Sirens blared. Lights flashed in every direction, illuminating quite a few things which would have been otherwise quite interesting to the human eye; in this case the person sitting behind the wheel of a car, who, apart from chasing rogues in the middle of the night through a dark forest, did, in fact, have a keen interest in quite a lot of things, and an equally sharp eye.
Chasing people through woods was new for him, though, he thought. His daughter, who loved horror and murder stories, would call it a 'cliche', something which she'd seen happen too many times in movies.
The policeman did not see the startled ruffling of the brown owl's feathers as light suddenly fell upon it, he did not see the pearl white petals of small flowers on the side open to embrace the moonlight as it finally, gently caressed them with its soft touch... nor did he notice the small patch of spattered blood, still wet, on the bark of a tree as he drove past it, or that a black motorcycle lay, still and dead, just a few paces ahead, tucked away almost as if it was buried in the bushes.
However, what he did see was the silhouette of a disheveled man. The moon illuminated shaggy, dirty black hair and ragged clothes. Dried blood was visible from under his torn jeans. He was standing alone in the middle of a small clearing. It was a sequestered place-- the ground filled with grass and overgrowing weeds, cold and unwelcoming.
Slowly, the policeman brought his car to a halt, and stepped off it, all the while gripping his gun tightly. Some hours later, he thought, there would be news on the television, every channel bearing a single headline -- 'The Rogue; Caught At Last.'
"Never knew you would lead me in this far, Bob." The policeman said pleasantly.
"Never knew you would dare to follow me." The other man, Bob, said. He was panting lightly.
The policeman held up his gun to point it at Bob. "Oh, I would. Come along, now," he said. "There's a prison cell all warmed up and waiting for you."
"I've told you," Bob hissed. "I've told this to you before and I'll say it again, officer. If you value your life, stop following me."
The policeman said nothing, only jerked his gun slightly, commanding him to move. Bob's shoulders sagged in defeat and he held up his hands in surrender, and there lay, on the ring finger of his right hand, a glittering gold ring.
The sight of the ring tugged at the officer's heart, and then his mind started boring pictures -- of a wife, perhaps, and children, hopefully waiting. His own daughter's face swam into his mind, blond pigtails flying as she ran, laughing, smiling. He shook his head, trying to empty his mind, and gave his gun another shake, gesturing the Rogue to move faster.
Bob walked faster, his feet making light crunching sounds on the green grass. As he neared the policeman, the latter almost thought he could hear him whispering, "..naive..". He gripped his gun tighter and began to bind the Rogue's hands together with handcuffs.
He did not hear the loud bang, sharply in contrast with the eerie and quiet atmosphere surrounding them, and when he did, his eyes widened in shock, fear and recognition, but it was too late; dark red -- almost black-- blood seeped out from his vest, staining his shirt. The policeman's body shook and he fell to his knees, staining the grass under him. Bob stared at him with cold eyes, even as the officer's pleaded, begged for help.
Bob stared as the life in the policeman's eyes got sucked out, leaving nothing but the remnants of blank despair. He tore his eyes away from the body and stepped over it , and then glanced at it again, pityingly, but that was gone in a second. In just a few hours, he thought, the news would report the death of another officer. It would talk of his bravery, his loyalty, but not of his foolishness.
"You did a good job," he said, and raised his eyes to meet a woman's, who, otherwise would have been pretty -- beautiful, even-- if not for the despaired and horrified expression on her face. In her hand she held a gun, and on her ring finger glittered a gold ring, similar to the one Bob wore, blinking in the harsh moonlight.
