Eye of the Alpha [ BoyxBoy ]

chapter iii [rewrite]

The Detective sighed and placed his hands on his hips. "You just wait here one second and I'll see what I can do." Beau knew what he could do, and he had a feeling the Detective did too, he was just choosing not to for some reason. Even if they didn't have their full confidence in his accusations, this was enough to arouse some suspicion. No matter what they said, they insisted that this was nothing.

He'd left the interrogation room, leaving Beau alone with the file. The door was left upon just a crack, but if he was quick, he'd be able to get a look at the file. He turned it so that it faced him. He retrieved his phone from his bag, and got took a few quick photos of the case file, before speedily putting it back in it's place, putting his phone away and pretending like it was nothing. He'd been lucky. It was moments after he'd done so that the Detective returned.

"We will look into it, but for now there is nothing more that we can do. I'm sorry," The detective shrugged his shoulders and gestured out of the door, holding it open for him. Beau sighed, stood up and walked out of the room, but before he stormed off, anger and frustration in eager desperation to be let out, he turned and asked, "Will you at check the name I gave you?"

"We will. Goodnight, sir." That didn't feel reassuring. It felt like the detective was trying to get rid of him as quick as possible. He was so angry. This Cyrus was getting away with murder. He wasn't a guy at all. He didn't know how he'd done it, but he'd turned into that monster of a being. No one would believe that though. How had he managed to change his eye colour? Who wore contacts just for dramatic effect? He didn't care about that really, though. What he cared about was making sure that Cyrus was arrested for his crime. Clearly a name and a story wasn't enough, so he needed proof to proof that it was him. He was a journalist – or at least he wanted to be. And what were journalists good at doing? Digging up dirt.

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Beau shut the door hard behind him, heading straight for the stairs, unaware that Agatha was in her chair, though rose the instant she'd seen him come in. "Beau?" She'd called, stopping him in his tracks. Having been caught off guard, he was startled by her presence, and was breathing heavily as he turned to see her.

"Dahlia called and said you'd left the gallery," She'd walked over to him, far more concerned than the Detective had been, "Why did you leave?"

He sighed, and averted his eyes. He didn't want to talk about it, but he wasn't about to take it out on her. "I wasn't feeling so well, so I walked home," He stated, turning to take a step up.

Before he could go any further, he felt a grasp upon his arm. His Grandmother's hold was firm, "Don't lie to me, Beauford. I know you went to the Police station."

This had certainly perked his curiosity. "How do you know?" He was aware that her instincts were somewhat acute, but she wasn't psychic. She seemed to let on that she knew more, had done this morning too – well, afternoon, though he'd simply shrugged it off then.

"Never mind that. I told you that I was taking care of it. You need to leave it now," She told him, and though he knew she probably only meant the best for him, he couldn't help but feel as if he was hearing the same thing he'd heard at the station, "Don't get yourself caught up in these things."

He was already caught up in it! He was the witness of a murder! But arguing with her would do no good. He wouldn't lie to her, but he refused to just let this go. Instead, he sighed, as if to imply surrender, and then walked up the stairs. "Night, Gran." He didn't get a response.

Once in his room, he closed the door behind him and headed for his laptop. He started it up, and the second he was on, he connected his phone to his laptop and uploaded the pics he'd taken. He'd had a shaky hand, but the writing was clear enough to read. The girl was called 'Rita Malone', she was twenty-two and not much else was said about her. There were pictured of her body, after the supposed animal attack. Any traces of her being stabbed or slashed had been shredded and torn. It was a gory sight, and didn't support his story.