Endeverafter: The Series Presents The Cursed One

Chapter One

Detective Jonah Hoss stepped out of his Dodge Charger and huffed under his breath. He slammed the door behind him and placed the styrofoam cup in his hand on top of the hood. Reaching inside of his jacket, he pulled out two small white pills and a bottle of Visine. He tossed the pills in his mouth, dropped exactly two drops in each of his eyes and gulped down the rest of his coffee. Without his usual morning routine, he would never make it through the rest of the day. Mondays were always a drag. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pair of circular black shades and began walking across the street. Ignoring the indistinct chattering coming from curious bystanders, he stepped onto the curb of Elmwood and Pine. With his badge hanging front and center, a baby faced officer lifted the yellow tape for him. "Would you get rid of this?" he asked. He handed the empty styrofoam cup to the officer and didn't wait for a response. Tugging at the collar of his button-up t-shirt, the sun was bright and the humidity of this April weather was two months early. It was nine in the morning and the temperature was already in the high 60s.

His boots walked across the crime scene, brushing past the nameless fifty or so people that got the same call he did that morning. The rain from the night before had already dried up into the cement, heating up the ground underneath his black boots. He spotted the back of his partner, Detective Brianna Foy ahead, her jet black hair pulled into a low tight bun. When he appeared behind her side, she silently nodded at him. "What a fucking way to start the week, huh?" she mumbled.

"Were you expecting anything less?" Hoss said. He followed her eyes down to the female forensic technician, Ellen, who was sitting cross-legged on the ground. Above him, a brown-skinned man with a baseball cap and a notepad in his hand was walking towards them. Hoss elbowed Foy, who looked up.

"Hoss. Foy."

"Jones."

"What a fucking morning."

Hoss looked at Foy, who smirked to herself. "What do you have for us?"

"Well..." Kevin Jones, the medical examiner, said, flipping open his notepad. He pushed his baseball up off of his forehead and squinted at his own illegible handwriting.

"I see it's a rough morning for all of us," Hoss teased.

"Haha, real funny. One of my kids was playing with my glasses and now I can't find the shits," Jones said. "I may as well be reading sandscript." He flipped between some more pages before he sighed. "Okay, so our victim was forty seven year old Mildred Grant, owner of a small gift shop on Cedar Avenue."

"Quite a long way from the Delta," Foy commented, raising an eyebrow. "Any next of kin? Husband? Children?"

"Husband passed away five years ago," Jones replied, flipping the notepad shut. "No children."

"Lonely life," Foy said.

"More like, lucky," Hoss said, frowning. "Cause of death?"

"M.E. puts it at around eleven thirty last night," Jones said. "A neighbor called in early this morning about a possible break-in."

"Anything stolen?" Foy asked.

"Not a thing." A female patrol officer walked up behind Jones and tapped him on the shoulder. She whispered something into his ear and he nodded. "Thanks." He paused and waited until she walked away before he spoke. "Heads up, the Chief is looking for your captain."

"Never good news," Hoss said, nodding at Jones. "Alright, thanks, Jonesy. Give my love to the wife and kids." Jones tipped his baseball cap and walked away. Hoss turned his attention to the body on the ground in front of them. It was covered with a white sheet. He kneeled down and clasped his hands together, waiting for Ellen to acknowledge him. When she looked up from her clipboard, he said, "Please tell me she got a piece of her attacker."