.Sinbound.

.One.

• T//W : Cigarettes / mentions of Blood / murder / crime. •

Crime was, and still is lurking in the streets of New York City. It never stops, mercy was never an option. The police department was always scattered around the city. It was tough, yes, but who else could break the crime cycle?
Silence was deathly, hazardous in a way. The alley was far from clear, hardly even deemed crowded, more like a social event; if we're talking crime scene. The city was still very ecstatic, even in the late night. Familiar red stains were everywhere you could potentially look. On the wall, the floor, the garbage bin, a bit on the nearby fence. It was a hell house, in a manor. The victim seemed young, maybe in her mid forties, certainly would have been a beautiful woman. She had two large cuts on her arm and neck, a gash on her forehead. It was an awful sight, it was gorey. The woman had a large letter on her forehead near the gash. The letter was a large capital, "D."
"Agent Ravenfern, take a look." Two fingers stuck up in the air, guiding a tall F.B.I agent towards the body.
"What do we have, Agent Warden?" Warden clicked his tongue, squatting down to the body.
"Why, I am so glad you asked Ravenfern." He snarkily commented, already disgusted.
"We're thinking she was hit from behind, see the gash right here?" He pointed to a wound on the side of her head, almost on the back of her scalp.
"I see, blunt force trauma."Agent Ravenfern snapped a photo, gritting his teeth, his jaw clenching with every second he examined her corpse.
"After she was hit, she must've been dragged into this alley way, that's where she was murdered." Agent Warden was referencing the drops of blood just a few feet away from the crime scene.
"I see, did we find any weapon to potentially be of some help?" Ravenfern bit his lip, staring down at the pale lady. It was sad, but he was used to it. It came with the job, unfortunately.
"We did not. Although, we have another letter." Warden used his pointer finger and middle finger to pick up a note. It had a few blood stains, nothing too awfully bad. It was the inside that contained the dirty bits of information.
"Hello, Miss me yet?" Warden started off by reading out loud, smiling just barely.
"God, this crooked criminal." Ravenfern barked out, allowing Agent Warden to finish his talking.
"Read carefully, Agents, I'm an outlaw, a criminal if you will. It's in my blood, you see? I've got a lovely surprise for you all. Dont be eager, now, just don't turn a side eye. I've got a few tricks up my sleeve, y'know. You have failed me and all of New York, you are no longer exciting to me. Around noon or so tomorrow evening, September nineteenth, you will watch one of your largest high schools go up in flames." The agent took a breath, "I am opening the metaphorical gates of Hell for you, detectives. This is going to be the biggest bonfire New York has ever seen. Do not fail me again, or your students with die." Agent warden closed the note back up, staring back to his partner.
"God bless, they've got us running circles around this damned city." Ravenfurn breathed, firmly grasping his camera.
"Elijah, we'll figure it out. We always do." Agent Warden nodded whilst speaking to Elijah Ravenfern, his buddy, his co-worker, his partner. Elijah shook his head, taking in a long moment before moving around.
"Take her away, further investigation will be taken into the station. The autopsist can determine who she was, we'll have Agent Reid alert the family, if she has one." Elijah sighed, he hadn't been this stumped since the Alexander Handy case.
"Yes sir." A few men and women had responded, carrying the body away. Elijah took a second to examine the scene, grimacing as her body had been covered.
He sighed heavily, stepping out of the eery alleyway, it sent chills down his spine. He leaned his back against the cold brick of the wall, pulling out a camel and a lighter. In one flick the red and orange flame licked the tip of the cigarette, letting it become usable. Elijah inhaled, the feeling of smoke stinging his throat, yet, somehow it felt great.
He parted his lips, exhaling, letting the smoke seep through his lips.
"We'll see you later, Elijah, we're heading out." Said Agent Warden, crossing his arms. As he walked away, Elijah put two fingers to his forehead, flicking them to wish him off. As he glanced around the city, he noticed one male in particular. He was fairly tall, say, five right or so, with blazing red hair, ginger, he presumed. He had on black turtleneck, comfortably paired with a bright red leather jacket, and a pair of sunglasses, despite it being nearly dark. Where was he going at this hour?
He smiled towards the ginger, a thing he rarely did these days.
The male merely gave him a warm smile in return, a ploy to hide the wicked thoughts that where unbeknownst to Elijah.
The black haired male dropped the cigarette, stomping on it as if it where a mere insect. What was he supposed to do now? He had the rest of his day to ponder, to simply think.
What better place to do that then the cafe? He shoveled his hands into his coat pocket, trudging hastily to the coffee shop down the street. He listened to the familiar ding! as he opened the door. There to his right sat the same Ginger he had spotted earlier. He linked eyes with the dark green ones, curtly nodding in return before ordering himself a cup of Joe.
Elijah noticed one thing; Typing hastily on a large laptop was that said ginger. It wasn't any of his business, though, therefore resulting in no action but to sit in a booth and wait.
The red head reluctantly plucked his phone out of his pocket, a nervous look on his face, discomfort, almost. He gulped, putting the phone to his ear,
"Yes, Father?" He asked shakily, flinching when the angered voice of his father screeched through the phone.
"Are you kidding? Marking a victim like that? You're asking to be caught! Damned child, I expect you home now. If you're lucky, you won't have to deal with Ferente." He was left there, practically trembling as he held the phone to his ear, even after hearing the beeps declaring the call had ended. He frowned, closing the laptop and shoving it into his bag.
"Some old thing every day." He whispered, walking out of the cafe.
"Elijah?" The barista offered up the name. Elijah, the customer in question, grabbed his coffee, and went back out to his car. He sat and drank his liquid gold, not really caring for the hot liquid burning his throat and tongue.
The ginger stormed down the streets of New York, gripping his phone in one hand, trembling fiercely as he rounded the corner to his home.
Home.
When had it ever been a home?
He waited at the stop sign, watching the street light change. A mother and her three children crossed carefully, smiling, happy with each other. And her he was, holding his phone in front of his face, holding his finger over the '1' button.
And surely enough, already on his dial pad laid the numbers nine and one. Was he ready to do this? What if he got caught? God, he could get killed, then who would tell his story? Who would be there to catch his father..
      He moved his finger before he could even
process what he had done.
  "911, what's your emergency?"

Word count : 1311