Cold Blood

❥ Chapter Two ❥

Written by ChemicalWonderland

A detective's POV

As soon as I pull up to the crime scene, I'm immediately assaulted by a sensory overload. Blaring sirens and bright blinking red and blue lights. Loud shouts and angry conversations. People constantly bustling around frantically. Crime scene tape covering everything. The entire experience is hectic.

I prepare myself for the onslaught of horrific news that I'm about to be faced with. Hearing the number of victims is harrowing enough, but learning about their identities is even harder. The faces of grieving mothers and heartbroken children. The stuffy funeral homes. The crumpled up tissues. I do love my job, but sometimes certain aspects of it make me sick to my stomach. I don't think I'll ever truly get used to it.

Stepping out of the car and slamming the door loudly to make my presence known, I'm greeted by a surprisingly cheery co-worker. Short brown hair is cropped close to their square face, and they wear a wide grin. My least favorite person to run into. Mr. Richards.

"'morning Dakota. Did you hear the details?" he asks, and I can tell he's absolutely ecstatic at the prospect that he has information I'm not already aware of. I decide to satisfy him.

"I just got here and I wasn't told very much about the crime, why?"

Mr. Richards gets a dangerous glint in his eyes, a spark in his charming green irises. "We got the work of a serial killer on our hands," he says, sounding proud to be the bearer of this news.

I raise my eyebrows in surprise, dread seeping into my gut simultaneously. "Really? That's terrible!"

He doesn't seem to share the same feelings that I do about it, as he exclaims, "Terrible? How can you say that? Think of all the publicity and attention this will bring to the police force and everyone involved in law enforcement! I mean really, this could be a real good thing for us bottom feeders."

I stare at him in shock, hoping that he's joking. "How can a serial killer be any good? And I am not a bottom feeder," I retort angrily.

He nudges my shoulder and continues. "I mean, hey, if we catch this guy we got some serious rewards coming our way. A promotion, or a raise! Think of all the fame we could come to gain from some crazed dude with an axe! Really!"

"If you think this dangerous criminal is just 'some crazed dude with an axe' then you got another thing coming. This is a serious matter. Think of the lives lost, the relationships ruined, the families left devasted by the death of a loved one! Or is your next paycheck the only thing you really care about?" I yell, losing my professional air.

My words hang unanswered as the hustle and bustle of life continues around the two of us. I turn to look at Mr. Richards to find him staring back at me with wide eyes. He certainly wasn't expecting my sudden outburst.

My cheeks flood with embarrassment, and I hang my head. Muttering a quick sorry, I find myself in search of the head detective. But I don't have to look far.

Standing tall with her arms crossed, is Ms. Peter. She towers over me with her not crime scene appropriate heels, and a crisp white pantsuit, now flecked with blood. A golden chain locket dangles from her slender neck, and her almost white hair is tied back in a low ponytail.

"Well hello," I say, desperately hoping that she didn't overhear my freak out.

She gives me a cold smile in return, and then shoots a glaring look at Mr. Richards. "Shouldn't you be somewhere?" she questions, cocking an eyebrow in suspicion. Mr. Richards is infamously known for his terrible tendencies to not do what he's told.