Between stars and children

The day

The ground was gaping wide as if a clawed fist had heavily torn apart its seams by nothing but force. Hound felt a prodigious feeling rising in the back of his throat that he was unable to recognize. The force stood motionless with hollowed eyes, like a rabbits burrow, just staring at the scene in front of them. He thought he could smell a butchers shop, the pungent scent that he could recall when his father would after work tail Hound to Finnegan's a local seller. Hound was never found of his paternal memories, they always reeked of rotting liver and shimmered dully like wet paper chains, all separating slowly in heavy clumps. He thought of the girl's father, Dean. He had liked dean some would say they were once quite close, the way schoolboys are. He could remember detentions and the clapping of chalk erasers and watching the pearly fog settle over their crooked knees and racing each other through the back fields to sweet shops and daring one another to kiss girls in the Clarkson record shop between the C's and the D's. Deans mother eventually weaned her son away from Hound and he could vaguely remember the sound of his parents arguing in their bedroom on the night where Hound came home from school full of impish sorrow because his friend wasn't allowed to be around him due to his face. Whilst Hound developed a keen eye for the injustice around him Dean eventually lumbered off to complete his study of medicine to become the local chemist. That was where they were different, dean was invited to church fetes and dinner parties whilst Hound was living on a hill reading past criminal cases.

A harsh flash emitted from the circle to his left which was followed by a bashful call of order.

"I want the area searched and the scene cornered off. I want the entire bleeding village cut off from the scene-make sure you get a shot of her feet Dennis before the maggots get there first" the voice was not only rambunctious but had a lilt of exasperation to it, as if he never wanted to be surrounded by ink pads or handcuffs but of frying fish and newspapers.

The herd of waspish men scattered with the orders, moving stiffly, avoiding the girls corpse with each step.

another hot flash popped causing hound to rub his tightly scrunched up eyes. The light winter wind caused his coat to flap haphazardly around his legs and tears prickle in response to the sudden burst of air.

"Hound"

turning from the large camera perched against the small mans shoulder he reluctantly faced the harsh, mustached, brick of a face to his right. The man brought his hand up and clapped it instinctively around Hounds shoulder, just close enough to his neck to appear friendly, but threatening simultaneously.

"Jordan Jones" he cut Hound off before he could open his mouth.

" Atticus Hound, what a crazy bastard I've heard you are"

without replying the stranger in front of him Hound pulled out a pencil from the spiral setting of his notepad and pushed it behind his ear before shrugging off the tight claw gripped around his shoulder.

"listen I know you're the best D.I. around and quite frankly I don't trust any other man with this case. I mean saw the work you did on the smith massacre" Hound turned to the ground sheepishly, but Jones pushed into him staring up at him like a towering grandfather clock ticking away. "I know you're a good man and I want you in charge of this case, I trust your abilities and their results Hound" he clapped him once more on the back before turning to the direction of the village, hunched into his cigarette.

stalking forward and peering down at the body Hound felt as if he saw the child clearly for the first time, without the stench of meat cupping his throat. Her cheeks sunken cheeks were tinted grey, framing her parted mouth like the wings of a moth wrapping around a light bulb. Her once dandelion blonde hair was matted with blood and semen, causing a dark brown taste to resonate on Hounds tongue. Above the ditch stood two twigs shabbily thatched together with a bootlace to form a cross with which hung a pale pair of underwear. Snapping on a pale blue set of gloves Hound moved to document the evidence, but to his disgust a message was sprawled along the edge of the white cotton in a smeared red substance.