DEATH OF EDEN

03. 𝗩𝗘𝗜𝗡𝗦 𝗢𝗙 𝗧𝗥𝗨𝗦𝗧

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THREE
veins of trust
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TW: mentions of eye and tongue removal, mentions and descriptions of flaying,
mentions of vomit

Crimson painted the sky, the rising sun casting its streaks across the windows surface.
It was the kind of morning that felt like the world itself was warning of a catastrophe to come. The bureau was bustling, agents gathering around as the man walked in. He wore an impeccable suit, tailor-made, a simple yet expensive watch resting on his wrist. His dark hair had begun to turn grey at the temples, adding a distinguished edge to his otherwise sharp features.

Ethan Goldberg was a man of principles. At the age of 48, the supervisor special agent of the special crime unit of the federal investigative bureau he knew that the world was far more complicated than just black and white. The sky represented the violence and cruelty they encountered on a daily base where the darkest phantasies and cruelties of the human mind were exposed.

Although, sometimes it was black and white. According to the politicians at least. However, he knew of the cruelty the world had to offer. He had seen what human nature can do to one another out of pure spite. His eyes scanned the screens as Nassim and Eden as well as Alexander Wilson appeared. Ethan did not turn around at first, eyes narrowing in on the way the eyes have been carved out. Ocular enucleation, antemortem.

Then his eyes moved to the second victim. Drowned, tongue removed, again antemortem. In her throat, an eye ball has been found. Only then did he turn around, eyeing the three in front of him. His eyes moved from his son-in-law to Eden, then to Wilson. He had met Wilson once already. It would be a lie to say that Ethan liked the way the young man worked. He was too hotheaded, had too many aggressive tendencies. Now, he understood when one got angry once in a while or felt the urge to get violent with suspects. He himself had almost beaten a suspect to a pulp once, twenty-four years ago. David had held him back. It was human especially when encountered with the cruelty of life.

"Wilson", he greeted coolly, eyeing the man up and down. He noticed the tattoos although the man tried to hide them.

"Goldberg," the man responded, shifting just enough to betray his discomfort. That name—Goldberg—was not light. It came with gravity, the kind that bent rooms and people alike.
"The art dealer's alibi checks out. JFK passport control logged her. First class, sipping champagne at 40,000 feet. I double-checked, given her... family."

There was a pause—half a beat too long.

"No offense."

Ethan did not respond right away. He did not need to. The room held its breath for a moment.
"Wonderful," he said at last, voice calm, almost pleasant. "So I can consult my daughter for the case after all. Though I do wonder why it took additional verifications to believe the word of a federal agent—and the Director as well as the airport security."

At daughter, Wilson blanched. That crack in his composure was not big, but it was there. Eden masked her laughter with a cough. Nassim allowed himself the shadow of a smile, though the muscles along his jaw hadn't fully unclenched.

"Now that we've got that cleared up. There was another victim found back in Pinebrook. Eden, go to the scene with Wilson, interview the neighbours. The usual. Nassim, go to the coroner's office in Pinebrook. Dr Rosseau wants to start the autopsy, and I want one of us with him.''

A moment of silence.

Then: "No offence, Wilson."

Eden nodded and reached for her jacket while Nassim grabbed the car keys. Alexander Wilson rolled his shoulders.