Adam-12 One-Shots

II - Doubles

Language, violence, graphic injury depiction, vomit. Rated M.

Summary: Jim Reed isn't prepared for what he sees during his first homicide. It might be a little too much for a young officer.

Start note: Chapter features intense depictions of homicide, and child murder. Please respect yourself and know when to click away.

------------------------------

"One-Adam-12, One-Adam-12, see the manager, 915 Lakewood Drive. Unknown trouble. Handle code 2."

"Uh, One-Adam-12, roger," Reed says into the receiver, momentarily forgetting how to speak (it happens to all of us, don't pretend it doesn't).

"Hit the reds," Pete orders as he turns onto Lakewood.

Jim flicks on the lights but doesn't turn on the sirens, because that's what a handle code 2 is (I'm teaching y'all things okay).

It doesn't take long to arrive at the location, a small apartment complex. There's a woman standing out front, wringing her hands nervously. Jim and Pete exit the car and approach her.

"Oh, officers, thank goodness you're here," the woman breathes, on the verge of hysteria. "It was the most terrible thing..."

"What's your name, ma'am?" Jim asks politely and calmly.

"Rita," the woman almost sobs. "Rita Richards."

Jim quickly scribbles her name down on his notepad. "Mrs.?" he asks. She nods.

Pete's the next one to speak. "Can you tell us what happened, Mrs. Richards?"

"One of my tenants, Jean Smith —" Pete sees Jim tense slightly at the name — "she brought a friend home to stay the night. I don't know her name. And... oh, it was awful, there were gunshots. So many of them. A-And Jean's got a daughter, too, I can only pray that they're all alright..."

"What's the apartment number?" Pete asks.

Mrs. Richards answers, "Jean's in apartment 206. It's on the — the second floor."

"We'll take care of it," Jim promises. "We need you to find a place to hide in case the shooter tries to escape. We don't want you getting hurt."

Mrs. Richards nods again. "Thank you officers. God bless you."

Pete and Jim enter the apartment complex and climb the stairs to the second floor. Jim walks ahead — he doesn't do it on purpose, but he's typically a faster walker than Pete — and quickly locates number 206. Before he even knocks on the door, there's such a strong scent of blood that he has to bite down a gag.

Pete smells it too, but his face remains as stoic as ever. Inside, he's wondering what the fuck may have happened, but he also knows what has happened.

So Malloy knocks hard on the door. "Police! Open up!" he orders. There's no response, so he tries again. Nothing.

Pete kicks the door open. The main area is covered in blood. The thick red liquid is on the floor, on the walls, on the couch, on the dining table, it's everywhere. The scent assaults their noses, and Pete hears Jim gag. "Don't puke," he says in a quiet but stern voice. "C'mon."

They venture into the bedroom next, trying to avoid getting blood on their shoes but there's really no way to stop it. The door is slightly ajar, so Malloy nudges it open with his foot, keeping one hand on his still-holstered gun.

As soon as he catches sight of what's in the room, he tries to block Reed from entering. "Go back to the car. Call detectives and coroners," he orders.

But he wasn't quick enough to stop the younger cop. Reed is staring at the crumpled body of a woman, who he can only assume to be Jean Smith. Her eyes are open, glazed, and unseeing. At least a dozen stab wounds are littering her naked body, still oozing out blood. Her limbs have been carefully cut off, and the word "bitch" has been carved into her chest. Her abdomen has been sliced open, revealing her intestines and other internal organs.