MASSACRE ━━ ❨ original slasher. ❩

002. good cop, bad cop

 10:08 A.M., the same day, a white, brown haired, male police officer tried to hide his impatience outside of the attendance office. He was in his mid thirties, but clearly made an effort to look as young as possible by the way he shaved just about all of his facial hair. His blue eyes searched his surroundings for an approaching police vehicle.

Instead, a well-kept Nissan Skyline parked right in front of the building. He expected some random rich kid to exit, but it was actually a woman who definitely was no student. A raven-haired pale woman who sported black sunglasses and a black outfit that covered its contrasting white tank top with a black leather jacket. She wore black Doc Martens, and the vibe she gave off was that she was not one to mess with.

She made her way over to the police officer, finishing off a chocolate donut. After, she didn't even bother to wipe her face off, it was like she sensed that she didn't make a mess on herself, and simply folded the napkin with only one hand. " Deputy William Richardson?"

"I prefer, Will, but yeah, that's me," He attempted to smile to indicate he was being more playful than trying to correct her, but no grin was cracked on her face. Not even a chuckle.

She took off her sunglasses using the hand holding the napkin, and used her free one to extend for a handshake. She also had blue eyes, though they were a bit darker than his. No eyebags, no wrinkles, and she looked more like a model than she did her actual profession— she couldn't be any younger than thirty. "Detective Dakota Felix, I specialize in homicides."

"Dakota, 's nice to meet you," he greeted in a naturally heavy coated southern accent, shaking her hand.

"Detective Felix," she corrected him. "I wouldn't say it's nice considering the circumstances. Shall we?" Before he could even respond, she entered the building, expecting him to keep up. She was clearly a bit younger, but she oozed with years more of experience compared to his actual decade and a half worth of experience.

"Right," he whispered to himself, picking up the pace to catch up with her.

Dakota had already thrown away the napkin, and just slightly slowed her pace to help him. Once she heard the heavy breathing of tiredness, she continued, "I'm not gonna sugarcoat it, nine times out of ten we're dealing with a serial killer."

"Woah, woah! A serial killer, already?"

"You think a one-time murderer would try to hack off someone's head and shove a faucet through a girl's neck? Not to mention that they were purposely left there? Hell no."

"Right..." he agreed with her, feeling out of place. "So what's the plan? I don't wanna scare the killer off by making our presence known, I think we should be discreet."

She scoffed. "That's too bad, because I enjoy making them scramble. It leads to mistakes. And no offense, they don't send me all across the country to listen to a southerner in the Northeast."

"So what do you propose?"

"Isn't it obvious? Interrogation after interrogation after interrogation. We record every one and take notes so we can look for cracks in the story. We're dealing with young adults who party even on Sundays, drinking all the booze they can before they're even twenty one. I have a feeling this'll be smooth."

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"Name?" Dakota Felix leaned against the wall of the office while Will Richardson sat in the Headmaster's seat.

"Ramona Aguirre, I'm a sophomore," A brown skinned Afro-Latina girl with tattoos, nose piercings, and flat ironed black hair sat in the seat across from Will, naturally carrying the same brooding mystery that Dakota did.