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Death Dance, Chapter 2 |
| Written by Cyraus Foldger | |
| Tuesday, 09 September 2008 | |
 Death Dance
Chapter II - The Perfect Massacre
He usually had a strong stomach... He'd seen many dead people in his life... but... it was too much. Adam Strifer could barely stand on his feet and was about to lean against the doorway, but discovered even more blood. He looked to the side, but saw more. Same as to the other. He closed his eyes and his partner eyed him. "Are you gonna be okay?" asked Sean Powell, giving his friend a nudge in the arm. With pursed lips, Adam nodded, his eyes still closed. He wished he was with the other team, who were investigating the deaths on Highway 52. There would be less deaths, charred people, and a lot less blood. Adam put his hand to his stomach and fought the urge to vomit. He opened his eyes again and his stomach churned as his eyes saw organs, limbs, heads sprawled over the floor. People were already in it, snapping photos, and examining the bodies. With a sigh, Adam put on his gloves and stepped into the room. It was almost impossible not to get blood on your feet in a room cover in it. The force had supplied them with plastic uniforms, boots, face masks, and gloves. Honestly, he thought the whole investigation was pointless. There were about fifty people at a dance, and they all died. Including the guards. They already know that it was Death Dance... but she is untraceable as it seems. "No pattern to the slice marks," said another detective, Kaleb Sherwood, "no fingerprints, no nothing. This is maddening." "There is no such thing as a perfect murder," said the head detective, Stanley Morse. "There's always something..." Though, determined as Morse is, he sounded unsure of himself. There had been four known accounts of Death Dance's massacres, each one in the same year, and... even when people are still investigating, they found nothing. There's never been a witness either. Though, it's the first Death Dance case Adam has affiliated with, he knew that it wouldn't be any different than the others. An hour passed by, and all they had to collect were body parts. A loud groan was heard and it was Sherwood. "In the last cases," he said, bitterly at Morse, "every detective found nothing. What makes you think that this is going to be any different?" "If we cannot solve this case," he replied, "then we'll just have to find a way to stop it." "And how do you propose we do that?" scoffed Sherwood, in his usual tempermental manner. "Cancel all the dances around?" "We might have to," said Morse, in a slightly aggravated tone. "We won't be able to stop the dances out of the US," said Adam, in a calm voice. "I'm sure Death Dance would go as far as to go to Africa to kill. Death Dance has gone all over from Seattle to Wichita in only a month. They even killed people at a wedding dance." "Well screw the others who won't listen!" said Sherwood. "Too damn bad." He turned his attention to Morse again. "This whole investigation is ridiculous since there's not a damn thing we can do!" "It's better than doing nothing," said Morse, his voice rasied a level. "How would the parents of these people react when they see that we are doing nothing?" Sherwood's glare turned into a smirk. "Oh," he cooed, "so this is about the public now, is it? Don't want to ruin your precious reputation..." Morse's face hardened into an intense glower. "I want justice, Kaleb, and you are not justice. You're off the case, and that's final." Sherwood's face went vacant and then back to a smirk. "Good luck on your journey to justice," he said, coolly. He turned around and left the building. Adam frowned and then stared at the blood-stained ground. He slightly wished that he was off the case as well. It would only end up in a disappointment and more blood shed. He looked over at his parter with a frown. Sean just shrugged and then continued to collect the debris of teenagers. Biting his lip, Adam did the same. How the hell would they be able to do this? How the hell would they be able to solve this case? If we can't solve this case, then we'll have to find a way to stop it. Adam had no doubt that he wanted to do just that, even if it means not finding the murderer. But how? Seemingly there was no apparent mode to answer the nagging inquiry. He paused a minute, in silence. Bless these young souls, God, Adam prayed, and guide us to the way of justice so there will be no more... "Blood on the dance floor," he murmured to himself.
Adam gazed at the screen with an intense stare. He didn't bother taking notes since the photos were burned into his brain. He wouldn't be surprised if he could sketch the picture, pointing out accurate details. He didn't dare to blink his eyes. His eyes compressed and the white wall around the canvas turned purple and with a light outline. He shut his eyes and the picture reflected inside his eyelids, though with different pigments. Adam realized his mouth was open in a crack and then closed it. So that's what made his mouth dry. The image switched to another, not that it was much different than the preceding view. Sean had his head on the table. Roran Tarp was leaning on his elbow with his hand sheilding his eyes, supposivly asleep. Yvone Estchete was gnawing on her finger while glowering at the screen. Gregory Pillard had his eyes off to the side, only glancing at the photos when they switched, and then back to the side. Morse was pacing around the room, his eyes not leaving the screen. With a sigh, Morse placed his hands at the end of the table, opposite of the display. "Who has any hope of solving this case?" he asked, eyeing all five of them. No one replied or acknoledged even hearing him, besides Adam who only adjusted his eyes to the table. "I don't blame you... but if you think it's impossible. Why are you here?" Again, no answer. "This isn't kindergarten," spat Morse, "you don't get to say nothing because you don't know." He thrusted his finger at Pillard. "Why are you here?" Pillard gulped and opened his mouth to answer, but only a grunt escaped. Morse turned his finger toward Tarp. "Why are you here?" Getting Tarp's attention at last, the man bit his lip and said, "It's my job." Morse pointed at Sean. "So why are you here, Powell? This isn't nap time." Sean cringed in his seat and uttered, "I... er..." He pointed to Yvone and asked, "Do you have a reason to be here today?" The woman took her finger out of her mouth and said, "I think... I could be of some use?" She looked agitated. Morse turned to Adam and asked, still in his intense tone, "Why are you here?" Adam stayed silent for a few seconds and replied, "I... want justice." The detective pursed his lips and then turned his attention to the screen. "What remains undone remains impossible," he said, flipping the photos with a button. "By God, I hope you all know the reason you are here. It may be vague... but it is there. Even if 'we're working on the most popular, current case' or 'I wanted to show off my new shoes'. "I would be honored and very proud if we solved this case. But I would be so glad that we gave these people justice. This may not be a pep rally, or encouragement... I'm just telling you that we're going to work our asses off trying to stop this! "We're not dealing with a person who just kills," continued Morse, "this person I can hardly call human. It seems unfit for a murderer like Death Dance. No one who saw Death Dance survived. We can't even be sure if it's a boy or a girl. It remains all a mystery. The murderer is like a shadow. Or like a figment of a person. But Death Dance exists, and can do things just like any other person, but enhanced." Morse hunched his shoulders and then closed his eyes with his head bowed. "You're risking your lives being here. Who knows? Maybe one of us is investigating a dance and we get killed." His eyes opened and then glared at all of them. "Don't take matters into your own hands, it's too risky." Silence for a few seconds. "What exactly are we investigating?" asked Sean. "What are we looking for?" "Evidence, of course," said Yvone. Sean rolled his eyes and Yvone repeated. "Right now," interrupted Morse before anything else happened, "we are looking for a way to evidence. We have to investigate, find patterns, maybe even similarities in where the massacres are placed. Anything, at all, that could lead us to something. There's always something to do, especially when it comes to this." The detective sighed and said, "It's been a long day, and I think we should sleep over this. If you have apsolutely no hope of solving this case, no reasonable motive to be here, no nothing... then don't bother showing up tomorrow. Ten, first thing in the morning. Dismissed." Everyone let out a heaving sigh and then gradually stood up, gathered thier notes (if they had any), and left the building.
The alarm clock rang in the back of her head, like being bashed in the head repeatedly. Mari cringed and then raised her head out of her knees. 7:00 a.m. The red numbers glared at her from across the dimly lit room. The early morning light barely shone through the translucent, indigo curtains. She hadn't slept since five in the morning. She just crawled in the corner and buried her face in her knees. Maybe she could stay home for today? But Mari already knew the answer that her mother would say. The weekends are enough for you. She reared her body forward and crawled toward the alarm clock. Resisting the urge to throw it across the room, she slammed her hand one the end button. Mari sat back and then closed her eyes. She didn't sleep because if she did, there would be a nightmare. It always happened right after she awoke from Death Dance's consciousness. But it would never be a real nightmare. When she'd wake from the sleep after her awakening , even though the sleep was dreamless. Just fear itself... Mari clutched the edge of the dresser and stood up, on trembling feet. Staggering back, her back met the wall and she sighed. She began walking toward her dresser unconsciously, like she was still chained at the edge of her mind. She opened the drawer and plucked random clothing out of it. After undressing and redressign herself, she approached the door. Putting her hand on the door, she clutched it, but did not turn it. Mari bowed her head and droplets of lacrimation fell to the groud. She could hear the tears plummeting to the ground and splatter on the ground. When she opened her eyes, the liquid on the ground was crimson. With a stifled sob, Mari opened the door and hurried downstairs. Running her hand through her shoulder-length hair, she walked passed the dining room table, where her mother was seated. Dressed in a sleek, posh robe, cup of coffee in hand, and newspaper in the other. Just like every other morning. Mari opened the "state of the art" refridgorator and rummaged her eyes through the options of breakfast. She didn't have much of an appetite, so she just popped some bread in the toaster. "Jerry!" shouted Lorene, folding the newspaper. "Get ready now and come down here!" A rustling sound came from above and then a loud groan. Mari set her arms with her head on the counter and sighed. "Jerry!" she shouter, more raucous than before. Another moan replied. Lorene huffed and raised her voice a notch, "Jerry!" Mari drummed her fingers against the marble surface and looked up at the toaster. It wasn't even plugged in. She narrowed her eyes and shoved the plug-in through the outlet and returned to her position. Drumming of footsteps echoed through the hall and down came her nine-year-old brother Jerry. He had his casual, I'm-a-little-annoyance style on with green sweat pants and a T-Shirt that said: Sister for Sale No Refunds Mari rolled her eyes at the ridiculous shirt and Jerry gave her a cynical smirk. He sauntered to the dining room with an impudent posture and expression, which Lorene noticed. "If you want to walk with ettiquette," she said, "you have to stand up straight, but don't have your chest buldging out..." Jerry secretly shot a dirty face at his mother and sat at the table. "You said you were going to make pancakes today!" he whined, appalled by the buscuits and eggs on the table. "Pancakes are full of calories, sodium, and carbs," replied Lorene, bitterly. "These have more protein and vitamins." "I don't care!" yelled an insolent Jerry. "I want pancakes!" Mari heard the toast pop out of the toaster and noticed that they were singed black. With a loud huff, she tossed the toast away and then put her shoes on, while also putting on her coat. She heard banging on the table and her mother saying, "Keep your feet still." But Jerry kept swinging his legs up into the table. Before Mari could witness any more chaos, she grabbed her backpack and left.
To be continued... Copyright 2008 Cyraus Foldger |
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