1

“I hate the rain.”

That’s why I moved out here, for warmer days, but the hours, minutes, and seconds are all meshed. It is entirely too bleak and miserable and gray and…never mind.

There are too many lives to save. Real people who don’t want to hear about how visceral my mornings can be or how I might want to offer my talents in the form of anything else. Despite my efforts, there is no use in trying to uplift my soul when the city does nothing but take.

I don’t know what the right thing to do is.

As a detective, that’s merely taking a joke of the clues and beating the criminal to the punchline.

“Diaz, my office,” calls Campbell.

“Roger that,” I dejected, tossing the soaked overcoat haphazardly across a chair disregarding the puddle forming on the ground.

As I shuffle into the poorly lit office, Campbell gestures to a file on the desk.

“I know this was under the eyes of James last, but I said if anyone could catch this sicko it would be you,” he voices. “We all know that this is beyond what the Captain thinks. I chose you because you see him, don’t you?”

See him? I shift. Can I see him?

“My reputation precedes me I guess. Can’t promise anything.”

“Third serial killer type in the area within the last ten years, and despite the gall of the other two. This one is something else. No motive, no face, just questions.” Campbell flips the case open and points at the question marks appearing in various pictures. I grab a photo as he pauses.

“What’s this?” I interjected.

“That is why you are here, no one can make sense of this one. Red liquid, blue paint, separated by a question mark made of ash-colored pebbles. What can you make of it?”

“I take it our guy can’t color within the lines,” I chuckle out, uneasy by the lack of answers in front of me. “I do like the choice of color, coincidence?” I ask, turning to the man questioning my skills.

“Come on. What do you really see? I’m not Cap or Lewis, or some other guy just expecting to spell it all out, what do you make of it?”

Startled by his desperate question, I give up on laughter and look at the serious person now in front of me, realizing that I am a last resort here, being tested before this case turns rigid like metallic frost.

“Well you think these things hold no importance but they all coincide. You see that red stuff looks like bromine and is very poisonous. The blue paint, or what we all think is paint is probably cyanide liquidized, also poisonous, and the pebbles. Did Forensics find them painted?”

“How did you know?” asks Campbell, impressed with my deduction skills. “Silver, pharmaceutical-grade, dusted on the rocks, forensics just got the results this morning.”

“It's shiny, almost alluring, and also poisonous,” I add. What would a killer want with three poisonous chemicals when one could do the job just fine?

“Yeah, I figured you’d get that. This was picked up at the abandoned paint warehouse downtown. Thought I’d brief you before sending you out to dig further.” The Lieutenant closes the file and walks towards the door.

“Technically, it was to go further up the chain, but I thought it would be rude not to tell you, given your history.”

A flicker of pain dawns on me, as I blink back and smirk at Campbell.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“Don’t go getting soft on me,” punching his shoulder. “ I’ll fill you in when I am done. Thanks, Campbell.”

“Sure, and be careful, you just got back. You’re the only one I have left. That means something.”

The only one left, huh? I should remember that more. I try not to get in my head about the past, but with Campbell on my back, I can’t help but tighten my holster and think of what occurred. Every day becomes harder to focus on when I live as smoke.

Hollow and aimless.

2

The smell of mildew and pigment wafts as the crate doors open.

“This way Detective, here is the scene,” a scientist gestures.

“Thanks anything else turned up since the last report?”

“Nothing, the jerk was thorough, to say the least.”

As the lab coat walked off, crouching down, I touched one of the vibrant rocks. Gloved of course because if it is poison painted, that would spell trouble. Examining further, this stone feels off, and I notice that it isn’t just some rock but rather a piece of charcoal.

“I don’t understand,” whispering to myself. “ What is the purpose of this?”

“You sure there is nothing else?” Standing up. “This can’t be the only thing, I know I’m good but come on I’m no Brace Win.”

The forensic scientist looked up from the notebook, “I don’t know man, I just run the tests. It’s your job to make sense of it.”

Diaz frustrated, walks over to the table. “What would happen if this stuff got on your hands or skin?”

“Well it could be highly corrosive but a crazy thing happens when you mix cyanide and bromine,” the scientist comments. “When those two interact they can either release an odorless gas or a white solid.”

Odorless and white, huh? How strange for it to be placed next to charcoal, something so staining and strong as if the barrier is combining to create

“Smoke.”

Diaz realizes its importance and heads near the door to call the Lieutenant.

“Campbell its smoke, its a smokescreen, a misdirection. The killer is misleading us to get us off his odorless scent. I got it!”

“Got what?” Responds Campbell. “Diaz just get back here and we’ll sort things out.”

“Right, I’ll be there in a few, let me see if I can catch a cab.”

No car in sight to be seen, Diaz snatches his coat and runs out the door.

“Hey what about the rain?,” yells the Scientist.

Diaz set on departure, turns his head “What about it, it's just water, scared it won’t wash the sins away?” And heads out the door.

“Sins, more like evidence”, mutters the Examiner, unaware of the hole in the roof of the decrepit building sharing its wet gift upon the substances on the floor, pooling into a hue of disaster.

3

“Thanks for the ride,” mouths Eli, handing over a ten-dollar tip.

Rejecting his offer, the masked driver of the black car, license plate, whispers, “Here’s a tip my friend. Don’t take shortcuts in life. The long journey might be the destination.”

“I think my mom said something like that before.”

“Wise woman.” states the driver.

“Right, thanks man,” E elates as he closes the door.

The driver pulls off, staring through the rearview at the group of friends narrowing near the door of the abandoned building.

“So what are we doing here Daniel?” Asks Eli

“I heard there was some stuff left behind, school is too expensive to look down on the gifts of thrifting.”

“You mean stealing. This might be someone's building still,” nudges Hope.

“If someone lived here they might need to ‘thrift’ more than we do,” laughed Eli.

As they pushed the creaky doors open the trio looked around.

“I don’t think we are the first people here,” added Eli.

Why do you say that,” asks Hope, now seeing the police tape.

Daniel walks to where E is and stops in awe.

“Come check it out! E found something cool.”

On the ground, the three witness a phenomenon of bleeding color intertwined into the deepest tint, engulfing the path of charcoal shaped into the line of a question.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know, looks sick though.” crouches Daniel.

“Let me see,” Eli insists.

The streaks and tears of white and violet speak to him, and he whispers back.

“Wisdom.”