Broken Wings

The sound of cars screeching to a sudden stop before a rundown warehouse on the Atlantic shoreline shattered the lazy evening world. Car doors slammed as dozens of bodies swarmed alongside the building. With their guns drawn and at the ready, the SWAT team rammed the worn door. “Police!” The young officer’s timbre voice echoed in the poor light inside the warehouse, the darkness within was illuminated only by the stray streams of sunlight penetrating the void as dozens of bodies flooded the room.

"This way, Ang." A petite brunette nodded as she followed the tall form of her partner. "Our perp’s hiding in here somewhere, I can feel it in my bones."

"Those old bones? Are you sure it’s not a case of phantoms?" She said with a hint of a smile tugging at her voice. She glared sideways, piercing the darkness with the flashlight as she went. Taking a step forward, she stumbled, wobbling backwards into a warm brick wall. "Thanks for the warning, partner."

He raised an eyebrow, "I’ll not dignify that with an answer. Perhaps you’ll be kind and enlighten me as to your sudden problem?"

"No problem here, Sweetie."

"Funny, that wasn’t the impression I got." He muttered dryly before shining the light back in front of them.

"What a sec, back up a bit." Gripping her partner’s arm, "there. Does that look like blood to you?" She pointed to the thick trail of crimson streaming from beneath a nearby crate.

Stepping closer, he traced one gloved finger in the dark liquid. Bringing it closer, he rubbed the finger with his thumb. "Perpetrator’s or victim’s?"

"Going with victim on this one."

"Figures." Shaking his head, he tagged the site with a small neon yellow cone before examining the stack of crates nearby. Vaguely aware of his partner’s activities, he set to work prying open the large wooden boxes and sifting through the packing material.

"John," the emotional strain in her voice drew his attention to the opposite side of the crates. Anguish danced across her features as he stepped into view. As she looked up at him, he could see the color draining from her face and tears welling in her eyes. A lone tear slipped down her cheek, "I think I’m going to be sick."

A young woman lay nude, arranged with her arms nailed against the side of the crates and her legs spread up and open as though an unspoken invitation. Her body was clean of hair beneath the collarbone, waxed away as though it never existed. Strips of her flesh were stapled along the crates’ side, dried blood flaking with the most gentle of movements of the wooden boxes. His flashlight illuminated the exposed pieces of muscle and dried organs, decomposing in the humid air.

Looking past the absent flesh of her breasts and further into her body, he noticed the gaping hole inside of her. "Son of a bitch, you’ve graduated into taking trophies."

“Do you think it was postmortem?”

He glanced at his partner over the rim of his glasses. "For his sake, it had better have been." Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he whispered, "I’m sorry, Jessica. We’ll get him, I promise." Taking his glasses off, he wiped the moisture from his eyes.

"Detective Munch."

He turned slightly to face the source of the baritone voice, "yes."

"This was found taped to the inside of the warehouse door."

"So give it to one of the other detectives, I’m a bit busy." As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted his sarcastic tone. The uniformed officer was still rather green, and he should really learn to be more sympathetic to the rookies, but life was a cruel mistress and the sooner the pimple-faced kid realized that, the better of a cop he would be.

"Sorry Sir. But it’s addressed to you, Sir."

Squinting, he nodded his head and quietly accepted the plain manila envelope. "Thanks," he mumbled. Opening the envelope, he sighed as his head slumped in defeat. The familiar handwriting knotted his stomach, taunting him.




A/N

This chapter beta-ed by Caillean