Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Fixation ❯ Chapter Seventeen ( Chapter 17 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: TemptingTemptation 
Anime/Manga: Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Thriller / Romance / Psychological | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 03.11.2011 | Updated On: 03.11.2011 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.9K | Visits: 2.5K | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Thriller / Romance / Psychological | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 03.11.2011 | Updated On: 03.11.2011 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.9K | Visits: 2.5K | Status: Work In Progress
Disclaimer: I don’t own or profit from DBZ.
A/N: Well guys this story is coming to a close soon. I had no idea when I started that this story would actually be so long! I just wanted to thank everyone for their continued reading and support. Feel free to drop me any comments, and more importantly happy reading to all!
Fixation
Chapter Seventeen
Chatree subtly slowed his assent to accommodate the old man. He knew it was policy to pair young cops with older more seasoned detectives, but if the old man became anymore seasoned he would kick Crypt Keeper out of a job. The old man was wheezing like a blacksmith’s bellows, and Chatree ticked off yet another reason why smoking was bad.
Merced Bruins, the artist they were tracking lived on the fourth floor of a five story walk up. The building looked like it had been slum housing when it was brand spanking new fifty years ago. Now the wooden floor was warped with sea salt, exposing rusty nail heads. Air conditioning was unheard of and there were no windows in the narrow spiral stairwell. Humidity and humanity combined to make a barely tolerable stench, that was better inhaled though the mouth than the nose. Chatree licked his lips, dreaming of the ice cold cola he would get later to wash the foul taste out of his mouth.
Wong made a disturbing noise that sounded suspiciously like a dying wombat. Chatree chanced a quick look over his shoulder. The old man’s eyes were glued to the floor, his bent head revealing a glistening bald spot through the haphazard comb over of thin hair. His skin was glossy with sweat and his tie and shirt collar were undone. The tan overcoat that Chatree thought for sure the old man slept in was draped over his arm. He was leaning heavily on the banister, using it as leverage to haul himself up the next step.
“Eyes forward, pup.”
Chatree whipped around, stubbing his toe on an exposed nail head. It creeped him out how the old man always seemed to know everything without having to look.
They were just passing the third story landing when a blood-curdling scream pierced the stale air. Chatree immediately bounded up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. Behind him, he heard Wong call for him to wait, but he stubbornly ignored him. No way was someone going to die on his watch because he was paired with a geriatric.
His heart pounded in time with his steps. He crested the next landing and drew his glock, his palms sweaty. This is what he had trained for, what he had been waiting for, but now that the moment was here, all he could think about was that he shouldn’t have had that third cup of coffee. The screaming was coming for the suspect’s residence, and as he drew even with the door he had to steady his breathing.
“Police! Open up!”
He didn’t wait for a response. He kicked open the door with such force that it tore off its hinges with a loud screech.
“Police!” he called, looming in the doorway.
The room smelled of oil paint and copper. Easels and paint cans littered the room, making it hard to see in the large cavernous space. On the floor not far from the door a naked man was struggling with something beneath him. There were red splashes everywhere. On the floor, on the man, on the white canvas next to him.
The man jerked around and Chatree zeroed in on the wild whites of his eyes amid his loose, dark hair. The man lurched to his feet, giving Chatree a clear view of the woman who had been prone beneath him. She was naked, her mass of blonde hair glued to her naked skin with red streaks of blood. The man shifted and Chatree saw a flash of light. In his hand the man held a wicked butcher knife, more than large enough to decapitate a woman if need be.
“Drop the weapon, and get down on the ground!”
Chatree hadn’t been on the force for long. He had come from a stable family with a white collar background. There wasn’t a lot in the world he had seen yet that disturbed him, but forty years from now and a life time of experience later, he would remember the grin on Merced Bruins face, and he would shiver in revulsion.
The terrorize woman was screaming, still caught in a fight of life and death. She kicked out, her bare heel connecting hard with her assaulter's thigh. The man feinted to the side. Chatree fired, the shot going wide as the man ducked behind some canvas covered easels. Chatree felt the adrenalin rushing in his blood, the sweat on his brow dripping hot into his eyes. He moved further into the room, sweeping the barrel of his gun as he ducked in and out of the nooks and crannies that Merced could be hiding. The room was cluttered, too many obstructions to be thorough, too many places to be ambushed.
Chatree heard a clatter behind him, and he pivoted in time to see broad naked shoulders dart through the exit. He sprang after him, galvanized when he heard shots fired. He raced through the door way and skidded to a stop. The suspect was face down on the landing, a pool of blood spreading beneath him. Wong was kicking away the knife, his .38 revolver still drawn.
Chatree lowered his weapon as Wong checked the man’s pulse. The older detective nodded it was clear and they both holstered their weapons. Wong's dark eyes centered on Chatree, and the young detective felt his gut clench.
“Back up and EMT’s are on their way.”
Wong brushed passed him, hurrying towards the whimpering woman. A quick survey showed only shallow cuts, nothing deadly, but she would be scarred for life. Wong pulled a paint splattered canvas off an easel to cover the shivering woman. Beneath the canvas was a grotesque painting that made both the men pause. The victim had been the model. She was painted upside down on a cross, her wrists and ankles bound with barbed wire, her blonde hair cascading to the ground. He throat was cut and blood pooled on the obsidian floor beneath her.
“Art,” Wong muttered, while tucking the canvas around the woman. She clutched at him, burying herself in his chest.
Outside Chatree could hear the sirens of backup arriving. He shifted his weight, shoving his now shaking hands into his pockets. The adrenalin was wearing off; leaving a dead taste in his mouth that only hard alcohol could drive away. Wong looked him over with a brief sweep of his eyes that made him feel vaguely ashamed.
“You missed your shot.” Wong said. He nodded towards the thick wood pillar that supported the center of the vaulted room. The dark painted wood was bleeding pale yellow innards from Chatree’s bullet. The young detective’s cheeks burned.
“You’re lucky that bullet didn’t keep going through these shoddy walls, and kill some kid two blocks away.”
Chatree opened his to mouth to protest, but he quickly closed it. Wong was right. He had became a cop to protect and serve, and part of that was making sure that his actions, no matter what the situation, didn’t adversely affect the public. Dead kids were definitely adverse.
“I expect to see you on the shooting range with me every morning for the next month. And afterwards we are going to spend an hour each day going over the handbook, especially the chapter on waiting for backup.”
“Sir,” Chatree protested.
The EMT’s arrived in a rush, setting down their kits and taking the woman from Wong’s arms. They were quick to asses her wounds, to put pressure on the worst bleeders, and cover her with a warm blanket. Wong skirted around the sudden activity and stepped right into Chatree’s space. He grabbed the young man’s upper arm with surprising strength, making Chatree wince slightly, but he didn’t pull away. He locked eyes with the older man, seeing something he never saw before. Dedication.
“You are my responsibility, Chatree. Everything you do reflects on me. You are one of the most capable detectives I’ve seen in a long time, but if you rush in, if you fuck up, if you make me regret choosing you as a partner, I will see that you are sacked faster than you can spit on my grave when I finally keel over. Do you understand me, pup?”
“Yes, sir.”
Wong held his gaze for a few seconds longer, before nodding and letting go. The older man moved a few steps away, his steady hand reaching in his pocket for a pack of cigarettes. Chatree was still shaking slightly as he moved next to him. He watched the detective as he scanned the room, his lips pursed in thought.
“Bruins matches the description given by the maid. Good looking, dark hair. Might be Italian.”
Wong nodded, while taking a drag from his cigarette. Slowly they circled the room, revealing pieces of art, each more disturbing than the last, always featuring women in different positions of defilement.
“What are you thinking?” Chatree finally asked.
Wong made his way to the window. It was covered by a gray blanket, making the air inside the loft seem fuzzy. He yanked it down, and yellow motes sailed away on cigarette smoke. Outside all he could see was a wall of red brick. It was soot stained and covered with cracks. It was old and worn out, yet fundamentally part of the city, just like him. It had stories to tell of anger and hate of love and joy, but that old wall couldn’t tell him what it had seen. What it knew.
“That you have paperwork to process.”
Chatree frowned at the old man’s back, before shifting his gaze over his shoulder. All he saw was the wall of the next building. It certainly wasn’t a view worth staring at so intensely. With a shrug he turned, and began giving orders to the arriving officers to start their search of the premises, while Wong gazed out the window.
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A/N: Well guys this story is coming to a close soon. I had no idea when I started that this story would actually be so long! I just wanted to thank everyone for their continued reading and support. Feel free to drop me any comments, and more importantly happy reading to all!
Fixation
Chapter Seventeen
Chatree subtly slowed his assent to accommodate the old man. He knew it was policy to pair young cops with older more seasoned detectives, but if the old man became anymore seasoned he would kick Crypt Keeper out of a job. The old man was wheezing like a blacksmith’s bellows, and Chatree ticked off yet another reason why smoking was bad.
Merced Bruins, the artist they were tracking lived on the fourth floor of a five story walk up. The building looked like it had been slum housing when it was brand spanking new fifty years ago. Now the wooden floor was warped with sea salt, exposing rusty nail heads. Air conditioning was unheard of and there were no windows in the narrow spiral stairwell. Humidity and humanity combined to make a barely tolerable stench, that was better inhaled though the mouth than the nose. Chatree licked his lips, dreaming of the ice cold cola he would get later to wash the foul taste out of his mouth.
Wong made a disturbing noise that sounded suspiciously like a dying wombat. Chatree chanced a quick look over his shoulder. The old man’s eyes were glued to the floor, his bent head revealing a glistening bald spot through the haphazard comb over of thin hair. His skin was glossy with sweat and his tie and shirt collar were undone. The tan overcoat that Chatree thought for sure the old man slept in was draped over his arm. He was leaning heavily on the banister, using it as leverage to haul himself up the next step.
“Eyes forward, pup.”
Chatree whipped around, stubbing his toe on an exposed nail head. It creeped him out how the old man always seemed to know everything without having to look.
They were just passing the third story landing when a blood-curdling scream pierced the stale air. Chatree immediately bounded up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. Behind him, he heard Wong call for him to wait, but he stubbornly ignored him. No way was someone going to die on his watch because he was paired with a geriatric.
His heart pounded in time with his steps. He crested the next landing and drew his glock, his palms sweaty. This is what he had trained for, what he had been waiting for, but now that the moment was here, all he could think about was that he shouldn’t have had that third cup of coffee. The screaming was coming for the suspect’s residence, and as he drew even with the door he had to steady his breathing.
“Police! Open up!”
He didn’t wait for a response. He kicked open the door with such force that it tore off its hinges with a loud screech.
“Police!” he called, looming in the doorway.
The room smelled of oil paint and copper. Easels and paint cans littered the room, making it hard to see in the large cavernous space. On the floor not far from the door a naked man was struggling with something beneath him. There were red splashes everywhere. On the floor, on the man, on the white canvas next to him.
The man jerked around and Chatree zeroed in on the wild whites of his eyes amid his loose, dark hair. The man lurched to his feet, giving Chatree a clear view of the woman who had been prone beneath him. She was naked, her mass of blonde hair glued to her naked skin with red streaks of blood. The man shifted and Chatree saw a flash of light. In his hand the man held a wicked butcher knife, more than large enough to decapitate a woman if need be.
“Drop the weapon, and get down on the ground!”
Chatree hadn’t been on the force for long. He had come from a stable family with a white collar background. There wasn’t a lot in the world he had seen yet that disturbed him, but forty years from now and a life time of experience later, he would remember the grin on Merced Bruins face, and he would shiver in revulsion.
The terrorize woman was screaming, still caught in a fight of life and death. She kicked out, her bare heel connecting hard with her assaulter's thigh. The man feinted to the side. Chatree fired, the shot going wide as the man ducked behind some canvas covered easels. Chatree felt the adrenalin rushing in his blood, the sweat on his brow dripping hot into his eyes. He moved further into the room, sweeping the barrel of his gun as he ducked in and out of the nooks and crannies that Merced could be hiding. The room was cluttered, too many obstructions to be thorough, too many places to be ambushed.
Chatree heard a clatter behind him, and he pivoted in time to see broad naked shoulders dart through the exit. He sprang after him, galvanized when he heard shots fired. He raced through the door way and skidded to a stop. The suspect was face down on the landing, a pool of blood spreading beneath him. Wong was kicking away the knife, his .38 revolver still drawn.
Chatree lowered his weapon as Wong checked the man’s pulse. The older detective nodded it was clear and they both holstered their weapons. Wong's dark eyes centered on Chatree, and the young detective felt his gut clench.
“Back up and EMT’s are on their way.”
Wong brushed passed him, hurrying towards the whimpering woman. A quick survey showed only shallow cuts, nothing deadly, but she would be scarred for life. Wong pulled a paint splattered canvas off an easel to cover the shivering woman. Beneath the canvas was a grotesque painting that made both the men pause. The victim had been the model. She was painted upside down on a cross, her wrists and ankles bound with barbed wire, her blonde hair cascading to the ground. He throat was cut and blood pooled on the obsidian floor beneath her.
“Art,” Wong muttered, while tucking the canvas around the woman. She clutched at him, burying herself in his chest.
Outside Chatree could hear the sirens of backup arriving. He shifted his weight, shoving his now shaking hands into his pockets. The adrenalin was wearing off; leaving a dead taste in his mouth that only hard alcohol could drive away. Wong looked him over with a brief sweep of his eyes that made him feel vaguely ashamed.
“You missed your shot.” Wong said. He nodded towards the thick wood pillar that supported the center of the vaulted room. The dark painted wood was bleeding pale yellow innards from Chatree’s bullet. The young detective’s cheeks burned.
“You’re lucky that bullet didn’t keep going through these shoddy walls, and kill some kid two blocks away.”
Chatree opened his to mouth to protest, but he quickly closed it. Wong was right. He had became a cop to protect and serve, and part of that was making sure that his actions, no matter what the situation, didn’t adversely affect the public. Dead kids were definitely adverse.
“I expect to see you on the shooting range with me every morning for the next month. And afterwards we are going to spend an hour each day going over the handbook, especially the chapter on waiting for backup.”
“Sir,” Chatree protested.
The EMT’s arrived in a rush, setting down their kits and taking the woman from Wong’s arms. They were quick to asses her wounds, to put pressure on the worst bleeders, and cover her with a warm blanket. Wong skirted around the sudden activity and stepped right into Chatree’s space. He grabbed the young man’s upper arm with surprising strength, making Chatree wince slightly, but he didn’t pull away. He locked eyes with the older man, seeing something he never saw before. Dedication.
“You are my responsibility, Chatree. Everything you do reflects on me. You are one of the most capable detectives I’ve seen in a long time, but if you rush in, if you fuck up, if you make me regret choosing you as a partner, I will see that you are sacked faster than you can spit on my grave when I finally keel over. Do you understand me, pup?”
“Yes, sir.”
Wong held his gaze for a few seconds longer, before nodding and letting go. The older man moved a few steps away, his steady hand reaching in his pocket for a pack of cigarettes. Chatree was still shaking slightly as he moved next to him. He watched the detective as he scanned the room, his lips pursed in thought.
“Bruins matches the description given by the maid. Good looking, dark hair. Might be Italian.”
Wong nodded, while taking a drag from his cigarette. Slowly they circled the room, revealing pieces of art, each more disturbing than the last, always featuring women in different positions of defilement.
“What are you thinking?” Chatree finally asked.
Wong made his way to the window. It was covered by a gray blanket, making the air inside the loft seem fuzzy. He yanked it down, and yellow motes sailed away on cigarette smoke. Outside all he could see was a wall of red brick. It was soot stained and covered with cracks. It was old and worn out, yet fundamentally part of the city, just like him. It had stories to tell of anger and hate of love and joy, but that old wall couldn’t tell him what it had seen. What it knew.
“That you have paperwork to process.”
Chatree frowned at the old man’s back, before shifting his gaze over his shoulder. All he saw was the wall of the next building. It certainly wasn’t a view worth staring at so intensely. With a shrug he turned, and began giving orders to the arriving officers to start their search of the premises, while Wong gazed out the window.
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