Lierotica One-shots

911 Call

Taking a left turn onto the street, I scanned for the address listed in the report. Spotting the number outside the house's front door, I parked my car near the porch and turned off the flashing blue and red lights.

Adjusting my belt, ensuring my gun and badge were in place, I reminded myself of the responsibility I carried as a member of the police force—one of the so-called Men in Blue.

I knocked on the door but received no response. Speaking into my radio, I reported the lack of an answer. Circling the house, I peered through the windows and noticed a bloody handprint smeared on the wall. My stomach tightened as I continued around the property, where I spotted a motionless arm lying in a pool of blood.

Summoning my courage, I kicked the door open and stepped inside.

"Police! Is anyone here?" I called out, my voice steady despite the tension building inside me.

Gun drawn, I moved cautiously through the house, scanning each corner. "Dispatch, we have a murder scene here," I reported, my voice now grim.

The radio crackled back, instructing me to secure the scene and wait for backup.

Ignoring the advice, I continued toward the dismembered arm. The air was thick with the stench of blood. My boots squelched on the floor as I followed the drag marks, which led along the walls. Looking up, I froze at the sight of a bloody, unidentifiable body part pinned to the ceiling with a nail gun.

"What kind of person could do this?" I muttered under my breath, steeling myself to continue.

The trail of blood led me to a closed door. Slowly, I pushed it open, and the smell hit me like a wave, forcing me to cough. Covering my nose and mouth as best I could, I stepped inside.

I will never forget what I saw.

A man's body was tied to a desk chair, the room around him completely trashed. His jaw was grotesquely split open, the flesh hanging in jagged strips, exposing the back of his throat. One of his eyes was crimson with blood and dangled from its socket, while his remaining arm was twisted into impossible angles, the fingers frozen in a position that screamed agony.

There were no nails on his fingers, only syringe tips embedded into the raw flesh. His torso was split wide open, his intestines and other organs strewn across the floor. A gaping hole where his heart should have been revealed a strange stone, etched with an inscription I couldn't make out.

For a brief moment, a macabre thought flickered in my mind: What does it feel like to squeeze a heart, to feel someone's blood warm on your skin?

I shook the thought away and stumbled out of the office, careful not to touch anything. Grabbing the roll of yellow police tape from my car, I secured the perimeter. Not long after, the detectives arrived.

"Good day, Detective Shaw," I greeted, extending a hand.

She shook it, her expression unreadable. "I don't think you'll keep that cheerful tone after we've been inside."

I nodded, acknowledging her point. A younger man stepped forward.

"This is Detective Luke," Shaw introduced.

I shook his hand. "Officer Shaw. A pleasure, though I'm sorry we're meeting under these circumstances."

Luke gave me a faint smile. "Not exactly ideal, is it?"

"Shall I give you the tour?" I offered.

"Yes, and if you don't mind, I'll need your full account of events. As the first officer on the scene, your observations are critical," Shaw replied.