Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Blood Red Storm ❯ A Bright New Soul For the City of Darkness ( Chapter 4 )

A Bright New Soul for the City of Darkness

 

This never got old. The flash bulb lit the dim room, and rookie detectives fidgeted as the scene was clearer to make out in the second of light. Rory Lochlan paid them no mind. If they couldn't handle the mess they needed to find a different vocation. Stepping around the designated perimeter, she crouched down to get another angle, a better shot of the headless corpse. Rory lifted her camera and focused until she had the perfect view. A shot from below, looking up at the bloody mess. An epic shot. Gale would love it.

 

She had taken two rolls of film before hearing agitated grunts from the men she had paid off. Turning to scowl, they went silent. These weren't her regulars, maternity and sick leave or some shit, so she had to bribe with a much higher rate then usual.

 

“My two hundred should buy me another hour, boys.”

 

“Listen, lady, you've gotten a picture of every damn corner!” The one who jumped at the money when first approached was now shifty and hollering as loud as he could while maintaining a whisper.

 

The other, Mark, held his hand up to silence his partner. “The coroner is going to be here soon. It's our jobs if they find out we let anyone up here not involved in the investigation.”

 

Rory nodded, keeping her annoyed thoughts silent. She could have gotten more, but the two were not going to give her more time. Besides, this one was a looker; she'd go along with their pleas. “Fine. You two did well. I won't forget the service done for me.”

 

“No problem,” the first detective said before leaving the room.

 

Rory smiled. Newbies were always uncomfortable with blood, guts, and chaos. Since Mark lingered, she interviewed him more as she packed up her gear. No witnesses, no real signs of struggle, and the occupant of the apartment - whom Tatou had kept hidden - was nowhere to be found. The manner of execution had the young man on edge.

 

“To pin someone like that, to mutilate…I've never seen anything like it…”

 

Rory wanted to sigh. She had seen too much to be affected. However, looking at him, she couldn't help but be disarmed of her attitude. He was probably five years younger than her twenty-seven. His black suit and crooked tie made him seem younger, along with his stylishly disheveled dark hair and big brown eyes that looked haunted as he glanced around the crime scene. Detective Markhus Howell was just asking to be played with.

 

“I really do appreciate you risking your job.” Rory settled her hand on his arm, noting the hardness of muscle beneath his suit jacket. Pulling away, she reached into her own and came back with a card. When he realized what it was he fumbled for his own in his back pocket. How cute. “I would love it if you contacted me with anything new on the case. The people of this fair city really do have the right to know about these sorts of things.”

 

“Likewise,” Mark said, slipping his card into her hand.

 

Rory nodded her goodbye before going down the stairs and out the side entrance. There was no one from the police station yet, but she had enough to turn into her boss. She smiled as she tossed her bag into the passenger side of her sports car. A new story, a new, delectable prey, and it was just Monday. This was starting out as a beautiful week.

 

* * * * *

 

Gale was placing the last article he had to read for the day in his out-box, when his star writer waltzed in. She never knocked, but she never had to. Aside from him, she was the best in the business. He smiled as she tossed a thick folder down onto his desk. It was after one in the afternoon and he knew she already had a rough draft and photos for him. Rory Lochlan wasn't the most top paid—disgustingly paid—reporter in Aquaria for nothing. If he was the King of Printed News then she was the queen. Hired shortly after he was made editor, Rory had traveled to Aquaria from her college career in Ireland for a job.

 

They made an excellent team, and she would not work for anyone else, regardless of offers. It was a nice relationship, though it worried him that she would dig too deeply on this one.

 

“There you are then, details fresh from the bloody crime.” Rory plopped down in his comfy chair, propping her combat boot-clad feet upon his polished desk.

 

Gale made a show of going through the manila folder, picking up the stack of freshly developed photos instead of reading her report. She had captured it beautifully. The crisp color and focus took him back to the two nights before. Adrenaline began to pulse through his veins and he had to struggle to not smile at the pictures.

 

“Fucking charming, eh?” Rory watched him from behind dark brown bangs, lighting a cigarette as he studied each one.

 

“Indeed,” Gale tossed them on his desk with a sigh. This is it, Sean, the real test. “How many words do you have?” He never read her reports when first given to him. He liked to talk to Rory about her assignments.

 

“Three thousand, for now.” Rory stood for the window, blowing her smoke and flicking the ashes out into the cold air. “This story is far from being done.”

 

“So the cops told you it was a serial killer after all?” He knew how she got her information. Frankly, as long as she got it he didn't care how.

 

“They don't know for sure, but look at the crime.” Rory snuffed out her cigarette and placed the butt in the back pocket of her jeans. “The guy put a coin in Tatou's mouth before beheading him. Sounds like a classic calling card to me, boss.”

 

Don't act disinterested. Treat this as a normal story. “Sounds like,” Gale nodded as he put the photos neatly back in place. “They have a suspect? They know it's a man?”

 

“No, but this has male machoness written all over it.” Rory ignored his scoff and hopped off the window seat. “Tatou's dick was cut off, Gale!”

 

“Ouch,” Gale and Rory shared a not so respectful snicker. “He was supposedly visiting a prostitute, right? Most likely a jilted lover did it, probably even his wife.” Gale smiled faintly at the look he was given. She had nothing to say against spiteful women.

 

* * * * *

 

Dressed his best, Calen leaned against the bar of his father's living room where the main group of partygoers were congregating. Just arrived in Pearl that afternoon and his asshole father demanded his presence at the party he invited his clients and closest friends to - apparently the third one in as many days. He had just set his suit case down in his bedroom when his father came in, hugging him before springing the plans on him. An hour-long nap was not enough when one was still up at midnight after a week of traveling.

 

Calen had not been raised by his father, so he kept up his polite behavior instead of glaring at everyone that passed by. He hated this. Hated the people, hated his father, hated the gaudy mansion, hated that he always did what his mother wanted, and he knew he was tired so stopped his inner fussing. It wasn't all so bad. Glancing around again, he found the newly appointed governor making out with one of the hookers brought to the party, white powder caked around his nostrils and hands beneath her skimpy dress.

 

Yes, it was that bad, and yes, he wanted to vaporize everyone.

 

Loud laughter took his attention away from the disgusting scene to across the room. His father, self-made billionaire and bane of his existence, had his arm around a slender woman in a friendly fashion, laughing with her over a glass of too-expensive champagne. She was short, petite, vulnerable, begged to be taken care of with her large blue eyes and shiny hip-length black hair, and was the devil incarnate.

 

Calen had met Mika Knightly once before and wished to never have to lay his eyes on her again. In his naivety he had thought himself safe since she had come with his father on a visit to his mother's New England villa. She was psychotic. Every bad thing he heard about her was true, and though she tried to get close to him - he found out she liked her men fair and willowy - he refused to be in the same room with her alone or for more than a few hours.

 

“I had no idea eyes like yours could hold such a hateful look,” a soft, deep voice said from the suddenly occupied space beside him.

 

Said eyes, crystal blue with midnight ringed around the irises, snapped to attention. Calen tried to relax, but a slight tremor ran through him at the sight of the man. Li Cho Kit, his father's most trusted colleague, body guard, and best friend had managed to get close without him knowing. The man set him on edge. He was sadistic and crazy, just like every other person at the party, and was as intense as a black hole. Calen could never draw away from him as he did the others. He demanded attention and he hated when Kit sought his. It was exhausting being the subject of his onyx stare.

 

“Hello, Mr. Li.” Calen moved smoothly, perfectly concealing his anxiety, as he raised his hand for a shake.

 

“Please, Calen, Kit is what I wish for you to call me. No formalities for the son of my generous employer.” His skin was always so warm.

 

Calen took the time it took the man to turn toward the bar to compose himself and prepare for another round. Kit never was satisfied with just a greeting; he lingered to chat every time they came into one another's presence. He was far too polite to tell him to piss off, he was creeping him out! Kit turned, pitch-black hair falling over his shoulder as he handed him a glass of scotch with a touch of cherry vodka, his drink of choice.

 

“How was your trip? I understand you saw the sites as you traveled.” Kit's long-lashed lids drooped as he watched his conversation companion while he sipped his glass of wine.

 

Calen busied himself with his drink, not attempting to look him in the eye. “It was fun, thank you for asking.”

 

“You're bored,” Kit smirked and cast his eyes around the room. “I told Ortonse this was the last place an energetic twenty-four-year-old would want to be on their first night in The City of Iridescence.” He placed his full goblet on the bar to focus all of his attention on the younger man.

 

Calen laughed, finishing the glass. “I'd rather be in bed, actually.” He froze as Kit's hand trailed his, taking his drink from him.

 

“Then leave.”

 

“Right, and Father would bitch at me all of tomorrow.” He never remembered until it was too late that alcohol always loosened him up.

 

Humor sparkled Kit's eyes at his words and the light flush of his face. He quickly swept his gaze over him before smiling again. “If something does not amuse you, it is your right to find other avenues of occupation.” He held up his hand when Calen went to speak, “I insist. You are tired. No use wearing yourself out for something so trite as your old man's business party.”

 

“All right,” Calen muttered. He was never in control when he talked to Kit.

 

“Sweet dreams, Calen.” Kit smiled and patted his shoulder before walking away.

 

Calen slipped from the room, nearly running up the staircase when he was out of sight. His entire life he had lived with his mother, only seeing his father when he felt the need to spring an uncomfortable surprise visit on him. The last time was when he was eighteen. Ortonse had showed up after his graduation, key to a hummer with a gigantic red bow on it in hand. He had brought his spooky entourage with him. That day Calen vowed to never have anything to do with the man unless he had to. A month ago his mother informed him of his father's wishes to have him live in Pearl, Aquaria. Ortonse was proud his son was a top programmer in the computer business and wished for him to work under him.

 

Not a day went by since he had not regretted agreeing to live under his roof.