Crimson Ice (Jelsa)

Chapter Ⅰ: The Crime Scene

Hiccup's P.O.V (Point of View)

I got an unexpected call from the Chief at about five in the morning.

Another murder had taken place.

A wave of curiosity washed over me, sending an uncomfortable vibe snaking down my spine. 

My mind was racing on the way to the crime scene, an old, abandoned building at the end of the block which had been left there for years to rot.

Black and whites had barricaded the entire area, their sirens blasting.

Figuring I'd probably needed some backup just in case, I contacted my partner, Eric, to lend me his assistance on this.

But the only response I got from the other end of the line was the telephone receptionist telling me to 'leave a message'.

I let out a sigh of frustration. He's probably sleeping it off again. Typical.

...Or so I thought.

Officers Tori and Ralph Rivers were already at the scene, busy taping off the entrance of the forbidding building.

"What've we got?" I inquired, being prepared for the answer which was yet to come.

Tori fiddled with the pair of handcuffs hanging from her belt. "No idea yet. Chief restricted us from entering. You know how he is."

"It's a murder. Maybe he's assuming that we can't stomach the whole thing." Ralph responded with a shrug.

"Oh please. We're police officers. It's an occupational hazard." Tori protested.

The brother and sister duo, always at each others' throats.

"Morning Hiccup. Glad you could make it." The Chief approached me from behind, greeting me with his thick Russian accent.

"Reporting for duty, chief." I saluted.

"This way." He signaled me to follow him.

The building's interior was just falling apart. Any moment now, the entire building looked like it would come crashing down and crush us in the process.

There was no electricity, as you would expect in a place like this.

The air had a cold, musty smell in its atmosphere, and the worn-out floorboards beneath our feet creaked with every step we took.

During this whole time, the Chief had a weary look in his eyes, and his lips were sealed tightly in the form of a deep frown.

I found out why soon enough as I entered a small room at the end of the narrow hallway.

The whole place had been frosted over with a thick layer of ice, as if it had been hit by a deadly snowstorm.

That kind of thing could've only been caused by her.

And in the midst of it all, lay an ice statue. No, it was a person.

A person, encased in a coat of ice, while his body had been impaled with at least a dozen ice shards.

Blood had gushed out of the wounds like a fountain, dyeing the ice a crimson red color.

I was facing the back of the person, so I was unable to catch a glimpse of his or her face.

Drip.....drip.....drip......

I heard the sickening sound of fresh blood dripping off some of the ice shards the moment they'd made contact with the floor below.