Michael was back in the corridor with Marshall, all thoughts of what they had been talking to Tatiana about now gone, as they considered the new murder. Marshall had only said a few words, they had not been given much information about this murder, other than another Tarot card appearing with the victim.

“Did they say what was on the card?” Michael asked. But before Marshall could answer, a

voice came from the interview room.

“The Devil card,” she murmured. It was not a guess. Michael caught her eye, the glint of dark amusement making his skin crawl. Was it intuition, or something deeper? Something worse?

“They haven’t said yet,” Marshall responded, “I’ve asked them to give us a feed to everything they find.” He was relieved that they would not need to rush across the city in the busy traffic. Together they headed deeper into the station, he could still feel Tatianas gaze on him, even when she disappeared out of sight.

As they walked through corridor after corridor, his mind lingered on the previous murders, the two cards and the way the people had been killed. The first murder had been brutal and shocking, with seemingly little thought behind it, but finding the card had clearly meant there was motive behind it. Then the second murder, the hanged woman with the hanged man’s card, surrounded with strange symbols that have been written in her own blood, unlike the first murder it had been done carefully with a ritualistic approach. If not for the two cards in an obvious connection Michael would have thought both murders were by different people. When the case first landed on his desk, Michael had forced himself into it, shaky, nervous, fighting the raw impulse to drown his pain in drink. The whiskey in his pocket was now a constant reminder of his failings, always within reach, its amber comfort calling to him when the nightmares were too close. Now, as the murders mounted and his focus sharpened, the urge felt more distant, as though the adrenaline of the case had smothered the worst of it. But he knew better. His therapist's voice echoed in his mind, a persistent reminder: This peace is temporary. The moment this case is over, the quiet would return, and with it, everything you're running from.

Marshall led the way to the central office, the large doors had two human like mechs standing guard like solitude sentries, that never needed to rest or sleep. He could see their twin; blue eyes focus on him and Marshall as they approached. This was the first time Michael had been here since being put on sick leave. It was not necessary to display their identification, the moment they entered the corridor the sensors in the walls began that process, taking their biometrics and scanning their IDs in their pockets. They soon passed the machines and walked through the sliding doors.

It was a large, open area the central office with dozens of work stations and hundreds of people going about their work. Michael did his best to avoid eye contact, the last time people had seen him here was the night he spoke to the chief and went on sick leave. Marshall ignored the comments, but the more people Michael passed the closer he felt his hand get to the flask in his pocket. The whispered voices, confused and worried looks seem to just cause the anxiety to start boiling back up. But before he could find the flask in his coat, a voice he knew all too well broke through the cacophony of people speaking.

“You better see this, sir,” the young tech said, red haired and full of youthful enthusiasm. Michael recognised him straight away to be, Anthony. He had only just joined last year and from what Michael could remember about him, he was a gifted tech.

“I’m glad you’re back, you got to see this,” he said not realizing what was happening. They followed him to his station, a large table currently displaying a holographic image of the crime scene in real time.

The scene Michael was looking at was horrifying and bloody. The victim, another young woman was laid on the ground, naked in a fetal position, covered in numerous injuries and blood, at an initial look it was hard for him to see what exactly killed her due to the number of wounds. But was really stuck out for him was the symbols written on the floor in her blood, just like the last victim, but this time there was far more to the intricate in its set up.

“Victim is, Alice Galway,” Anthony began to explain, “32, originally from Dublin, living in London,” he explained, but Michael was not so interested in that, he wanted to know what was on the card which had been left on the floor beside her, covered in blood splatter.

“What about the card?” Marshall asked. Anthony moved as though to pick up the card, but instead pulled a holographic image from the object on the ground and left it floating in the air.

“A tarot card from the look of it, the Devil I think,” Anthony answered. The moment he said devil Michael’s heart sank, the same card Tatiana said earlier. He met Marshall’s eye who looked as shocked as him.

“What’s on the other side,” Michael interjected before Marshall could speak. Anthony spun the image around and with a curious expression read out the words, “In Blood”. Michael’s brain kicked into gear and began piecing together the last two cards as well, together they seemed to be saying a message.

“Anthony, bring up the last two cards that were picked up as well,” he said. As though conducting a symphony in the holographic image, he went through several menus as he collected the two pieces of evidence and laid them out. Starting with the first card discovered he read the messages out, one after another.

“Michael Wyatt, you will pay, in blood,” the message could not be clearer in its intent. Michael placed both hands on the holographic table, as though to get a better look, but he was sure if he did not, he would have collapsed on the floor. His heart raced, and he could feel the ice, cold sweat trickle down his back.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Michael was furious, the clear death threat to him from these murders. Marshall had kept trying to ask him questions, who would want to kill him etc the chief had attempted to try and get him to sit down and talk, but Michael was not interested, he marched straight back to the interview room, where Tatiana was still sat calmly drinking a cup of tea she had been given earlier. Marshall pulled him to one side before he could go in.

“Are you sure about this?” Marshall asked, but he was not listening all sense of anxiety of mental distress had been pushed to one side, he wanted to know how she knows what she knows. He looked Marshall in the eye, and an understanding passed between them. Marshall made it clear; it stops when he decides.

The moment the door closed the interview room became intensely quiet. Tatiana looked at him with curious eyes, examining him as he entered.

“How did you know?” Michael asked her doing his best to keep his voice calm.

“This cup of tea is dreadful,” she said smoothly. His chest tensed up with anger, a feeling he had not felt for a while, but equally difficult to stop. He took a breath and did his best to pay attention to her face, the micro expressions that people do without knowing can give away their feelings. But she was not allowing anything to slip out.

“The cards, you showed me the card of the second murder before we had even seen it, and now you mention the devil card with no way of knowing,” he said, calmly as possible, “unless you are involved,” he suggested, trying to get her to react to the statement. But all she did was smile, a dark smile that was almost taunting.

“I read the cards, the cards show themselves,” she explained.

“Did you know about the first murder, the first card?” he asked.

“Of course, the fool’s card is very interesting, so many of us go through journeys are never really know why,” she said.

“And what will the next card be?” Michael asked taking a seat opposite her. He was not sure why, but as she spoke, he was gradually feeling tired, drowsy.

“There are many possibilities in a tarot deck for what follows the devil card, and why the killer is doing this,” she explained taking out a pack of tarot cards. Michael was about to protest but found he could no longer speak.

“I heard it was dark and raining on that day,” she said softly shuffling the card, as if on que he suddenly began to hear the rhythmic clatter of rain drops building in puddles around him, as the bright light of the interview room went darker and darker. She was still speaking but he could no longer hear as the whole room disappeared. He looked around and found himself stood in an alley, between two large buildings and with the moon high above his head. In his hand was a police service weapon, a DR-1 plasma pistol. This was not the first time he had been here, he visited this place almost every night, this was the place where it all happened, where for him this year of mental trauma and drinking starting. He turned around and saw her, Katie Lynn, his dead partner. He tried to shout out and tell her he was sorry, but he could not do anything, he was just here for the ride.

Katie moved passed him, her pistol held at the ready. It was hard to make out details as she moved to the door way in front of him, while he stacked up on the other side. He remembered this, they would make entry into the building and look for Ethan Blake, a career criminal and member of the mafia. Katie placed a small disk on the door, which began to light up with small blue lights, one after another as it picked the doors lock. This was meant to be a simple job; no-one was supposed to be here. After a moment they went inside the warehouse.

It was quiet inside, dark but for the buildings emergency lights which bathed them in a red glow that felt almost demonic, as though they had stepped into the devil’s layer. After a look around and seeing no-one was in the building, they entered the small office, a simple room with a couple of desks and computer stations for whoever worked there. He could remember going through the different computers, searching for evidence that Ethan had been here. But then suddenly, he was struck over the head. Everything went dark as he landed on the floor. He could hear a struggle as Katie tried to fight off the would-be attacker. As his eyes opened, cloudy with concussion he saw Katie thrown against a chair and stood before them was Ethan Blake, with a gun in his hand. Michael had never felt so helpless, he tried to move tried to get up and fight. But Ethan pulled the trigger and a blast of red plasma struck her in the chest. Slowly Ethan then turned the weapon on him, and something he did not remember was a second man, he recognised his face, it was Ethan’s brother William. As the gun was now aimed at him, a shot struck Ethan from the side and knocked him over, killing him instantly.

The exchange happened so fast, William disappeared from sight as Michael forced himself up, his head throbbed from the impact leaving him still feeling dizzy. He staggered over to Katie, who was laid against the wall, weapon resting in her lap and a burnt mark across her shoulder and chest. The moment he saw the injury he knew it was bad. He fumbled for his comms, a small device.

“Officer down, he stammered,” he fell to her side trying to compress her wound. Tears ran down her face. “You’re going to be okay; help will be here.” He tried to assure her.

“It hurts,” she cried weakly, the wound was still so hot from the plasma that it burnt his hand, but he did not care, he had to try and stop the bleeding.

“I’ll see if there is a first aid kit,” he said and was about to move, when she stopped him.

“No, please don’t leave me,” she heaved with pain. The comms sounded back. He told them where they were.

“I’m not going anywhere, the medics are going to fix you up, and were going to be laughing about this tomorrow,” he said trying his best to use his t-shirt to stop the bleeding.

The next several minutes seem to pass in moments as he heard the emergency responders arrive to help, but it was too late. His eyes never left hers, tears running down both of their faces as he held her hand, but slowly her soul left. The paramedics soon arrived in the room with other police officers, they seemed like a blur around him, his eyes still on hers. A pair of comforting hands took a hold of his and lead him to a chair. He was in shock, beyond shock unable to accept what just happened. Slowly the room was taken by darkness, her body disappeared and he was surrounded by an abyss.

Michael reopened his eyes to find himself staring into Tatiana’s, and at that moment he knew who the killer was. The brother, after all that time he was there when Ethan was killed, the shock had stopped him remembering. Suddenly, the door to the interrogation room burst open. Marshall and a team of officer’s rushed in; their guns drawn. Tatiana's expression shifted from calm to a calculated smirk. She stood up, her eyes locked with Michael's.

"Too late," she said, a chilling tone in her voice. "I’ve got what I needed." Before anyone could react, Tatiana reached into her coat and pulled out a small, concealed device. With a press of a button, she dissolved into white light and disappeared.