on the floor as if absorbing every pattern.
“Does your wife usually stay late?” Evelyn asked, her tone sharp.
“No.”
“If this was unusual, why didn’t you call the police? And why were you drunk? What was she doing on 21st Street?” Evelyn leaned in slightly, her eyes narrowing.
David shifted uncomfortably, as Eric glared at her, his lips curling in frustration. One question at a time, dumbass, he thought.
"She was cheating," David blurted out, his voice hollow. Tightening his grip, knowing it was too late, he continued, "The private detective confirmed it. I found her lover through social media—he’s on 21st Street. When I was drunk, I... just found myself there."
Evelyn pointed to the bandages. “And those injuries?”
“I did it to myself. A wall.” his gaze distant,
Evelyn tilted her head to meet his eyes and as soon as she opened her mouth, Eric placed a hand on her shoulder. Cutting her off, asking
“Can you give us his address?”
David nodded weakly.
Then the detectives stood, thanking him for his cooperation before heading to the door, with the address in hand.
As Evelyn was about to walk out, Johan walked in. They exchanged a glance from the corners of their eyes, and a step later, Evelyn turned sharply. “Who are you?” she asked, her tone demanding.
Johan showed his badge. “Private detective,” he said, dismissing her with a wave. But Evelyn leaned in closer, squinting. “What the hell is this? It resembles ours. You’re not official, you piec—”
“It says private investigator here…” — he tapped the title — “…see?”
“I could care less. You’re supposed to show your business card. this is ...” She clicked her tongue, then sighed before veering toward their car.
“What brings you here?” A hollow voice cut through the tense atmosphere.
“I heard what happened, so I came to check on you.” Johan strode to the kitchen, preparing coffee while his eyes remained locked on David, as he thought. Yesterday, I assumed you were passive, someone incapable of violence, I still do, but is it a coincidence, that the moment you discovered the truth she dies? Well... Once the coffee was ready, he approached, crouching beside him.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“No, I just did.” David’s voice was firm.
“Not as a detective, but as a friend. ” Johan sipped his coffee.
"friend? I don't even know you"
“Fair enough, but I know you. Your daughter will be home from school at 12, right? Let your emotions out, no matter how even by fighting.”
As soon as Johan finished his sentence, David threw a punch, landing squarely on his lips. The mug Johan had been holding scattered to the ground. But he didn’t fight back as David climbed on top, fists raining down, his eyes red with fury. “Why is this happening to me? Why?” David screamed.
While Johan thought to himself, So, you are capable of losing control. I hope you’re innocent, I really do. But you failed the test.
The door creaked open, snapping David out of his berserk state. A 14-year-old girl stepped inside, her eyes widening at the sight of her father collapsed on the floor beside a stranger with a bloodied face. She froze for a moment, then shouted, grabbing a broom for defense. “What’s going on? Who are you?”
Johan smiled faintly, his lips swollen. “At this point, his punching bag”
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Meanwhile, Eric and Evelyn parked their car near an apartment building on 21st Street. “It’s the 7th on the 3rd floor,” Eric said, as he got out of the car. Evelyn followed, her boots crunching against the gravel. The cool air wrapped around her, offering a soothing embrace.
The apartment building loomed ahead, its dull gray facade blending with the overcast sky. Eric was already walking toward the entrance when his phone rang.
“Hold on,” he said, pulling it from his pocket. A gentle smile crossed his face as he answered.
“Hey, love,” he said softly, his tone so warm it caught Evelyn off guard.
She followed behind, pretending not to listen, but her eyes darted toward him. The way he was bouncing back and forth, his tone full of excitement. That was different—something she never knew a detective was capable of.
When the call ended, Eric slipped the phone back and turned to her, catching her staring. Her gaze snapped away, but it was too late.
“Are you jealous?” he teased, a grin tugging at his lips.
“No,” she shot back.
He raised an eyebrow, waiting.
“Yes.”
He patted her back. “Listen, junior. There is nothing wrong with you, you are just different.”
She rolled her eyes. “A homeless is different too, nothing wrong with him.” Before snapping “Except he doesn’t have a home!”
her partner let out a chuckle.“Romance is about understanding one another, about finding comfort in their company. Every human wants that and is capable of it." Eric said, his voice softening. “Someday, you’ll find someone who sees all of you. Not parts—everything.” With a gentle smile, he pushed her ahead lightly. Signaling to the mission they have in hand.
At their destination, the door was ajar. Both detectives froze, their eyes meeting briefly before Eric called out, “Ryan?”
No response.
Guns drawn, they entered cautiously.
The apartment was a mess—drawers yanked open, papers scattered across the floor. And in the center of the living room lay Ryan, the alleged lover, dead.