Curled up against the darkest corner of the room, wrapped up in curtains, a small girl, barely seven, huddled, tears streamed down her cheeks as she examined the fresh burn marks on her arms, thighs and chest. Pulling the curtain around herself, she glared at the angry red welts on her skin, evidence of her mother’s daily abuse.
She cowered there and whimpered occasionally, as she ran her hands over the fading, yet not really healing bruises and cuts which adorned her arms and thighs. She, the unwanted daughter of a prostitute. She, the illegitimate child of a man and his sister. She, whose mother had fled with her, upon realizing what she did. She, who suffered daily abuse from her mother and her clients. She, who sat there, cold, alone and unloved.
She shivered, tying the curtain tighter around her fragile young body, looking around at the dark and gloomy lightings of the room. Mother probably spent all her money on booze again, instead of paying the bills. Her mother was an alcoholic, one who loved drinking more than she loved her own daughter. Hell, the little girl knew for a fact that her mother would sell her for booze without hesitation the moment their money ran dry, and running dry it was, soon. Her mother’s spending habits were as bad as any woman’s, yet they were poorer than most.
She wasn’t allowed to leave the house, ever. If Mother found out, terrible things would happen. She was kept indoors, isolated from the other children, lonely. Mother would beat her. Everyday even. And she would bleed. Mother and her men liked seeing her bleed, it seemed. It sent them over the edge with sadistic glee. She even got cut by a glass bottle once, when it was smashed right into her forehead. It bled a lot, she remembered.
Mother hates me, she thinks I’m useless, and I bring her trouble and disgrace. She will never love me. If only she had never been born. If only I was dead. Her mind set, the little girl took a parcel bound in newspaper, and unwrapped its contents. A machete. The perfect tool for the job. She had sharpened the blade over the months, waiting. Lifelessly walking to the door, she looked back, once, at the pathetic place she was about to leave, and stepped out, knowing she would never set foot in this place again. The door was left wide open, banging, swinging in the wind.
Shrilly, sirens rang, ear piercing. Sighing, I stepped into the hallway. This place was worse on the inside than on the outside, I decided. Dingy, extremely dingy. The walls had some crusty red stains on them, and I stayed far away from them, walking in the utmost middle of the corridor. Not to mention the hard banging of the walls and the creaking of the beds which could be heard through the thin walls. I didn’t really want to know what was happening behind those walls.
I reached room 605. Damn it was swarming with investigators, even though they were on special orders not to go in before I arrived. Immediately, I ordered them out, and obviously, they left, since everyone knew of my reputation as The Thunder.
I looked around me, attention immediately drawn to the bed. There, a young girl lay sprawled on the blanket, a girl not much older than the age of 7. Dressed in tattered rags, she lay there, cold. Like a figure carved in marble, never to awake again. Multiple slash marks adorned her body, caressing her young figure like a lovers’ embrace, with the exception of her face, which remained untouched. Walking over to the bed to get a better look, I stared down at the innocent face looking up at me, with long lashes and ivory pale skill. She was a beauty, one I would have been really proud of to call my daughter. But what’s gone is gone, after all.
Locking away my sentimental heart, I started doing what I was here to do, investigate and gather clues. Looking down closer at the young girl’s mutilated body, I noticed that there were multiple scars from past injuries spread all over her body. Identifying some as cigar burns, I realized that this child may have been a poor victim of child abuse, ran away and was unfortunately murdered. It was like a knife piercing my heart as I thought of the pain she must have felt, as she ran away from the home she loved so much, into the jaws of death. I had once been like that. A victim of abuse. Discriminated against by my own friends. With nowhere to run to, I had swallowed myself up in misery. I was found, salvaged by a group of people, people who call themselves “ Family”. I never understood that word before. Taken in by the group, I grew close to them, forging bonds and memories, finding strength in myself I never knew. This girl wasn’t as lucky as me. She had no one to turn to, nowhere to hide. Precisely why I must find the bastard who banished this poor soul to eternal darkness.
I slipped on my gloves, and gently pushed the blanket aside, careful not to contaminate the evidence. I noticed there wasn’t much sign of struggle, no blood on her fingernails or hair other than hers caught anywhere. Why? Perhaps the murderer cleaned up all traces of a fight, or maybe she didn’t have strength to fight back, and thus gave up. But a dark thought at the back of my mind disturbed me. What if she had killed herself? There wouldn’t be any evidence, would there?
Frustrated and rather annoyed, I gave up on my quest to recall the memory, instead turning back to the room I was currently located in. Massaging my forehead, I surveyed the room, noticing the not-too-clean stains that inhabited the ceiling. Not a very nice way to die, staring at this rather gross ceiling. I walked over to the shabby looking dresser, glanced at the mirror, and noticed a speck of blood near one of the corners. Perhaps the murder/suicide took place here? Then why did the murderer take the trouble to drag her onto the bed, I asked myself. Who knows, but the answers will surface once I’m done here, I decided.
Walking away from the disturbing scene, I pulled my medications out of my pocket, popping a few into my mouth, downing them with a gulp of water. I’ve been taking these for as long as I could remember. Stepping into my car, I yawned. I had rushed here pretty early in the morning, and I had a rather strenuous night. I lowered the seat incline, laid back and looked out. Opposite the road, the Big Ben chimed. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. 7am. And my eyelids were getting heavy, heavy, heavier. And darkness.
“Officer Xavier, please report to 38 Redwood Lane. Repeat. Officer Xavier, please report to 38 Redwood Lane now.” Waking up to the cackling of the walkie-talkie wasn’t exactly very nice. Groaning, I stretched my rather sore and stiff back, grimacing when I heard the familiar crack. Huffing, I quickly got out of my car, glancing at the clock once again, knowing I wouldn’t be called if it wasn’t important. 7.45am. 38 Redwood Lane. It was only 3 minutes walk away.
There. Right outside the brown brick building. A group of other officers huddled there, swarmed by various media reporters. Typical. A bunch of flies drawn to rotten meat. Utterly disgusting. Widening my stride, I headed in their direction, and a path widened for me. They knew my reputation, my rank and my power. Clever. A lone officer broke away from the crowd, matching my pace as he joined me to fill me in.
“Victim is Lyra Jane Sanders, age 17, heir and daughter to Edward Conner Sanders, CEO of Sanders Ltd. Edward Sanders had a long history of sexual abuse cases, mostly filed by the victim. Victim was with her boyfriend, Ryan Dickinson, 19, son of William Dickinson, and they were about to elope. Victim pronounced dead at the crime scene, witness was left untouched.”
As we approached our destination, I noticed the ground was streaked with dark blood, over a rather long distance. The men standing guard around the corpse parted to let us through, revealing the interior horror. The victim had long gaping wounds all over her body. I suddenly realized her face was untouched, unscarred and perfectly clean. Exactly like the first victim. Immediately, I started paying more attention to these two maybe-connected cases. Big blue eyes framed with long lashes stared up at me, lifeless and cold. Pulling on my gloves, the real investigation started.
Gingerly, I lifted up the victim’s arms. It was covered with past scars and raw wounds. Another victim of abuse. Steeling up my heart, I was determined to carry on the investigation and unmask the murderer, for the sake of the two victims. Moving on, I noticed the fatal wound on her neck which had most definitely killed her. The cut was clean and swift, almost severing the backbone. Wincing, I fingered her neck, and my fingers caught against a chain drawn taunt against her skin, brought back behind her head. Curious, I felt around her hair, relieved when my hands closed around a round flat object. Pulling it around her neck, I was horrified yet satisfied when I saw the object. A silver pendant with an intricate design. Exactly like the past victim. Perfect.
At this moment, scenes flashed in my mind, whizzing past. A gloved hand gripped a machete, raised, and swung it down, hard, an inhuman shriek. Hacking, chopping, the silhouette of the hand was seen, blow after blow, chunks flying away. And then the necklace, the silver pendant was lowered over the head of the body, and the shadow moved away.
Shuddering, I lurched back to reality. Why? Why was I shown the bloody murder? What kind of fucked up situation is this?! Damn was I pissed off with this case. How could the murderer get away so fucking easily and how could the witness be left unharmed?! It was time to talk to the boyfriend.
“…I was knocked out by the f… Murderer so I didn’t really get to see what really happened.” As I approached the witness who was giving his account, I didn’t realize a fist was headed my way until it was deeply embedded in my gut. Swell. Winded and greatly annoyed, I stared up to the freckled face of a redheaded youth. This must be the boyfriend.
“Rather arrogant aren’t you, you fucking bastard! After killing my girlfriend you just had to strut in front of me to show off didn’t you! Let’s see you get screwed instead, how ‘bout that!” Blows were rained upon me, not that I cared, but I was too shocked to move. He said I killed his girlfriend. How could I have killed his girlfriend? I was asleep at that time!
The blows stopped. The boyfriend was restrained by some officers, while others helped me up, fussing over me. Glancing over at Ryan Dickinson, I was shocked to see how utterly vulnerable he was under his tough appearance, just waiting to crumble to dust. He had lost his dearest, and it showed in his eyes. Eyes of sorrow, despair and hate. Hate that was currently reserved for me. The so-called murderer.
“I was knocked out by that beast over there, but not before I had put up a fight and caught his appearance. He was wearing a black trench coat, exactly like the one he has on now, as well as a large black hat. And although his face was covered, I would never forget his sandy-brown hair tied at in a ponytail. The proof is in my pockets. I tore some fabric from his trench coat, down at the very corner of it, and stuffed it into my pocket before being knocked out. Check his coat, for I am telling the truth.”
Muttering quick apologies, a few officers stepped up to me to conduct a check, requesting that I pull open my coat for them to examine. Alas! There was a corner missing from my coat, something I had no idea of! Hostile eyes trained onto me, my mind in a mess as my legs moved on their own accord. How could I have killed that girl? Why didn’t I even know what I did? Did I kill the first victim too? Am I being so inhumane that I can kill without even thinking of it as killing? What the hell is happening to me?!
Ducking into the bushes that lined the road, I had only one thought in my mind. To get away. To get shelter and safety was the most logical thing right now, since I desperately needed a place where I could silently think in peace without fear of the police banging on the door. A place where the police don’t know of. A place that is desolate, abandoned. A place like the one I found by accident deep in the forest opposite my house!
Weaving along the roads, keeping far out of sight from the cars passing by, I aimed straight for Damsly Avenue, a shortcut right into the heart of the forest.
It seemed gloomier than when I last came here. Or maybe it was just that the trees have finally succeeded in blocking out the sun. An air of death hung in here, brought about by the rotting, half-eaten carcass lying in the corner. Cozy. Very cozy. Just the place I felt I living in now. Great. Plonking myself down on a log in the middle of the room, I started to think, think of how to get out of this stupid mess.
How in the world could I have killed her? I was asleep for heaven sakes! Raising my right arm in front of me, I stared at it. It was stained with blood. The blood of two innocents! It’s easier if I can just get rid of it once and for all. Picking up a stone from the debris, I brought it up, preparing to plunge it straight into my arm. My arm was shaking, thoroughly shaking as I was about to bring it down. I dropped the stone, clutching my right arm between my legs. Why? Why did my arm drop the stone? I didn’t want to drop the stone! Why is my body moving on its own accord now? What’s happening to me?!
My left arm started twitching, and my knees released my arm from its prison. Twitch. Twitch. Jerk. Falling to the floor, I couldn’t help but notice that my limbs didn’t really belong to me anymore. Here I was, trying hard to get off the filthy floor, and there they were grabbing onto anything they could find, intent on keeping me there.
Slowly, I rose to my feet, my body no longer in my control. Turn left, I told my brain. Right it went. Desperation rose inside of me, droplets of sweat running down my face. What is going to happen to me? Why doesn’t my body respond? What in the world is going on?!
My feet shuffled with a life of their own in the sandy floor, and as I looked down, I saw to my shock: THE HUNTER HAS BECOME THE HUNTED. What sort of sick joke was this, I screamed in my mind. Why? Why is this happening, to me?!
Slowly, my hand reached for the holster at my waist. All I could do was to look in fascinated horror as the gun was brought up to my face, as though I was out of my body. The safety latch was released, as I raised the gun slowly up. Tears had already begun running down my cheeks, as I knew now of the inevitable fate that was dawning upon me. I would have to die. Die for the two innocents I took. One life wasn’t enough to pay for two, it seemed to me, but I was ready to die for it. Panic rose within me, though, as I thought through what was going to happen. I was trembling so much, the gun could barely fit into my mouth, aimed at the roof of my jaw. Pain. Was it going to be pain?
And then there was darkness.
Detaching itself from the warm corpse, a snake-like creature emerged from the bullet wound. Poking its snout into the air, it waited, before slithering off into the cover on either side of the ruin.