C.I.D. - Crime Investigation Detectives

Re-Enacting the Crime at Cottage No. 13

Cottage Number 13 at Cherry Grove was quiet. The entire living room was empty, cleared out of any officers or forensics unit. Only foot prints left by the investigators, drops of cheap paint, and the stains of blood remained where they were, leeching into the wall and in the gaps of the uneven tiles.

It had been some time since the incident early in the morning. The pool of blood where Sarah Tucker was found started to crust and flies began to gather like vultures. Police cordon still web around the house, over the main doors, entrances, and the entire yard. The neighbours have moved on, no one stayed behind to mourn a stranger they've never seen until today. They went back to their normal lives, avoiding that one house locked down.

The area should be void of people. Should be.

Ding Dong. Ding Dong

The front door bell of Cottage Number 13 rang. It started as a gentle press. The living room responded in silence. Not even the crusting pool of blood leapt up to scratch at the door like a curious dog.

Ding Dong. Ding Dong.
Knock Knock Knock.

More ringing, followed by a sturdy pounding on the door. Once more, the living room remained where it was. Nothing coming for the door.

DingDongDingDongDingDongDingDingDongDingDong
BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG

"JACKSON!!"

"YO, YO! ON THE WAY!"

Constable Jackson fumbled down the stairs, rushing straight from the second floor. He gripped onto a pink bed robe that was three times too small for him and had his foot shoved in a pair of pink furry slippers, just as tiny. By the time he reached the last step, the slipper lost their grip across the newspaper covering the stairs from falling paint. Although Jackson was able to grip onto the railing, the one slipper made a RIP noise as the top part burst from the sudden movement and the size of his foot. He cursed, but the ringing and banging at the door didn't give him a break.

Kicking the one dead slipper aside he shuffled to the front door. He made very sure to walk AROUND the puddle of blood lying in the hallway. As he approached the front, he started to unlock the door.

"Jackson, what were you doing?" A voice on the other side barked. "We're tight on time!"

"Bro! I'm playing the role of a sick and anemic wife! Rushing me isn't realistic, darling!" Jackson hands fumbled. He turned the main lock, pushed aside the bolt lock, flip back the bar door hook guard, even jingled off the chain lock. Once he got the last one off he opened the door, smiling in a falsetto voice. "Ahem. Hiiii Honey! You're back oddly early—OH SH—"

The constable screeched and tried to slam the door. A foot on the other side gave the front a good drop kick, driving the door into the Constable's collar bone. He staggered and stumbled, but veered his fall far away from the pool of blood with a big and hard thud, "OW! YO! McLAMB! We're Re-ENACTing the crime scene – NOT KILL ME!"

"Oh s-sorry!" Constable McLamb poked his head through the door, pulling back his foot. Just as he was about to step into the house to help Jackson, Sergeant Leo grabbed McLamb by the spine of his jacket to yank him back. All Leo did was give McLamb a small look, and the latter went "A-ah right. Simulation. Uuuuh...Please bear with it a little longer Jackson."

The constable on the floor rolled his eyes with a groan. Reluctant, he turned onto his stomach and started to crawl. As pitifully as possible. "Heeeelp meeee. Heeeelp meeeeee."

McLamb took in a deep breath – and put on his best killer face. He marched right in and brought out 'the weapon'.

"Heeeelp meeee. Help—GAAAAAAAAH!" Jackson screamed for real when his ankles were grabbed and dragged backwards like a scene from a horror movie. He even clawed at the tiles out of pure instinct, leaving nail marks. Before he could react, McLamb the 'killer' pinned him down and started to stab him in the back to make the 'victim' scream! "AAAH! AAAAH! OW! IT HURTS! GAAAH! MY BACK! UEEEEE! YOU GOT ME HUBBYYYYYY..... guweeeeeh."