Blood on Her Hands

Chapter 8

Chapter 8 (Rhys)

                O’Neill woke us up in the morning, storming in like he had something important to say. Which he did.

                “Three more people died last night.”

                Emily blinked and covered her yawn. “Are you serious?”

                I having been awake for ten minutes already glanced up at him. “I’m sure that many more than three died since last night, especially in Africa and-” O’Neill’s glare shut me up.

                “We’re needed. Get up let’s go. If you’re not ready in 10, come anyways.” He left.

                I climbed out of bed and grabbed my red pair of jeans and a random shirt then ducked into the bathroom to change.

                After getting dressed, I stared into the mirror. My messy hair was the same as always, yet somehow it bothered me, and my shirt, black with Ryuk’s gold eyes. My anime themed cloths seemed childish when only yesterday they were my pride and joy.

                “Stupid hormones.” I grumbled, attempting to comb my fingers through my hair. “Stupid Derek. Stupid Everything.”

                When my hair was relatively tamed, I knocked on the door connected to the main room.

                “I’m done Rhys. It’s okay come out.”

                I nodded to myself, and then left the bathroom. “Thank you Emily. I would’ve felt back if I walked in on you.”

                Emily smiled at me. “Makes sense.” She opened the door and walked into the hallway. I grabbed my trench coat and followed her, locking the door behind me.

                I felt no guilt as I walked into the police station. Seeing an empty space in the center of the main room, I remembered the incident of the day before.

                “I really must apologize to Derek.” I mused softly.

                Emily looked at my confused. “Apologize? For what?”

                At that point, our object of discussion stepped out of his office. He eyed me warily as I rubbed my neck. “It’s hard to explain.”

                “Very.” Derek agreed as he grinned, realizing that I wasn’t going to harm him.

                Officer Tric and Agent O’Neill came out of the former’s office. O’Neill handed me a folder to study as Tric began to speak.

                “So as you all know, late last night there were three murders.” He put a collection of pictures on the table for others to look at. “This, to me at least-”

                “It seems the killer was interrupted.” I said, in turn interrupting Tric. He opened his mouth to angrily shoot back, but O’Neill silenced him with an upheld hand.

                “He killed this man like routine-” I pointed a slender finger to the picture, “Yet the others were not, I believe, to be targets.”

                Derek’s eyes narrowed in confusion and thought. “So the bastard’s rage killing at this point?”

                “No, it was more of…wrong place, wrong time.”

                My attention was momentarily diverted as the door opened. Sam slipped in, her customary black hoodie baggier than usual, and stood beside Derek. She looked exhausted but was obviously trying to hide it.

                “Earth to Rhys.”

                “Oh yes, Agent O’Neill. My apologize. It’s apparent that the murder did not expect for Mr. Beverley’s wife to be home so they killed her to remain anonymous, and the shots of course attracted Mrs. Chucky who had to die as well.” I paused for a moment for the Zere officers to absorb all that information. O’Neill looked smugly at a baffled Tric then faced for me to continue.

                “By analyzing the location and angle of Mr. Beverly’s stab wound, I have formed that the approximate height of the assailant is 5’10.” I looked around for an example. “Actually, that’s almost the exactly Sam’s height.

                Sam looked at me, her eyes wide. “What are you saying?”

                “Facts, Miss Carter. Anyways somewhere in the scuffle the mirror was shattered. The killer’s right arm will be badly cut from here to about here.”

                I gestured with my hands, but the sleeve of my trench coat whapped harshly against Sam’s right forearm.

                She swore loudly and jumped back. I pulled the handcuffs out of Derek’s pocket and quickly cuffed Sam’s hands together.

                I then tugged Sam’s own handcuffs from her belt and cuffed her to the desk.

                “What the-”

 '              I ignored Derek. “Samantha Carter, you are under arrest.”