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JWalker2406

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We walk to the kitchen where Rick shows me the coagulated blood that resides on the island in the middle of the kitchen. The stained ivory marble now a vibrant redish pink. Gazing around I see an unfinished meal that will never be eaten. The microwave door still popped open, letting the vanished cook know that the item is done. The bright colors of the tiled walls makes the kitchen seem bigger.

"Where is the father?" I ask Rick, not turning my gaze away from the crimson counter top.

"I think he is at work." Rick said looking at a photograph that is hoisted above the kitchen sink. I give him a nod and tell him to let the laboratory know that they have a job to do. Walking out of the house, I turn imagining the laughter of the kids playing in the perfect front yard. The parents sitting on the bench, drinking tea, watching their perfect children play. Seems like the perfect life, perfect house. A tap on my shoulder knocks me out of my daydream. We head off in the direction of the fathers workplace to ask him a couple of questions. The sun lowering itself along the horizon, the pale oranges, yellows, and purples gliding across the vastness of the sky.

******************

Look at them, all crouched and sitting. Crying, so pathetic! The tiny whimpers from the woman’s taped mouth echo through the silent room. The children’s face washed over with horror and fear, the skin no longer pink. Their eyes bloodshot from all the crying they have done. Wrists mangled by the rope that constantly rubs against the frail skin. I walk over to them, knife in hand, shaking. Ready to kill them now. Kneeling down beside the mom, I graze the nape of her neck with the tip of the blade. Her breathing becomes heavy, gasps and mumbles behind the grey tape. I slowly pierce her skin, the shiny medal being overcome by the red hot liquid that escapes from the tiny hole in her neck. Smiling, I enjoy the sounds of muffled screams, holding up the knife, the wet blood gleams from the tiny light bulb that illuminates the room. Stupid ass cop didn’t even know I was in the cab with him. Hah! Thought he was suppose to be the best. I thought as I pace back and forth in front of the frightened family. I place the knife down on the only table in the room. My adrenaline wanting to satisfy its hunger for killing, but I know I must reason with it. Give Josh enough time to try and figure out where they are. It is so simple, a little clue left behind.

"But will he even find the clue I wonder?" I ask the scared little sheep. They jump from the sound of my rough voice. "Are you prepared to die?" they begin screaming, I laugh at their poor attempt to call someone. I look at my watch, only 14 more hours until their dead line. I sit in the rickety wooden chair, twisting the crusted over knife into the arm of the old chair. Contemplating on how I should kill them. Soft classical music weaving through the air and entering my ears, a smile pops up on my dry lips as my foot sways in time with the music.

********************

Sitting at a red light I begin to realize that we must have overseen something in that house. I rest my elbow on the car door staring out into the crowded sidewalk.

"I’m gonna go back." I say without releasing my gaze from the choatic scene of people rushing.

"Gonna go back where?" Rick asks, his fingertips tapping on the steering wheel, getting impatient at the red light.

"Back to the house, something just doesn’t feel right. I feel like we missed something." I said, already opening the door. Not giving Rick enough time to ask any questions, personally I couldn’t give a shit what he thought. He can go ask the father a couple of questions by himself. The light turns green just as I shut the door, horns blaring as Rick collects himself driving off. Standing on the hectic sidewalk I wave my arm in the air, trying to signal a cab. God dammit, come on! I watch as one with no one in it fly pass me. Son of bitch! That one had no one in it, fucking cab drivers! My head starts aching again and I begin to look for my pills, but I then realize that I forgot them. Shit. I shake my head in disappointment, as a yellow blur pulls up in front of me. Focusing in on it I see that it is a taxi, I open the door and hop inside, telling him the address of the house.

Sitting there I pull out a pack of cigarettes that haven’t been opened yet. I rarely smoke, but when I have an intense case, I have to have something to calm my nerves. Tearing the clear plastic off I gaze out the window for a few moments. My fingers lifting the top, ripping off the grey paper. Looking down I grab the middle one, I always start with the middle. Wrapping my thin lips around the butt, I take out my lighter; lighting the cancer stick, inhaling deeply until I see the tobacco burn a bright orange. I roll the window down a few inches and blow the smoke out watching it mix with the air, becoming invisible. There has to be something there. He had to of given us a clue or mistake somewhere. I am never satisfied when I don’t find anything at a crime scene. There is always something left behind, no criminal is that good. I take in another long drag from it as the brakes squeal to a halt in front of the two story house.

"That’ll be 22.31." The driver says in his foreign accent, holding his hand back. I give him twenty-five and tell him to keep the change. Stepping out, I drop the cigarette after another long drag, my shoe crumbling it into the asphalt. I wait a couple of seconds until I don’t hear the engine of the taxi. Looking around the neighborhood, I notice that almost the whole street has white picket fences, perfect lawns, and identical mailboxes. Great, fucking brady bunch neighborhood. I walk back up the porch steps and decide to look around the porch. A variety of plants hanging down from the ceiling, a few hummingbird feeders here and there. Nothing. Gripping my head with my fingers I decide to go back in and search the lower section again. Walking in I am still amazed at the appearance of it. Must be nice to have all this. My eyes looking over everything once more. I flip the switch next to me, lighting up the crystal chandelier that seems to hover over the center table. As I slowly turn my attention away from the table, a glisten of a metal object catches my eye. Quickly turning my attention back to it, I notice it is coming from inside the flowers. Walking up to it I peel back the array of colors and notice a key. Picking it up with my pen, it’s gold shining, the numbers 212 writing on it. I scrunch my brows as I flip it over, the name of the place seems to be filed down a bit, but I can make out the first letter, a capital B.

I knew there was something here. I place the key in a small plastic bag then place it in my pocket. My head hurting worse, I grit my teeth in pain, walking outside. Sitting down on the bench I hold my head, breathing in deeply. Grunts and gasps escaping through the tiny spaces of my clenched teeth. My pocket begins vibrating, and I peer down at it with tear filled eyes. Grabbing my cell phone I flip it open.

"Hello?" I say as best I can.

"Hey, it’s Rick. You alright man?" He asks.

"Uh...yeah man I’m fine." I answer, breathing heavy. "Did you speak to the father?" I ask trying to get off the subject.

"Yeah, he has been at work since 5 o’clock this morning, he is devastated right now. I haven’t been able to get any clear answers so I sent him down to the office. I’m on my way to pick you up." He says, the sound of wind and engines in the background. "Hey man, you sure your alright?"

"Well, that’s good, that means he didn’t do it. I found a key with a number on it. The back letters have been filed down except for one." I say, dodging the question again. My free hand digging into the crisp wood of the bench.

"Good, good. Maybe that will help us figure out where the hell he is. I’ll be there in five." He says, hanging up the phone. Nodding to myself, as if Rick could see, I let the phone drop in my lap. Closing my eyes holding my head back. Fucking headaches! My nails bring up chips of paint, my foot shaking violently. Her blue eyes flash up in my mind, my children’s faces following behind. I open my eyes, releasing a few tears. Rick pulling up, honking his horn. I place the phone back in the pocket, and stand, losing my balance for a brief moment. I walk down the steps sluggishly, my head calming down. The back of my shirt soaked with sweat.

"Damn man, you sure you’re alright?" He looks at me, his head cocked to the side, one eyebrow making a poor attempt to raise. I nod my head, looking outside. We get back to the office, the whole ride there was in complete silence. I didn’t feel like answering any of Rick’s stupid ass questions, and I guess he didn’t want to ask them. Fine by me. When we get inside I see that Wallace has just started putting up the blown up pictures, she turns smiling.

"I was just about to call you sir." She says in cheerful voice. I wave my hand, letting her know I heard her and go straight to the men’s bathroom. Going up to the sink I turn the faucet on, the water splurting out a couple of times before it finally flows freely. I cup my hands, letting the cool water run over them. Capturing some water I splash it on my face. Cupping my hands again I pour some on my head running my fingers through my wet hair. My eyes looking like they had seen better days, the dark purple circles forming more vividly. I splash some water into the mirror in disgust, drying my hands and face. Walking back out I see Rick talking with captain, and Wallace studying the pictures she blew up. I walk over, standing next to her. I see out the corner of my eye that she is looking at me.

"What?" I say looking at a particular picture.

"Oh, uh, no-nothing." She says, startled. Taking her attention back to the board. I turn to her and tell her to look at all the pictures and see if she sees anything that might give us a clue as to where he is holding them. I go to my desk and take out the plastic bag, which holds the key. Putting a glove on, I take it out, looking it over once more. I type in google, and then type in ‘hotels or motels starting with letter B’, I then realize that would give me all the names of hotels and motels in the entire world that begin with the letter B. So I erase it and start over: ‘Hotels in Whittle County that begin with B.’ Pressing enter, it brings up at least 10. Sighing I look back at the key, and then to the pictures. If it’s a hotel room, it would have to be old and no longer in service, cause that room looks dusty and ancient. Going back to the search bar, I then type in ‘old hotels in Whittle County that begin with B’. Ah, well that makes it easier, only 3. The Buford Inn, The Best Hotel, hah what a name, and The Brittle Whittle Hotel. I press print, then motion for Rick to come over here.

"I think I found where our guy is. It’s one of these three. I say me and you take one, and we send out two other teams to take those, what do you say?" I look up at him.

"Yeah, man, lets go get this asshole!" He says smiling, grabbing the printed paper. I nod and lean back in my chair. Finally, this will all be over and his sorry ass will rot in hell. (Or will it?)