Bang! The ringing of a pistol cracking the silence of the midnight air into a frenzy of panic. My limping footsteps trace swiftly across the damp stone pavement. Dust quickly fills the air as my granite coloured coat picks up untouched grime. "Cough, cough", my lungs fill with the smell of charred wood and lit gunpowder from the building adjacent. I trip on a nearby stone and stumble to the floor. My knee pulsates crimson blood as the dark figure scatters into the dead of night. A numbing sensation in the side of my head makes my thoughts spin and swirl as I lay across the floor. My eyes slowly close, making my world turn black.
Only moments later do I feel the aching of my knee and the soft velvet covered bed sheets I've been placed upon. My eyes bounce side to side assessing my new found surroundings. I was placed on top of a white bed with dark green cotton curtains covering my view. From what I could tell I was in hospital, the smell of medicine and hand sanitiser reeked the air. My heart begins to race as I check myself for wounds. I notice my white shirt stained with red and blue and my jacket placed on the bed covered in a white substance, blanketing the thick fabric. As my eyes dripped down I saw it; my knee was full of stitches. Meshed in and out of dry red blood and opened flesh. I could clearly see a metallic plate protruding from broken bone, ripping through my black Denim jeans. As my face fills with rage and horror, a voice creeps into the back of my head pulling me out of my thoughts into reality.
"Detective!" My focus snaps back to a figure in front of me, dressed in a black suit, with grey lining over a patched hole in the bottom left pocket. It was my supposed "partner", Conner L. Luken, giving me another lecture about some new case. "Listen damn it!", he steps forward and grabs my shirt. Tugging me out of my old swivel chair, knocking over my cup of straight black and used pipe. My mind rattled with a sudden burst of violent determination. Luken isn't one to pick a fight with a bigger man. I whip my head up and grasp his wrist with my black leather gloves. Tightening my hold, I spit at him, "Let. Go. Now!" I pushed him across the room, ripping his hands from my buttoned shirt. He stumbled back into a degraded office walling. Then a moment of silence. Both men stagnant as heavy panting and gloomy rain set the scene to an unsolvable case.
"I have evidence, you know, about the case four years ago". I stare into the eroded floor boards, my head crumpled close to my chest as I face my commander and long term partner, John B. Kenneth, 'Detective Iron'. Named due to his harsh temper and a knee surgery from the cold case four years ago. I slowly glance up, to be met with blood shot eyes and aggressive muttering.
"Poppy Clarke" He abruptly stops. 'Ring any bells?', she was an average prey for a killer; twenty four, irresponsible and an easy target. Late at night, dead body, nothing out of the ordinary. Except, this case was anything but ordinary. My partner goes out to investigate the crime scene and next thing I know he goes missing for the night, ends up in hospital with his gun missing and the body vanished into thin air. Everything that day was rushed, a blur; the hospital, the investigation. I didn't have time to do any paper work or read over evidence. After a week of chaos the case was put on hold due to a much more urgent case. It's been nearly four and a half years since then and that was the only case we haven't cracked.
I look away from his piercing glare as it fills me with nerves and uncertainty. "We hadn't had any thrilling cases so I figured, why not look back on the files and gather evidence again." His eyes widened and strangely filled with happiness. After his burst of aggression and silent muttering he proceeds to smile? I disregard it as a state of confusion and the sudden urge to solve an overdue case. I cautiously get up and brush off my black jacket. Bewildered, I hand over the only piece of evidence to the detective. It was a photo of a black humming bird, a picture of the only evidence left at the scene of the crime. He gave me a puzzled look which worried me that he may not remember everything on that day. "It's a wooden humming bird, you wrote it down as 'a key piece of evidence'." His face light up with realisation, "yes, very important". He then glances back at the clock over his toppled chair. He isn't a man of many words. After a moment he proceeds to drive, what I assume to be the evidence into my pocket while whispering in my ear, "It's your case now". After tapping me on the shoulder, a creaking of the outside door, then a slam. It was silent, just me.
