Counting Sheep

Chapter 1

Hello everybody!! I hope you all are doing fantastic!!! I've got a new chapter for you--the FIRST chapter of Counting Sheep!!!! I am SOOO excited, it isn't even funny. I hope you guys enjoy!! The next chapter will be out soon, so keep your eyes open for that. Also, this gif is the best I could find for this chapter. -Warning- this chapter may contain swearing and or disturbing scenes. Read at your own risk :)  I love you! Enjoy! -Hannah

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CHAPTER 1: Putty knives, check. Razor blades, check. Shovels, check.

Julian 'Frank' Graves stood up straighter and rolled his shoulders. Everything was back in stock and in place. This scene had been particularly difficult, unfortunately, and he was beyond happy to finally be finished for the day.

Although he and his partner, Dave Hartman, had not been briefed on the situation beyond the blood and gore that lay behind the small and run-down brick house, it wasn't hard for him to guess what this situation had been about-what it was that had caused such a messy scene.

A murder-suicide.

Not his first by a long shot and he was sure it was most certainly not his last.

As soon as Julian's booted feet had met with the steps of the front porch, his eyes had already took in every detail, every discrepancy.

Even from here he could smell the suffocating and cloying scent of death. The heavy copper smell, while might have been unnoticeable to others had been so heavy for Julian, that it was a palpable taste on his tongue.

He was trained to see the things that others could not and then get rid of them as though they had never been there in the first place. And maybe it hadn't.

With this job, you couldn't afford to screw up, couldn't afford to overlook anything and it was better to be safe than sorry.

To miss one small fiber, one drop of blood or one strand of hair, surely meant death or worse.

The mafia did not want anyone to know of the vile deeds that had taken place-the vile deeds that could send them away to prison or death row in the blink of an eye.

That was why you never made a mistake with this job.

So, once Dave had arrived as well, they had both suited up in the back, making sure nobody would witness anything that would be cause for suspicion. The control zone was the area in which they would be working.

This control zone, sadly, did not have an inch of space that wasn't coated in blood, bone or brain matter-so they had set to work immediately.

The wife was in the kitchen, the food that had been set out showing of her obliviousness to the chaos that had been a silent wrath around her.

She had never known death was coming—even when it was standing right behind her. The husband was in the bedroom, body in the bed with a bottle of beer on the old wooden nightstand as if a last toast.

Both had died from a gun-shot wound to the head and Julian had been able to tell that it was the husband that had killed his wife. He guessed that the man in question owed a debt to the mafia that was too large to pay back and he had figured there was no way out and if Julian was being honest—there probably was none.

The man had chosen to leave this earth on his own terms with his wife. She had been none the wiser. Probably had only just barely begun to notice the rising tension in her husband and only just have put it off as to something to do with work.

In a way, Julian respected the man, even as he scraped his brain from the surrounding walls and floors.

As time passed, the brain matter dried to a cement-like consistency, which is where the putty knives came into play.