Nightmares

New Detectives?

What could it mean? The memories of devastating events. They had to have meant something, right? Why else would they have occurred? It just doesn't add up. That is unless I am missing one more memento. There was being let go, which happened on March 27th, 2029 and my house was moved only yesterday on the 25th of October. An event must have taken place between those dates.
"So you're here for what business ma'am?" Chelsea asked.
The woman ran her fingers through her hair, "Thomas McReary?"
I nodded.
"This is for you." She handed me a plastic bag, it was wrinkled to hell and smelled of decaying metal. "I was meant to hand this to you a while ago, though I was called back into the line of duty. It's been almost a two years since it has happened."
Inside the plastic bag was the shell casing, it had that pull from the other two objects. Her appearance was unexpected and even more so odd.
"A murder had taken place two days before you were fired from the council. It was more or less blamed on you because of your work with the police." She explained.
My heart dropped a thousand feet, "What are you saying?"
The woman kept a straight face, "Your police relationship had caused you to be fired. That shell casing is only used by police firearms, which was lead to believe that you were related to the murder."
"Who are you?" I asked.
She smiled, "I am a woman of similar interests."
"To take down the boss of God's Window?"
She nodded.
"Then how?" I pondered.
"Don't tell us what I think you're telling us." Chelsea caught on.
If Mark White is connected with this murder, then that must be why he forced me to work with Nightmares. He knew that I would eventually figure out that a murder had taken place and I was fired for being related. Obviously no evidence supported me being relevant which is why I'm not in prison. He put me in the working field so he could monitor my movements, also why I couldn't leave the Window.
"So you're thinking that Mark White placed the order?" I asked rhetorically.
"Actually no." The woman killed my rhetorical question. "I think he was the murderer."
Chelsea and I looked at each other with gasping faces.
"He does indeed have a police weapon, serial number scratched off so it's not traceable at the moment." Chelsea mentioned. "I know that because he shows it off when walking through the halls."
"Here is his profile." The woman passed over a folder containing Mark's entire life up to last week. A lot could have happened in one week, so I think it'd be best they find his information during that period.
The folder was slightly dirty, some coffee stains practically ruined the first page. His picture was old and had a better looking side of him. Underneath the picture was information on him, more of the demographics than deeper statistics.
Flipping the page was detailed on his high school information, it had every statistic from first to last girlfriend through every detention he's ever had. He seemed like quite the trouble maker back then with a total of fourth detentions through the first and second years.
"On the last page, there is one thing missing and I can guess that you might know about it." The woman said.
I flipped to the last page, it was based heavily around his lifetime jobs starting from age of thirteen. Even the time of his first kill in war, which he seems noble for being in a war and living. Honestly he isn't very honest, he's like a dirty cop in that sense.
"Hmm, I don't think I can say that I do know what his personality is like." I replied.
"He is very cocky and he has anger issues." Chelsea said.
The woman chuckled, "Not that, I meant this. His first daughter, no one has heard from her since the murder incident."
That can only bring suspicion that he murdered his daughter, but they would have found the body dumbass. We don't have any concrete evidence that he was the murderer, though most of this can be inferred that he is linked.
Let's look at the evidence towards him, first of all, he has a police-only weapon with the serial scratched off. Second of all, he was missing the night if the murder as well as his daughter. Third of all, I was fired two days later and a year after that brought to work with him to get away from the police.
Seems like there isn't much, though these are deep scars.
"How many children does he have?" I asked.
"Three daughters, ranging from 17-24." The woman replied.
"How come you don't have any information on him purchasing the gun?"
"We are one hundred percent positive that he did not buy the gun. We can guess that he stole it."
He steals a gun from a police officer? He kills someone in an alleyway and has it connected to me? Something is wrong here, and I need to know what.
"Where was the dead body?" Chelsea gave me the answer.
"Never found, the blood belonged to a man by the name of Rodriguez Bend. A former drug dealer gone clean after doing heavy time in prison." The woman answered.
"That doesn't seem very good. How do you think we can connect the disappearance of three people to this murder?" I asked.
"We are going to find out." The woman responded.
Let me see, the Nightmares I worked on were somehow connected to this weren't they? The first being mine, the destruction of a world or my job. The second being someone else's and dealt with imprisonment which I was going through yesterday. The third being alone in an empty world with only one person which has to be with Chelsea. The fourth being inside a testing facility which just so happens to be the Window.
This guy is very smart, he wants us to find him by the vague evidence. Just because they are vague, there are a lot of things connected to him.
"Tomorrow, we'll have to check the alleyway. A year might have done nothing, or everything to the crime scene." The woman said. "By the way, the name is Brenda."
She walked out of the house, leaving the profile and bullet casing. Clearly she needs help on this investigation, but I don't know why she is so persistent with it. I think she might have taken this personally. I should probably not ask about that.
I got up from the couch and gathered the profile and bullet casing. I walked into my room and laid down.
"So what now?" Chelsea asked.
I held the casing in my hand, "I'm going to work."
The room spun in a million directions almost as fast as the world rotated.
My eyes adjusted to the rainy night. The alleyway was dry from the walkway on the rooftops. I scanned around and found a man standing with his hands in his pockets.
I can only assume his name is Rodriguez Bend, not a Spanish last name which makes me a little uneasy. He wore a green suit jacket around a black shirt with a skull on the front. His jeans were ripped on the knees and his shoes were that of the eighties. They were antique and worth a lot of money unless they were fake.
I sat on a box and watched him stand there for a couple of minutes. Just like waking from a dream, the rain stopped and the mood changed.
"Alright, you got the money? This is my last shipment, I've run dry." Rodriguez spoke with a heavy columbian accent.
"So you're saying that I'm going to be put out of business because of your lack of supply? You're a terrible person." It sounded resemblant to Mark, but slightly off.
I walked next to Rodriguez and stared at the guy. He was wearing a white suit, black stripes. Wore black boots, bloodied from past dealings. His cigar was vanilla. This man wore black gloves that came up to his elbow, custom-made.
The man revealed to be Mark White when walking into better lighting.
Rodriguez smiled, "No. You're going to stay afloat after all of this. You'll build a foundation and steal people to cover your tracks."
"Still trying to see into the future huh?" Mark asked.
"Not trying, because I can see into the future." Rodriguez put his right hand in his pocket.
A man who can see into the future? He must've been able to foresee the events of being arrested and his death. With a bit more help, he probably would have survived. That is unless he wanted this to happen for his own reasons.
Mark pulled a gun, "Now we can do this without bullshit small-talk or we can continue to a donut shop and talk about our troubles."
"That is a rhetorical question, either way you'll get away with the drugs." Rodriguez said.
Mark chuckled. He moved even closer to Rodriguez and put the gun on the tip of his nose. Rodriguez handed Mark the cocaine, and put his hand back in his pocket.
"Good, now we'll walk away and never speak to each other again." Rodriguez announced.
"You know I can't do that, if you leave the game then you might tattle on the entire operation." Mark explained.
"What makes you think that I'll tattle?"
"You were imprisoned for three years on the account of assisted murder and possession of heavy drugs."
So he must've developed this ability during his time behind walls. Makes sense, though not a lot.
Mark checked every pore on Rodriguez's body, he was watching like a hawk.
"You gonna pull the trigger anytime soon?" Rodriguez was growing impatient.
So he's waiting for death? Is that even sane? Probably not, though Rodriguez knows something that is not supposed to exposed.
"You really want to play that game?" Mark was still checking Rodriguez.
"I know where your daughter is. I also know that's why you are holding me at gunpoint." Rodriguez said.
Mark's face was beginning to turn red, his emotions taking control.
It seems as though his daughter was missing even before this, though I haven't a clue why Rodriguez would know unless he took her.
"Why don't you turn around?" Rodriguez asked.
I walked behind the two men and looked at the far end of the alleyway, it was a girl. She was blonde, with a white dress and black pumps. She sneaked closer to the guys.
"What are you saying?" Mark pressured Rodriguez, his finger nearly squeezing the trigger.
"Calm down man. Just look. She's waiting for you." Rodriguez was calm, and ready to see a father hug his child.
The girl stepped on a twig, it echoes through our ears like a church bell. Mark turned as fast as the movement of light and shot. It was all black, and made everyone die a little.
"What the fuck did you just do?" Rodriguez yelled.
"No, not again. I can't, I just can't live with this." Mark was trembling. "It's all your fault!"
"Daddy?" The girl's words were faint, but clear. "Don't be mad."
"It's okay baby girl, you're gonna be fine." His tears ran down his cheeks to his chin.
Rodriguez stood there, his mind blown and heart racing. His body wanted to move, but he knew he couldn't.
"Look for T.M..." The girl faded into ground and left this world by murder.
Mark stood up and grabbed Rodriguez, he shoved him into the brick building. Mark placed the gun on his stomach and fired four shots.
Wait, there was four bullets that were fired and only one was recovered? What the hell?