Triple Digits

Corey Strickland

Corey stumbled through Claire's apartment for the first time that night, dazed and horrified by everything he could see, Dunfield remaining at his side for support. The front door was broken down, almost having been kicked off its hinges. There was no further damage until Claire's bedroom, where she must have run in an attempt to save herself while Corey lay unconscious in his own house. The killer had taken a shot at him, but missed in the dark, not that the killer had known that, or Claire, who had screamed in the bathroom, believing him dead. When Corey had barreled into him to try and stop him from kicking down the door, he'd fought not only for his life, but for Claire's, too, until the butt of his gun had collided with his head, and everything had gone black. He hadn't known Claire had fled until he'd come to with a police torch shining into his face, and realised that both her and the killer were gone. His colleagues had filled him in on the pursuit, as well as the thirty-six emergency calls made about two cars speeding down the highway toward this part of the city. Dunfield had picked him up along the way to the scene of the crime. She'd done exactly what he'd said, and run. It might have cost Claire her life.
Gods, those words had made him want to wither and die. Scene of the crime. Everybody refused to tell him what had happened to her. Dunfield had explained it was better to show him, which was why they were here. In Claire's apartment. At three in the morning.
In the apartment bedroom, the damage did not paint a pretty picture for what had become of Claire Miles.
Around him, cameras flashed as his fellow officers took photos for evidence. The bedroom door was in splinters, a hole kicked clean through it. Glass crunched under Corey's boots as he entered, his heart sinking. He slammed his eyes shut against the sight he imagined would appear soon, of Claire's body, only for Dunfield to place his hand on his shoulder, murmuring, "Look, son."
He forced his eyes open, something in his chest crumpling when he realised there was no sign of a body, although there were splatters of blood everywhere. They were not enough for someone to have died. A knife rested on the floor, the end of it covered in blood. An evidence tag was placed next to it. One officer was already dusting the place for fingerprints.
The worst of the blood was on the glass that littered the floor of Claire's bedroom, her balcony door having been broken in the fight, and the tiles on the balcony itself. There, someone, either Claire or the killer, had taken a serious beating. Could Claire have defeated the killer, and she was now safe and waiting for him in the hospital?
"Did they reach her in time?" He sighed in relief, only for Dunfield to shake his head.
"I'm sorry. By the time they got here, nobody was to be found, including Miss Miles."
No... He'd failed her.
Corey sunk heavily onto the bed, hearing paper crinkle.
He rose, peeling back the sheets to find a folded note, written hastily in Claire's handwriting.
It was split into four distinct paragraphs, each one bearing the name of Claire's friends or older sister. The last paragraph was dedicated to him.
He could feel his world shattering around him as he realised what this was. A goodbye letter.
She'd hidden in here, and penned a letter, knowing she was going to- Bile rose, thick and heavy in his throat, and Dunfield hurried him out into the living room before he could contaminate the crime scene, listening to him vomit into the bin, clicking his tongue sympathetically. He clutched the letter, the words dancing in the swirling tears. In his head, it was her voice who read it to him. 

Please let this be a horrible nightmare.
Reaching down, he pinched his arm hard enough to draw blood, Dunfield trying to lead him out of the apartment with an arm around his shoulders. Corey paused near the front door, the hole the killer had needed to kick through to gain access to Claire.
Claire was a fighter. He wouldn't give up on her so easily.
"She isn't dead, Dunfield."
"Corey..." Dunfield sighed heavily. He shook his head firmly, urging, "There's no body. I won't allow this to be ruled a homicide until they find her body. Until there's a body, it's a rescue mission, not a recovery."
Dunfield paused, thinking it over, before nodding slowly, "Very well. I'll make sure the police are looking for her or the killer."
She couldn't be dead. The killer had taken her. He seemed to enjoy taunting Claire, in particular. And, through her, taunting him. Quickshift had been killed quickly and without mercy, so why was he holding back on Claire?
It had to be linked to the fact that Claire was Triple Digits- a fact that he still couldn't quite wrap his head around. She, the beautiful nineteen-year-old who deliberately raced down the street in front of him every morning just to have a five minute conversation with him, was Mid-City's most infamous, and best, street-racer?! Something TD had done must have led to this killer hating her more than the others. He'd explicitly said he wanted to ruin her life before ending it.
Gods, so much stuff made sense now that he knew who she was in the racing world.
Looking back over his shoulder, at the colour green plastered everywhere, and the life Miles had clawed out here in Mid-City as a fourteen-year-old girl who'd fled from her family, he hardened his resolve.
"Take me to the station to get a warrant, Dunfield. We have security footage to go through."
Dunfield lifted his keys, and led Corey down the stairs...
He was getting her back alive.