Love Run

A Song You Know's Begun

           It was nearly midnight by the time Geralt reached town. He pulled into the parking lot of a dodgy motel and watched as his car filled with the soft red glow that emanated from the blinking vacancy sign.

           The parking lot and building would have seemed eerily empty to most ordinary people, but Geralt was not an ordinary person; and to him, this was a blessing.

The less distractions, the better.

           Geralt was a hunter, and a damn good one at that. However, cases had been few and far between as of late; and after weeks of chasing dead ends, Geralt hoped that this town would finally bring an end to his dry spell.

           Geralt opened the door to the dingy motel room and dropped his bags at the edge of the bed. He sat down heavily on its corner and felt a twinge of familiarity course through him. He shook it off and reached for his journal, thumbing through cut outs and notes from various local newspapers.

            This town had crossed Geralt's radar recently, and in a peculiar way. There had been eight people found stabbed to death in the past six months and while that normally wouldn't set off the alarms for a hunter; the local police had no leads aside from one victim who had survived. Only, the man not only had no recollection of being stabbed, but seemingly had lost all memory at all, even of how to walk and talk.

            Geralt let out a frustrated sigh and tossed the journal onto the adjacent nightstand. He decided that there was no use in trying to do more research tonight, as he was already fighting to keep awake and the coroner's wouldn't be open for another six hours, anyway. So, for now, Geralt laid back and let himself wander into much needed sleep.

— —

            Morning came faster than expected. Geralt lurched forward in the bed, his heart raced and his entire body ran cold with sweat and shock.

It was just a nightmare.

           He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and remembered where he was. Warm sunlight flooded in from the uncovered window and lazily spread across the room. Geralt sighed and glanced at the small clock on the nightstand which read 9:02.

          "Fuck." He muttered before getting up and fumbling through his bag until he found a box of fake I.D.s and picked up a particularly convincing FBI badge. If he was lucky, Geralt could make it to the coroner's without too much trouble and get some desperately needed information.

          After an arduous attempt at finding the coroner's office, Geralt finally found it; nestled into the side of a department store turned church. He internally cursed small towns for always being so goddamn confusing as he walked into the small office. The secretary eyed him suspiciously as he approached, but said nothing.

          Albeit, Geralt definitely did not fit the part of a federal agent. His near white hair and almost golden eyes were enough to make any stranger weary, and his looming height and stern expression did nothing to dispel these notions. However, even the most judging of secretaries and store clerks seemed to set aside their opposition at the sight of a badge.

          Geralt flashed his I.D. and offered the woman a small but faux smile, "Morning. Is the coroner in?" He asked, his voice low and gruff. The woman rolled her eyes and gave Geralt an irritated glare.

           "How many of your lot are they gonna send? You're the second already today, and your friend is still here." She scowled, getting up from her chair and gesturing sharply for Geralt to follow her. He quickly complied and walked silently behind the woman until they reached a large metal door that was labeled Morgue. The woman then turned on her heel and left Geralt standing in front of the door.