ROSES (VIRUS FAMILY) #WATTY'S2016

ASCENSION

Coup d' foudre: Love at first sight.

The revving of her bike into the garage is the only sound that could be heard in the hot afternoon. She has been gone for three days, just after murdering the Lieutenant that was brought to assist in apprehending her.
The SCARLET KILLER case is one case that can never be closed.
          She heaves her duffel bag onto her shoulder and pads across the lawn quickly to her front porch, she first surveys her surroundings for the unusual or any signs of being watched.
            She unlocks the door and steps in. She takes off her jacket and hangs it on the coat rack then heads to her room down the hallway, carrying along with her, the duffel bag containing her weapon. She saunters to her room, carefully scrutinizing everything she passes by. The bulb illuminating the hallway is dim, making it harder for her but nevertheless, she continues. There are three rooms on each side of the hallway, well furnished rooms in case of any impromptu visits but that has never happened .
           She finally gets to her room and switches on the light. She throws her bag onto the bed, landing with a noisy clack as the equipments hit against each other. She takes off her black tank top and stands in front of the mirror, only in her brassiere, and stares at her body. From the front, no one would notice the scars but at the back, they're really prominent, starting from her shoulders all the way to her waist. A reminder of her tough childhood, the corruptibility of men, the abandonment, the suffering, being a pariah ,the underdog always looked down upon.
           When she's done, they'll remember her, the lost child, the forgotten one.

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           Detective Dave was in a bad mood today, he was assigned the case of the scarlet killer, a case not enjoyed by the previous detective assigned to it. His taxi pulls up by the remains of the seventeenth precinct, the third precinct blown up by her.

"How much? ", he asks the cab driver.

"Thirty bucks", he answers angrily.

"Thirty bucks?. That's a felony mister ", he retorts angrily as he pays the driver and gets down.

         He stares at the burnt remains of what was once a magnificent building. A fellow officers walks towards him, his facial expression, one of concern.

"Welcome Detective Dave, we've been expecting you",he says warmly, but his warm gesture can't hide the facade that he's ready to leave this place.

"What do you have for me?", I say trying to match my warm tone to his as he escorts me into the building.

"I'm afraid nothing good, sir. From the information my men have gathered, it was her who did it".

       Well that didn't sound pleasant at all. For three years now, the so called "Scarlett Killer" has been terrorising Manhattan, a borough of New York City, killing a total of three thousand four hundred police officers, kidnapping a total of two thousand nine hundred teenagers and adults. Every detective put on the case to catch her has been killed or maimed for life. And Detective Dave fears he's next.

      "Where did you say your men they found the explosives again? ", he says trying to mask the fear in his voice but it was too obvious.

       The officer leads him up a flight of stairs to the tenth floor.

"On the tenth floor, we first thought it was just a bag.... ".

      "Just a bag? That's merely.... "

         "But......... ", he cuts me off quickly. "But, like you said, it's merely impossible. The ounce of force needed to do that would exceed just one bag. Then we found the rest".

      "How many bags were there? ", I ask him inquisitively. God the stairs are much.

"In total, there were sixteen bags filled with C4's in total but only one bag had the phone to trigger it".

"A phone? ".

"Yes she or he used a phone to detonate the bomb".

We finally arrive at the tenth floor. I paused to catch my breath but he doesn't, he just keeps on moving forward. I quickly regain myself and catch up to him.

"So you're saying that one bag triggered a chain reaction of the explosives that destroyed this entire building. One bag, sorry, eighteen bags on one floor? ".

That's impossible, that should've collapsed the building, at least.

"Not just on one floor but eighteen floors. That's why the magnitude of the force was disastrous", he's with a mocking tone, trying to make me feel stupid.
He leads me to the elevator Lieutenant Shaw was shot in. We step over a tape the task force put to prohibit snooping.

"Well, this is the murder scene", he says as-a-matter-of-factly but with a hint of sarcasm.

I step back to perceive everything, trying to reanimate the scenario, then I notice the little hole in the glass, I triangulate it back to the hotel down across the street. She was there but now she's gone.

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Detective Dave exits the precinct and stops to get a cab. He feels queasy, like he's being watched, maybe this was how the other detectives felt like.
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Across the street, a woman watches Detective Dave enter a cab and leave. Her wine colored hair highlighting her face, she looks well over forty but it might just be the make -up. She's putting on a pair of tinted glasses, a red jacket with a black blouse and a black pair of jeans with a casual pair of sneakers. She's sitting on a bench across the street just watching the new detective the put on the case.
         She analysis him through her glasses, his hair cut low, his ever so cliché detective coat, and a surprising fact that he's black. Maybe they're tired of getting their kind killed.