Young Blood

C h a p t e r O n e

CHAPTER ONE
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The murders started thirty-four days ago. May 15th. Three bodies have been found since then. All are females, but one a child. Images of the bodies vibrate through my tired mind like out of tune violin strings as I watch the barista pour me a milky cup of coffee. Despite the strong aroma of the fresh coffee beans engulfing the air around me I can still smell the horrid, pungent scent of rotting human remains. My job isn't an easy job. It takes someone brave and close to psychotic to snap photographs of brutal crimes such as these. Manic violations against humanity. No sane person would do something like this. Something so utterly evil, and to a twelve year old child.

"Amara!", Johnny Tolan, my co-worker, calls to me from a distant table hidden in a cozy nook, his arms waving in the air as he beckons me in his direction. I know I walked into the coffee shop with him, but it didn't take long for me to forget his entire existence. I wave back at him, acknowleding his attempt to summon me, but my wave looks more dismissive than attentive.

"That'll be $3.25 please, ma'am." The barista slides my coffee along the marble counter towards me and I can't hide the crease that forms between my eyebrows. He called me ma'am like I am some old women, just from looking at him I can tell that him and I are probably around the same age. I don't blame him, though, because my profession is so different to his. Mine has wrecked havoc on both my mental and physical wellbeing. The bags beneath my eyes are deep enough to deminish the possibility that I am a day younger than 30.

I plunge my fingers into my coin purse as I scoop out each individual coin and hand it over to the man behind the counter. I've always found it embarrassing, paying with coins instead of using my phone of credit card. I'm not sure if it is a societial thing but it makes me feel out of place and judged.

Finally I sit down next to Johnny. He has a humungous chicken BLT sandwhich in front of him which he has already managed to take two meaty bites out of, accompanied with a sugary black coffee to wash it all down, "Any good?" I ask quietly as I nod my head towards his sandwhich. Johnny nods almost instantly.

"Mhm," He hums, "Could use some mayo, though," He slurps at his coffee and I feel my skin crawl. I hate when people do that, "You not gettin' anything?" He peeks up from behind his notebook and I chug down a mouthful of my own warm drink, desperate for the caffinene to provide me with some missing energy.

"Not too hungry." I lie convincingly. The real reason I'm not getting anything to eat is because I literally cannot afford it. The only food I have back at my apartment is a few boxes of mac n cheese in the cupboard and a pint of milk in the fridge. Enoughh to last me until Friday. Pay day.

A look of dissaproval dances across Johnny's expression however I ignore it. Johnny is quite a bit older than I am, financially stable with a wife and kids, I assume, "Well alright then." He smiles warmly at me and I return the gesture.

We sit in silence for a minute or two, until both of us have finished our coffees, "We'll be getting a call any minute now." I toy with my thumbs beneath the table, picking at the skin around my nails like a nervouse child. Like a child. A chill claws it's way down my spine and goosebumps arise on my skin as I snap back to my brutal reality. That little girl deserves justice, and what am I doing? Sipping coffee.

"We should get back," I throw my bag over my shoulder and adjust the strap across my chest, "I have to get back out there." I repeat the request with more urgency, my eyes flash between Johnny and the streets outside as I chug the last dribbles of my coffee, crushing the to-go paper cup in my hand and tossing it in the nearest trash can.

"Easy, tiger," Johnny stands from the table and dabs the corners of his mouth with a napkin, collecting whatever crumbs have been caught in his grey streaken beard, "They bleep us when they need us," He waves his pager in front of my face, almost mocking my intelligence, "Have you heard a bleep?" His bushy eyebrows raise high on his forehead.