𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐀

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚎

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚎 — ❝the carmine killer❞

𝚂𝙾𝙻𝙾𝙼𝙾𝙽 𝙴𝚅𝙰𝙽𝚂 was at his wits end - and way out of his comfort zone.

At only thirty-four, he could've never imagined that when he took over the reins after his father's retirement, that he'd be spending his nights like this.

Woken up in the middle of the night, pulling all-nighters, unable to sleep. Fighting the visions in his dreams, which lately, were seeming more like nightmares. He had been running on black coffee and half assed cooked meals the moment the expectations of the job seemed to be thrust into his lap.

He wasn't any stranger to the constraints of what came with a job like this - not at all - he had seen his fair share of domestic incidents, stolen cars, gun violence, calls of the homeless and less fortunate disturbing the peace. He had all the necessary training as he rose through the ranks of the Atlanta Police Department. Trauma had been with him since he was a child - he barely batted an eye anymore, barely let a saddened tear slip and slide down his cheek.

But none of that training could've prepared him for the last few months.

Solomon gripped the steering wheel as he drove through the neighborhood slowly, light rain decorating his windshield. The slightly obnoxious, back and forth sliding motion of his windshield wipers filled the car with dull noise, just as the sound of Siri's monotone voice told him to take the next turn. His eyelids were droopy, having been woken up at what he felt like was the "ass crack of dawn", for nothing more than what he expected to be a routine call.

It was natural for them to call a homicide investigator at these hours, but Solomon wasn't just any old regular investigator - and lately, these calls have been for anything but a regular old murder.

Despite that fact, he tried to remain "hopeful" - if that was even close to the word you'd use when you're being called to investigate a murder.

As the familiar, disorienting flashing lights of police cruisers filled his car with their blue glow, a sense of dread nestled itself further in his stomach, right next to the crude optimism that was beginning to disappear - and disappear quickly as he inched down the street. The feeling threatened to consume him as he parked behind a shiny, Ford Interceptor, probably fresh off the police lot.

Neighbors piled out from their houses, filling the street and what space they had on the sidewalk, trying to get a hint of what was going on, before they had to catch it on Fox 5 early in the morning. He could hear their hushed whispers and feel their eyes as he walked through the crowd, phones in hand as they dialed their closest confidant to update them - and social media, fingers flying over the keyboard as they posted the latest news on what was going out right outside their house.

He never quite understood how the sight of a police car could elicit such nosiness, but then again, when you live a dull, boring life - this was probably the most interesting thing these people had going on at the moment. When you don't have shit to do, anything becomes a hundred percent more interesting, especially if the police were involved. It was like a circus show, a spectacle you couldn't look away from.

Light drizzle misted his brown skin as he stepped out of the car, hearing the hushed whispers from onlookers and feeling their stares as he greeted his fellow officers at the yellow tape that blocked off the house from unauthorized individuals. Wet gravel crunched beneath his feet as he walked up the path leading to the front door, officers off to the side on the grass having conversations of their own. Identifying him as an investigator outside of his black sweatpants, sneakers, and gray, v-neck shirt was his navy blue windbreaker - APD plastered across the back in bold, yellow letters.