Dark Nights

Chapter 1

He stared at the ceiling in the dark of his room. Through the slats on the window shades, the first murky hint of dawn slipped, slanting shadowy bars over the bed. It was like waking in a cell.

Eight hours ago he had killed a man, his first kill.  The first kill of his career.  "Detectives don't shoot as much as the officers in uniform," such a fucking common misconception.  He hadn't lost any sleep from the kill.  He had no remorse, no regrets, and the ghost of the sorry excuse of a man would not haunt him, neither awake nor asleep.

It would be the body that would haunt him.  That lifeless heap on the floor.  The one that he had been too late to save.  Had he shown up five seconds earlier, been a few steps quicker, that poor girl would have been alive still. 

He didn't get a chance to go over the report. He'd do that today.  He'd been too busy filing the paperwork for firing a weapon.  He knew nothing about the girl that he could have saved.  He'd seen her though and the image of her would creep in and out of his thoughts for as long as he lived. 

Big brown eyes.  That's the first thing he had noticed.  Those big, brown eyes were staring at him from the floor as he burst through the door.  Though lifeless, those eyes held the last emotion that had run through her: fear.  Pure, unquestionable fear had been the last thing that girl had felt.  She was tan, the paleness of death had yet to swim over her skin.  Her short blonde hair had been styled in a bob.  He imagined that it was sleek and shiny when clean and combed.  The last few hours of her life, however had rendered it messy and slightly tangled with bits of dirt sprinkled.  Her lips were slightly parted and cracked under the sheen of copper lipstick, which was smudged. 

She laid on the floor, both arms spread on either side of her head.  Her face was turned towards the door, giving him a clean look at her face and the gunshot wound in her forehead.  Her crop top was split on the side, her miniskirt was bunched up around her belly button, and her thong was tangled around her ankles.  This was a clear sign of rape and impatience.

The bastard had just finished with her when he stood her up only to shoot her back down.  That was when Harry had burst in.  He didn't see the trigger pulled, but he saw her body fall and land.  The culprit had smirked at him.  That smirk was on his face for half a second before Harry lifted his hand and shot him.  It was a clean shot.  Right through the head, just like her. 

"He thought he was something better than her, but he died just like her," Harry had told the lieutenant when he'd arrived at the scene.      

He pushed the heels of his hands to his eyes and rubbed harshly.  Groaning, he sat up in his bed.  Today was going to be shit.  He'd have to go through the briefing with the lieutenant and captain, the psychiatric interview.  Whenever anyone in law enforcement fired a weapon, they had to undergo psychiatric observation to make sure they were fit to go back out in the street with their weapon. 

Running his fingers through his long hair, he got out of the bed and made his way to the coffeemaker, all the way on the other side of the apartment.  Shoving the mug under the maker he pushed the buttons, waiting for the coffee to spill into it.  Harry turned, realizing that his elixir of life would take more than a few minutes, and walked into the bathroom.  He bent over and turned the faucet on, splashing some cold water onto his face.  He looked up in the mirror and studied the face staring back.

His face was chiseled, to say the least.  A prominent jawline and cheekbones that were both obvious and subtle at the same time.  His nose was long and somewhat pointed.  His eyes were green, but the years in law enforcement had made them appear as if they were green ice.  Cold and emotionless.  He ran his fingers through his dark, chestnut brown hair again, watching as they played with the strands in the mirror.  It was long.  It was reaching a little past his shoulders, but he liked it.  He'd pull in back in a bun, sometimes.  He had used to get flak from some of his co-workers about it, but one bar fight with an unlucky drunk who had made the mistake of pointing out the feminine qualities of such a hairstyle silenced the criticism of his fellow brothers in arms.  He focused back on his face. It was tan, a hint of stubble around his mouth and jaw.  His eyes displayed dark circles, but those had been there for years.  The lack of sleep from last night was not totally to blame.

Standing back, he looked over the physique of his chest and arms.  Like his face, they was tan and chiseled.  Years and years of workouts had left his body sculpted, despite his tall and lanky appearance.  Ink slid and glided over the skin of his arms and chest, while scars cut through, making appearances randomly over him. 

Harry suddenly turned around and took three quick strides to the coffeemaker, which had over flowed his mug. 

"Fucking hell," he muttered to himself as he pressed the buttons of the maker harshly to turn it off.  Stupidly, he jerked the mug back and away from the maker, only for the coffee to splash back and make contact with his wrist.  The scorching liquid hitting his skin caused him to let go of the mug in a hurry which ultimately resulted in the mug crashing on the floor and coffee spilling everywhere.

"Oh fuck!"

Before Harry could continue on with more swears, three quick knocks sounded form the door.  Giving off a quiet growl, he stomped to the door to look out the peephole.  Rolling his eyes, he grumbled to himself by it being the worst possible time as he undid the four locks and the deadbolt. 

At the sound of the locks being undone and the deadbolt being pulled back from the other side, the source of the knocking took it upon himself to twist the doorknob and push himself in.

Harry, accustomed to the intrusive behavior of the visitor had already stepped back, giving enough room for the entrance.

"'Ello," he said, with his usual carefree tone.

"Niall," Harry grunted back with a nod towards his blonde co-worker as he walked past him to get back to the steaming mess on his kitchen floor.  Niall followed close behind, quickly noticing the remains of the coffee mug.

"Da mug say some-ting mean 'bout ya hair," he asked dryly, carefully stepping over each piece to make his way to the bar stool, plopping down a brown bag on the counter. 

"No more than usual," Harry replied as he crouched on the floor to pick up the pieces.  "What're you doing here?"

"I fur one am hurt that I would need a reason ta visit me best mate," Niall quipped, pulling muffins out of the bag.  A cynical look upwards from Harry was enough to let Niall know that he hadn't bought it. 

Niall Horan was indeed one of Harry's best friends. They had gone through the Academy and training together. Both were appointed detectives within three days of each other and were constantly partnered together in cases.

He had brown hair, but had dyed it blonde for years. He liked to leave flat and across his forehead, claiming it made his hair appear "fluffeh" which, apparently, ladies loved. He stood just a few inches shorter than Harry, but appeared no less bulky. His shoulders were broad and his arms incredibly muscular and toned. His eyes were stormy blue and usually had crinkles around them from his near-constant good mood, despite his job. He was one of the few in the department that didn't have a tattoo, citing that he didn't want to be the reason for his poor mother being buried behind a cathedral in Ireland.

"Cap wanted me ta make sure ya made it in ta-day."

"I'll be there."

"I've been told ta walk wit ya."

"I don't need a fucking babysitting."

"We all know dat, he just wants ta make sure."

Straightening up, Harry tossed the remains in the trash bin and grabbed several paper towels.  "Does he think I'll run off?"

Niall shook his head before opening his mouth to speak, bits of muffin falling out.

"Dinks ya vill skip da 'yche meedin'."

"Well, that whole thing is rubbish. Motherfucker deserved to die.  There was nothing wrong with firing my weapon.  I am of sound mind and body," defended Harry.  Niall nodded, tossing the muffin wrappers, followed by the paper towels.

"I know dat.  Jus' say it all for da psychiatrist.  Ya will be in an' out in an hour.  Now, hurry it'd up or we'll both be late," said Niall, sending a kick Harry's way. 

Harry swung his arm back towards Niall's direction as he made his way back to his bedroom.  He smirked to himself as he heard the grunt come from Niall and a "cock sucker" muttered under the Irishman's breath.