The Linoleum Twist

Code 12-77;Homicide

It was 2:43am in New Orleans Louisiana. Will's table was littered with papers and books on behavioral science, psychology and peculiar unsolved cases. Coffee stains and empty perscription bottles lay cluttered around random studies, sounds of calls and roaming police officers filled the air with static, the taste of double shot dark expresso bitter as it jolted Will's mind back into focus. He wiped his mouth and placed the cup aside. No calls had come in yet, so this was his chance to study up some more although he quietly questioned his choice in passion.

Officer Will Graham had only just become a cop in the Homicide department a few weeks earlier, after a lot of hard work and hiding his instability. He knew exactly what was wrong with him and why this was a terrible idea for a carrier plan, but he knew that with his 'little talent' he could save lives, and that would be worth the effort; even if it meant leaving even more psychological scarring. But he has multiple degrees, one being psychology, plus experience in counselling. He should be able the know exactly how to deal with any problems his mind will conjure up, his mind argued. So far its worked out, so why stop now? The internal argument inside Will was constant, the question that brings out the conflict being whether or not to stop using his unique set of personality and empathy disorder/s to help solve murder cases. But whether it was for the better or worse, Will's conclusion would always be swayed by his self loathing to ignore any damage done to his state of mind, and the logic of saving lives would win.
A loud crackle snapped Will back from his internal war. His radio was tuning in and talking, a firm voice on the other side spoke "We have a possible code 12-17, we need you officer Graham on 17th Stageriff avenue, over."
Three seconds Will waited before he finally got himself to push the button and say "What are the circumstances, over." His voice didn't sound as confident as he had hoped it would.
"The usual crazy ol' Benjy calling in and said he saw some guy leading a girl into the abandoned crack house and saw blood. Might be nothing, since Benjy has a history of fibbing and all, but still worth a check up, over." Will let out an irritated sigh. Of course he was tasked with this pointless errand, and not any other homicide cop, just because he was a rookie. And a well known "softie" by the other officers, so teasing was common. Benjy was delusional and a liar, yet it was mandatory for all calls to 911 to be taken seriously. So that was how Will's shift began.

After strapping on the usual gun and badge, Will begrudgingly ducked into his patrole car and started to drive into the cold still night. It was 3:02am when he pulled up on to the drive way of the well-known-crackhouse, a light breeze blew a newspaper infront of the rigity entrance of rotting wood and grey brick. Erie as it was, Will took one deep breath, adjusted his glasses and stepped out of the driver seat. The car door slammed, echoing into the dark doorway, causing Will to flinch; and take out his flashlight. With trembling fingers lingering on the butt of his issued gun, Graham stepped into the large hallway of Stageriff's abanonded house. Old peices of wood and glass littered the concrete floor, crackling under his boots caused a shivver to go through Will's spine. Slowly making his way down the corridor, the powerful light beam of his flashlight played shadows on the graphited walls, a warning of menace ahead. A few heart beats later Will rounded a corner to see the what looked like a previous living room, but seeing movement from the far side of the room caused a sharp inhaul of breath and a forced automatic "This is officer Graham, is anyone there? You know you are tresppassing sir." Will hoped to God that it was just a stray animal or just a trick of the light, and not the reported man seen by Benjy, because that would mean...
Scuffling. Sickening wet thump. Muffeled whimper. Dread rose from the pit of Will's stomach and clouded his mind as he not so gracfully handled his gun, wide eyed with a slight tremble. He took steps inbetween breaths. He knew what that sound was. He knew in that exact moment that the unthinkable had taken place. But he begged his instincts to be wrong, at least this once. It took less than a few seconds to get across the room, cold sweat building up as all of his training was forgotten when he was met by a gruesome scene.

Illuminated by his tremoring flashlight, twinkles bounced off of a pool of crimson that gushed out of a pale neck. It took a few seconds of sighlent horror for Will to start assessing the situation, because for a moment all he could do was meet the wide helpless eyes of the dying brunett girl, the child's blood soaked hands hovering above the incision at the jugular; all the joy and humanity in the world seemed to be leaking out of her wound, like a hypnotising fountain of terror, the contrast of her ever paling skin was sickening and beautiful.

A painting of innocense, tainted.

A shadow moved into Will's frame of sight and broke his trance. He aimed at the figure, finally prosessing the last details of the scene; a scrawny man covered in an elegant splatter of blood with a faint resemblance of his victem, was advansing onto Will with a swing in his step that could only be described as 'drunken with power and pride'. Will froze over when he saw the glint of a curved looking knife in the hand of the killer.

He froze and looked into the eyes of his enemy. And then, something strange happened. An unusual rush of bitterness and pride swept over him, feelings that weren't his own that made him hesitate. A stranger's senses were invaiding his, seeming to say 'see....see...?' There was no time to dwell on the peculiar feelings though, as Will's attacker was mere feet away now, and the trembling gun was still not being used... it was time to pull the trigger... but look how bitter the man is... one could almost feel the madness radiating off of him... just a second more and- No more time was left for Will to persuade his fingers to pull the trigger when he felt the sharp, unforgiving rush of blinding pain of a blade slicing into him. The gun fell from his grasp with a thud which was drowned by the pain-stricken noise Will let out, followed by a chorus of drowning gurgles let out by the girl on the floor. He felt himself go limp, eyes locked onto the narrow maddening brown ones that met his, clearly soaking every tremmor of the act. As Will Graham fell to join the crimson sea, he could only lie and grasp at his abdomen with painful gasps of air. He stared, emotional, into the soulful blue eyes that lay across from his, unblinking, with his crooked bloodied glasses. The deep frozen blue colour of her eyes, illuminated by the fallen light, reminded Will of a simpler time of fishing and fixing motor boats with his father. A precious set of memories which only pained him even more to think about; footsteps around both victems became distant, and the last thing Will could recall was holding onto the girls neck to try and stop bloodflowing out of a hoplessly deep cut, whilst still holding onto his own nearly disembowled self.