Changeling | Hannigram AU | Rye Ambrose

THREE | INT. PARLOUR - DAY

The brakes squealed when Will parked near the crime scene, attracting the attention of the wandering officers. A few stopped to stare, trying to gaze through the car window, but returned to their work when they couldn't see anything.

    Will narrowed his eyes at them and glanced at himself in the mirror, fluffing up his curly hair to better hide his horns. With a huff, he exited the car and stepped out into the cold, pulling his coat tighter around himself.

    He walked up to the police tape, searching for Beverly—and when they caught eyes, she jumped and waved him over.

    He ducked under the tape and ignored the random gazes thrown his way, narrowly avoiding a few officers who tried to tell him the scene was off limits. From afar, he looked human—rather normal—but his dark style of dress separated him from the rest of the crowd.

    "Will," greeted Beverly, walking up to him. "I'm glad you made it."

    "Well, I'm not," he grumbled, eyes flitting over the officers eyeing them. They were already beginning to deduce what he was, seeing how close he was to Beverly. "Could they try to be any more subtle?"

    "Give them a break," laughed Beverly. "This case has everyone on edge."

    Will stuffed his hands in his pockets, and he gazed up at Beverly's horns. Elegant, sharp arches. He vaguely motioned towards them.

    "You're not hiding them anymore," he said.

    Beverly smiled at that. "I've learned to be proud of who I am," she said. "If we keep suppressing ourselves because of human standards, then what's the point?"

    She glanced over at the parlor. "Come on," she said. "Jack's inside."

    Will examined the building, noting the bashed-in door, the broken windows, the rubble littering the floor... and his brows furrowed.

    "What happened here?" he muttered.

    Beverly gazed back at him, walking through the entrance where the door once was.

    "It wasn't a break in, like you're thinking," she said, stepping over a pile of rubble. "The damage happened after the initial murder."

    Will nodded, taking a deep breath once they were inside the parlour. Beverly was right—now that he was here, in person, it was... off. Very, very off.

    Before he could put his finger on it, Jack Crawford walked up to him.

    "Will Graham," he greeted, holding out a hand. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

    Will startled at the intensity of his presence, and he slipped his hand out of his coat pocket, wearily shaking Jack's hand.

    "This—here," said Will, motioning with his hand. "What have you come up with so far?"

    Jack rose a brow, gazing at Beverly. "Straight to business," he said with amusement. He turned back to Will, leading him towards the scene where the bodies once laid.

    "Well," said Jack. "Other than the damage, we haven't gotten anything. Nothing new, anyway."

    Will's brows furrowed at that.

    "How long have these murders been going on? Three months?" he muttered, glancing at Jack.

He blinked—stunned at Will's caustic tone—but before he could answer, Will spoke again.

"I'd like to see the first murder," he said, eyes running across the facets of the parlour. "Those photos in the file you had Alana show me... not very adequate."