Nobody's Damsel (Someone Else's Fairytale #2)

Distress Call

Opening scene from the season premiere of Blood Ritual:

The strobe of patrol car lights cut into the pitch black night as a siren screamed its way towards a suburban home. The house door stood open, the lights off. One of the front windows was shattered.

The police cruiser skidded to a stop in the driveway and the two officers got out, flashlights in hand, sweeping the beams over the front yard to illuminate a smiling and cheery yard gnome and a wild rabbit that hopped away from the noise to get lost in the bushes.

“Hello?” one of the officers shouted. “Anyone here?”

When there was no answer, he and his partner exchanged a knowing look. “Hello!” he yelled again. Into his radio he said, “We’re at the property, the door’s open and there’s no sign of anyone.”

“Mack!” shouted his partner. He shone his flashlight into the front door onto a lifeless hand in a pool of blood. The arm and the rest of the body were hidden from view.

“That’s probable cause. Let’s go.”

The two cops stormed into the house, testing the light switch to find no electricity. Their flashlights animated the shadows of knickknacks on the mantle, shoes set out against the wall, and a frightened housecat that yowled and ran out of frame.

Mackenzie dropped to his knees next to the lifeless hand and checked for a pulse. “It’s faint,” he said, “but it’s there.”

His partner just shook his head, pulled out his radio, and barked, “We need an ambulance.”

CUT TO:

An office, with a woman in a suit, her feet up, her badge lying on top of a pile of papers. The phone rang and she answered, “Drew Clayborn.” Her expression changed from casual to serious as she took her feet down and leaned in closer to the phone base, as if this might improve her ability to hear what the caller said. “Understood. Yes, I’m on my way.”

She grabbed her badge, pulled on a trenchcoat, and marched out of the office. A secretary behind a desk looked up to follow her with his gaze as she swept past, checking her gun and slipping it back into her shoulder holster.

BEGIN OPENING CREDITS.

The first thing I heard when I walked into the lab was the police dispatcher’s voice coming from a police scanner set up on the counter.

“Okay… We’ve had a call in to 911 that someone heard popping noises at a house. Hernandez? Wolfson? Can you guys get over to a house in Volcano Cliffs?”

“Popping noises?”

“That might have been gunshots. It’s all I’ve got. Can you go check?”

“Not right now. We’ve got someone stalled out in the middle of Coors and then pretty sure we got a DWI. And two people just ran a stoplight.”

“Well, when you get a chance, here’s the address.”

“Yeah, okay.”

The lab was in a basement and had enough fluorescent light banks in the ceiling to make anyone look like a walking corpse. The place was still empty; I was the second person to arrive today.

The first to arrive, a man, straightened up when he saw me. He’d been leaning against a worktable at the back of the room and had his dark hair buzzed short. His gray green eyes looked me over and his mouth turned down at the corners. “Chloe Vanderholt?”