"We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far."
H.P. Lovecraft, The Call of Cthulhu
----------------------------------------
Time: 6:30
The crime scene is a wriggling mass of spectators by the time I arrive, even this early in the morning. People line the small alleyway, packed so tightly that I can't believe they're able to breathe, let alone fight for space to see the end of the street.
Revving the engine of my old Ford 150 does little to grab the crowd's attention; without them moving, I won't be able to park. Sighing, I reach out a hand and start rubbing the bridge of my nose.
"Great, just what I needed."
Slowly, but surely, a headache starts forming, but I'll have to deal with it later.
Not wanting to be late to my first case as Wayhaven's newly appointed detective, I turn off the engine of my car and crank the handbrake, trying to ignore the pained, crunching sound the car makes, I groan. Stretching my hands up and managing to not hit the ceiling by inches, the "pop" sound that follows becomes a reminder to stop sleeping on my office couch.
Out of habit, I adjust the rear mirror to look at myself and fix my appearance, brushing my hand over my shoulder-length wavy light brown hair. Figuring there is little else I can do to procrastinate, I finally force myself out of the car.
The chill air bites at my skin as soon as I step out of the warm comfort of my car, making me hug my coat closer to my body, shivering at the relief it provides from the sharp cold.
It looks like most of Wayhaven has gathered at the scene, which is more likely true than not, considering the town is composed of less than a thousand people.
As I step up to the blue-and-white-stripped barrier, I'm greeted by Officer Lee, a young boy who was the new addition to the vacant spot I left in the department. Holding up his pad, he forces a smile, trying to wave the crowd's worries away.
But trying to calm people's nerves is an easy job on paper, but not so easy in practice.
"Credentials, please, miss."
His smile is sweet and innocent. I wonder how much time it will take for this job to steal that smile away.
Shaking my head to push the thoughts away, I hesitantly open my coat, feeling the cold air once again trying to steal my warmth. But I pull one side open and yank out my badge.
I hand it over, and after a quick inspection, he promptly hands it back to me. His cold and cracked lips turning into a smile, he steps to the side to give me access to the scene.
"All good, Detective; step on through."
I put my badge on the waistband of my jeans and dip under the tape. As I move away from him, I glance down at my new ID.
'Detective'. It's the first time I've been addressed that way by a colleague.
It's strange to hear my new title. It belonged to old Detective Reele for so long that I'm not sure it fits me quite yet. After all, the only training I've had was the rushed speech I received from the mayor, addressing my 'many merits' and how to show my 'willingness' to take over.
The total of my detective experience amounts to the hour he spent lecturing me.
The fact that the promotion was rushed is no surprise to anyone, so it would happen in time for Reele's retirement party, leaving me spinning on how to react to the whole thing.
But thinking about it too much will not be productive; after all, I have a murder to solve.
"Finally, I thought I was going to have to wait ages for you to arrive."
I glance up at the sound of the familiar voice, a smile already taking over my tired expression. Officer Tina Poname strides towards me, my old partner grinning as she nears me.
"Not much of a surprise; they're all gathered here," she says, gesturing to the crowd behind us as she lets out an exaggerated sigh.
I look over my shoulder at the mass of people, their phones held ready to take whatever pictures they can.
"This is probably the biggest thing that's happened in years," I reply with a shrug.
She nods in response, brushing back a few brown curls that bob in front of her hazel eyes. "I can't help but notice none of the fancy silver spoons bothered to show up."
Her nose wrinkles as she speaks, arms crossed over her chest and her freckles become more pronounced with the clear expression of disgust.
"I don't suppose they care what happens to us normal folk, as long as no one touches their fancy mansions. But anyway, how's the first day of promotion going? Excited?"
Now we are back to normal, it's rare to see Tina talk with such seriousness. A relieved sigh escapes my body without me noticing as her golden retriever smile takes over her face.
"It depends on how gruesome the murder is." My reply comes with a hint of tiredness already claiming my body. Out of habit, I shove my hands deeper into my pockets.
She purses her lips and sighs, her eyes already telling me all I need to know. "Then it's going to be a terrible day, I'm afraid."
"It's that bad?"
"By the face, Doctor Foster was making..." She dares a glance down the street at the scene, though it's half hidden by a swarm of white-clad technicians. All busy placing down yellow tags and measuring every inch of the space. Occasionally the bright flashes of their cameras hit your eyes as they take photos.
"Excuse me!" A grumpy, old voice stops us before we move. "I need to know what's going on. I demand to know!" Tina's grip on her belt tightens, and I let out a drawn breath.
"I'm the landlord of these apartments." The man, an older gentleman in a crisp, gray suit, sweeps an arm upwards at the soaring, crumbling building beside us.
"I'm sorry, Sir, but we-"
My phrase is interrupted as Tina gets in front of me, putting one hand on my shoulder. "Remember, it's not your job to settle this lot anymore, Detective."
I throw her a grateful nod before stepping away and letting her deal with the man. Her tall, statuesque figure is hidden behind the stiff, unshapely, dark blue uniform; her pretty features contrast against the heavy belt and boots she wears.
It's not far before I stumble to a stop, holding up my hands to keep balance as a technician walks in front of my path. The woman clicks her tongue at me before bending down and retrieving a piece of trash, carefully placing it inside a plastic bag and sealing the top.
I move forward once more, dancing as I make my way through the sea of technicians and yellow tags.
Stopping beside a brick wall that's slick with something I don't even want to think about.
My eyes spot Doctor Foster crouched over the body. He looks up at me and frowns. "Sorry this has to be your first case, Olivia."
"Yeah..."
Crouching down beside him, I notice the gloomy light of the morning makes the gray peppering his short, black hair seem lighter and his deep brown skin a little more aged—more so than usual.
A quiet moment punctuates the air between us, and Doctor Foster returns his gaze to the still figure at his feet.
"Do you know who the victim is, doctor?"
"I haven't had a proper look at them yet. I had to wait until the city boys were done," he says, and I take notice of the glare he throws towards the crime scene technicians.
I kind of get what he's talking about. Wayhaven is too small and quiet for those types of people, so when a big crime like this happens, they are sent down to aid from the big city.
It's the first time this has happened in my lifetime, and the city techs and small town people are obviously not mixing well.
Foster's hand travels beneath the body before rolling her over. I wince a little at the dull thud that sounds as it topples over completely.
I don't recognize the woman spread on the street before me—her blond hair and freckles, her pale skin marred with bruises. Neither, it seems, does the doctor.
"Do you think she's a resident?"
"No, I see to pretty much everyone's health here, and I never seen her before."
I answer only with a nod as my focus returns to the woman. The bruises on her skin, the dirt beneath her fingernails—maybe she ran from her murder?
I reach for her purse, looking for anything that can identify her, but surprisingly, her purse is empty. A frown settles on my face as I stop crouching and turn my eyes to Doctor Foster.
"Do you think you can pack her up and drop her off at Doctor Verda's laboratory at the station?"
"I'll see to it once the city boys are gone." Doctor Foster covers the body, and his old and wrinkled hands stop to rest on the pockets of his coat.
"Thanks, Doc."
Upon opening my car's door, I quickly get inside, letting out a groan as the pleasant warmth of it starts to warm my body. My eyes lock up at the cloudy skies.
My conscience is brought back by the sound of Tina and the other officers dispersing the crowd and the technicians getting out of the scene with their equipment and driving away.
I turn on the engine of my car and start driving back to the station, my head trying to piece together everything I've learned so far, which isn't much, but a murder on Wayhaven? It doesn't make sense in the slightest, and the fact that the victim's purse was empty...
Definitely not what I was expecting when I got out of bed this morning.
The drive to the PD is quiet, which is good; the silence of the car makes it easy for my thoughts to wander.
My eyes fixed on the road in front of me as I passed the abandoned redbrick factories that make up every foundation and building in Wayhaven, but nowadays they are more used by teenagers that are looking for a good place to smoke weed and party, a place without neighbors to complain about the loud music.
On the other side of the road is the Square, the center of the modern hub and house of the only place that sells good coffee in Wayhaven, Tidy's Shop.
It'll be a while before Soloman Verda, Wayhaven's only pathologist, has any time to check the victim's body, so I decide to take a quick brunch.
Parking beside Tidy's shop I get out of my car, careful not to miss my step on the aesthetically pleasing, but deceitful, cobblestone street.
Upon entering Tidy's shop, my face contorts into a nostalgic smile. The smell of coffee and pastries hitting my nose makes me remember all the times I came over here to get away from the rain as I was patrolling the hub when it was still in the construction phase, with only a few shops open.
The bakery is surprisingly empty, which isn't all that common this season.
"Good morning, Olivia." Chloe, the bakery owner, greets me with a gentle smile, her white-blonde hair just visible beneath a red-and-white checkered chef's hat. "What can I get you today?"
I stare at the curved display and the pastry goodies spread behind it, the fresh warmth of them steaming the glass.
"I'll have a coffee, please." My gaze still lingers on the sweet pastries, their scent enticing me closer. "And a muffin, all to go as usual."
She gives me a smile and turns to the counter, grabbing a paper bag and carefully placing it inside before rolling the top to seal it. The bitter smell of coffee beans mixing with the pastries makes my stomach rumble. After a moment, she finishes making the coffee and places the cup in front of me. "On the house"
"You sure?"
She nods. "I figured you would need it, with the murder and all." She grimaces and wipes her hand on her apron, the flocks of flour painting the wooden floor beneath her.
"Guess words travel fast."
"That shouldn't surprise you," she says, chuckling. "It's worse than when we were in school."
I nod in agreement before locking my unfocused eyes on the coffee cup. There's a saying in Wayhaven that if you don't know what's going on, you just have to ask the person next to you.
Snapping out of my thinking, I grab the paper bag and the coffee.
"Thanks for this." Raising the paper bag and coffee, I leave the shop, stopping beside my car as I drink the coffee, letting the bitter taste of it wash down the bad taste the crime scene left on me.
Finishing my coffee, I throw the cup in a recycling bin and enter my car, placing the paper bag on the passenger seat carefully, and resuming my drive off to the PD.
Time: 9:00
Back at the station.
"Morning Douglas," I say pushing open the heavy glass door and entering the station, the familiar setting making me feel strangely at ease.
I look at the boy sitting at the front desk of the department, the mayor's son, Douglas, his blond hair falling to his face as he scrolls on his phone. Without taking his eyes off his phone, he gives me a thumbs up.
I sigh as I walk toward him, grabbing his phone out of his hand and shoving it in my pocket. He looks annoyed at me, and as he's about to open his mouth to protest, I speak.
"What did I tell you about this? No phones while working."
I watch as he lowers his head and groans like a spoiled kid, slumping back in his chair.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Walking past him, I enter the office areas, walk to Tina's table, and put Douglas's phone on top of it with a piece of paper on top.
'Give it back to Douglas at noon; don't forget to give it back to him this time.
PS: The muffin on my table is mine. Don't eat it.
I leave the paper bag with the muffin on my table and walk to the pathologist's lab.
As I push open the doors to the staircase that leads down to the basement lab, I wonder if the way I dealt with the kid was right. I'm not thinking of it because he's the mayor's son but rather because he's kind enough; he just has some focus problems.
I shake the thought away as the chill of the basement invades my coat. Getting inside the lab, I find Verda working on a paper sheet.
The white-tile wall and floor shine all around, and the machines all around me beeping never seem to set a 'welcome' feeling.
"I still don't know how you manage to work all day in this cold; I'm freezing, and I only just got here," I say, spying Verda sitting on his metal desk on the corner. The slender, short man isn't even wearing gloves, just a suit and a simple white medical coat.
He turns and gives a grin, his expression making his dark brown eyes shimmer even in the dull, electric light.
"This is the first time I've really had to work," he says, running a hand over his styled brunette hair that he always has highlighted, the color complementing his light brown skin. "Mostly, I just deal with the overflow of natural deaths Doctor Foster can't manage."
I look at the white sheet on his table. The woman's head and shoulder are the only visible things. "You haven't started the autopsy yet?"
He shakes his head. "No, but I found this among her things." He hands me a cell phone, and I raise an eyebrow before he answers what I'm thinking.
"It was on her boot."
I look at the dead woman, my thoughts once again making it feel like time has stopped. To have her phone hidden on her boot means that at least she was a very careful person, and careful people tend to register things, like locations.
"I'll head back upstairs and analyze her phone; call me if anything new pops up."
"Be careful, Detective." Verda frowns in concern.
"Hey, compared to Tina I'm the model of careful."
Verda rubs his temples, watching the detective smirk. "Somehow I don't believe it"
I watch as Verda shakes his head at me and gets back to his work, letting out a heavy sigh, a slight hint of a smile curling on his pale lips. With the victim's phone in hand, I head upstairs to my office.
This will take some time.
Time: 18:30
Inside my office
The beeping sounds of my computer signals that the process is done. With the slow internet of the station, all work is always slowed, if not stopped altogether.
I get up, my back hurting from napping on the small couch, a spot of droll marking the arm of furniture my head was resting on seconds ago. A paper sheet I was reading before falling asleep fell to the floor, uniting with the pile of documents and photos from the crime scene. Stretching my arms, I lazily approach the table.
I blink to get my eyes to focus again, and when I manage to, I see that I finally got access to the victim's phone, meaning I can trace back her location to when her murder happened.
I start going through her home screen; a picture of a cute dog with a party hat stares right at my soul. It's cute, but at the same time, it makes a chill run down my spine as I stare into the abyss of those googly eyes.
Opening the location app, I scroll down to get the log of her locations. At first, I find her name, Anne Roseheim. I stare at the name for some time, my eyes suddenly feeling heavy again.
Biting my tongue, I manage to get my focus back, my fingers pressing the log button, and so a list stares at me from the screen.
The user stayed at the Wayhaven Hotel. Time: 02:10 a.m. to 03:24 p.m.
The user got to Square Plaza, a shopping hub. Time: 03:50 p.m. to 07:56 p.m.
The user stayed at the Rusty Anchor Bar. Time: 08:23 p.m., 11:58 p.m.
The user got to Warehouse 6. Time: 00:01 a.m. to 05:10 a.m.
The user got to Sunrise Apartments. Time: 05:13 a.m. to 07:49 a.m.
Upon finishing going through the list, some details caught my attention: 'The user got from Rusty Anchor Bar to Warehouse 6', firstly, in only 3 minutes? It usually takes half an hour to get from the bar near the plaza to the warehouses, and even with the streets empty, it would still take at best ten minutes.
Secondly, the warehouses have a fence that stops anyone from entering unless they have an access key, not that it is hard to cut a hole in it, after all the place is unguarded.
I start rubbing my head as I put the phone down. My eyes unfocus from the world as I carefully think about my next actions. After some minutes, the only choice that I have becomes clear, or at least it's what I tell myself to justify my poor decisions in life.
A night walk in some old warehouses—what could go wrong?
Time: 21:00
Somewhere near Warehouse 5
After so many years of not being used, I'm impressed the warehouses still stand up, the old paint on the walls staring down at me like they will stay there till the end of time.
The shadows dance all around me as the moon stands high up in the night sky, some clouds blocking parts of it, casting some unsettling shadows that only serve to fuel my paranoia, making my mind raise its guard.
With my flashlight in hand, pistol in my holster, and pepper spray in my pocket, I approach warehouse 6, slowly adjusting my back, distributing the weight from my feet to my ankles, and doing my best not to make any loud noises.
The first flash of light I cast upon the entrance reveals nothing, my palms sweating and my breath ragged as I take an uneased step inside the warehouse. Looking at the catwalks high above, the smell of dust hits my nostrils.
"brrrrrrring"
My heart almost escapes my chest as the echoing sound of the cell phone that rests on my jeans pocket rings, echoing on the walls of the warehouse, making the ringing more creepy.
Quickly taking cover behind an old wooden box I check the phone, and I see the name standing proudly on the screen, Verda. I rest my back on a box as I try to catch my breath.
I answer the call. "Not the best time, Verda," my voice coming out barely more than a whisper.
"I got some results from the autopsy; are you sure you want to wait?"
Fuck, Verda always knows how to pique my interest. I glance around me to see if there's no funny shadow that will suddenly try to kill me. Seeing that there are none, I resume my focus on the phone.
"Okay, spill it out."
"The victim's blood result came back to me, and the results are odd," Silence is all the continuation I get from what he said; I can literally hear him reading the results again to double check.
"How 'odd' are we talking about?" I ask him, to which he gives me an uncertain sigh.
"Her blood... It's not hers."
I let out a laugh, and quickly the silence between us resumed. Did I hear him correctly? "Can you repeat the last part? I guess I didn't hear you right."
"The blood in her isn't hers. In fact, it's not even fully human."
"Animal blood?" I offer it as a guess.
"Not sure," A heavy sigh escapes his lips. "It resembles human blood, but it's definitely not all hers. The best way I can think of to describe it so far is that a parasitic virus has mutated the blood cells in a major way."
I make my way out of the warehouse as the information sinks in. I'm not all that smart, but the words 'mutation' and 'parasitic virus' generally don't mean anything good.
"I... I don't get it," my brows furrowed in confusion.
"That makes two of us," he says. "I won't know anything more until I get the results of the tests, but I'll make sure to send them off to the hospital first thing tomorrow."
For all the modern appliances the station has coincidentally donated by the mayor after his son decided to join the force, there isn't enough room for the big machines. Any testing has to be done at the local hospital.
"All right, I'll see you tomorrow then."
"Yeah, see you then," he says.
I hit the end-call button and shove the phone back in my pocket. My head spins with the new information suddenly; it isn't only my head that spins, but my body as well.
My back hits the concrete, and I let out a loud hiss as the pain settles on my bones and the familiar taste of blood coats my tongue. My lungs suddenly empty from the air they held dearly, and my flashlight skids across the concrete, the beam blinding me as it comes to rest a few feet away, shining brightly in my eyes.
With great effort, I manage to force myself onto my hands and knees. I glance up, my body suddenly freezing as the shadowed figure looms over me in the moonlight.
I force myself to my feet, having difficulty staying up, and I yank out my gun from its holster, pointing at the person before me.
Thankfully, it seems that whoever is looming at me through the darkness is polite enough to wait until I'm standing to do whatever it is they plan to do; the smile I spot on their face unsettles me more.
"I'm with the police," I announce, but it seems to cause little reaction. I can barely make out their shape, but it seems to be a man—a gangly one.
My hands tighten around my gun as the announcement seems to get no reaction from the figure. Standing opposite to each other, none of us make a sound. My breath clouds into white plumes as it hits the cold air.
I open my mouth to speak, but another figure appears from the darkness and slams into the side of the man I was just looking at.
The two of them crash to one side. I use the opportunity to grab my flashlight, but when I get to it, another figure passes just inches away from my side, making my flashlight land further away, near the tire of my car.
To my luck, none of the figures seem to care about me as they fight against the man; the sound of their fight only being able to be described as painful and ferocious.
I suck all the air, feeling a hint of a sharp pain on my side, and I train my weapon on them. "What the fuck is going on here?"
The heads of the two figures snap around to face me, and I flinch at the eerily quick motion.
"Who is she?" A gentle voice belonging to one of them asks.
"Confused, apparently," another replies, with no small amount of sarcasm in their tone.
"All right, that's enough!" I yell in a commanding and rough voice, earning the attention of all of them. I start to think screaming wasn't a good idea.
The figure that was holding captive the man turns their gaze at me, only to get a fist connecting to her jaw. The man that was on their grapple gets up. I have to blink rapidly as the man flashes past me in a blur so fast it can't be real.
"Do not let him get away!" The figure calls, rubbing their jaws from the hit, spitting blood on the concrete.
The group seems to tense up and prepare to go after them, but I move in front of them and pull the hammer of my pistol, my face tired and pissed off. "No, ya'll won't go anywhere till I get some answers."
Amazingly, they all stop—all three of them—and my hands stop trembling as I firm my fingers around the hilt of the gun.
Being outnumbered, I decide to dial down my tone, best not to escalate the situation, and if anything, my car isn't far away so I could use the radio for backup.
One figure steps in, seemingly the leader of this lot. "Get out of our wa-" Her commanding voice is interrupted by my boots hitting the floor, making a sound that echoes through the empty warehouses.
"Don't make me pull the trigger." My voice low and calm, a warning.
"I'll call your bluff," the sarcastic one steps closer, being just at the side of the leader. "You can't shoot, can you?"
Even if I can't see their face, I hear their smile, a taunt that swirls through my brain to push me over the edge.
"What is it you want?" I ask, my question echoing through the darkness.
The figure slows to a halt, though they don't raise their hands as I assume most would in their position.
"There is nothing we want from you; don't worry," a voice says from my left. It's a reassuring voice, one that almost makes me relax a little. But I keep my guard up; my gun is still held straight before me. "We mean no one any harm."
"Speak for yourself," a strict voice interrupts from the shadows.
The calm one lets out a long sigh. "We're after the same person. Let us go after him. He's the one who's been hunting in your town."
I shift slightly at their words, unsure whether to believe them. If they were murderers, I assume they would have killed me by now. But still…
"Vigilantism is a crime, you know?" I say, analyzing them, squinting my eyes to take a look at their faces, suddenly...
**Bang**
A metallic bang makes me swing around, only to find it's the doors of the warehouse creaking in the breeze. I turn back to face the group… but they've vanished.
How could they be gone? I didn't even hear footsteps!
With a heavy sigh, I stumble towards my car and lean heavily against the side. Adrenaline courses through my body, but I know in the morning I am going to hurt like never before.
A dull ache throbbing at my side proves my point. My gaze turns down to the crumpled dents in the bonnet of my car, and I groan.
As I'm about to walk away from my car, I see a hint of blood on the ground; it must have been from the person who got hit on the jaw.
I grab in my car a forensic kit and collect the blood sample before hobbling back to my car and driving home.
I have never been so eager to get home.
----------------------------------------