The Game

            Dirt and pebbles flew into the air as a black sedan made its way down the gravel road, adding a myriad of sounds to the symphony of rain that filled the early morning air. The trees loomed high above the car, but cast no shadows in the dim light. The rest of the world was silent, simply listening to everything else, joining in on the grimness that the morning held.

            More gravel ground beneath the car's tires as the sedan came to a stop just outside of the police line. There was a soft click as the door opened, and another crunch of stone as black leather shoes met the earth. The door slammed shut as the man made his way towards the rest of the officers on scene, the rain beading on his trench coat as he strode forwards. 

            "Detective Ames?" one of the officers asked. Richard Ames nodded, recognizing him as Darrel Thomas, one of the rookies. The Corporal looked shaken and deeply disturbed. 

            "What do we got?" the detective asked, pulling out a notepad.

            "Homicide, the victim is female, appears to be in her mid twenties . . . well, you're gonna want to see the body for yourself," Thomas said, gesturing behind him. The young officer turned, getting out of Ames' way.

            The detective brushed past photographers and other officers, getting himself right next to the body. He crouched down low, getting as close as he could. The young woman was lying atop the earth, looking like she was in a deep sleep, aside from all of the blood on her and the ground.

            Without a word, everyone backed away from Ames and the body, knowing he needed his space. It would only be a short while before they could return to their work. One last camera flash illuminated the morning haze and then Ames was alone. Just him, the body and the soggy earth beneath his boots.

            Pulling the brim of his fedora low, keeping the rain away from his face, he began his inspection. The woman must have had a pretty face, at least before her gruesome murder. Her forehead had a slit from temple to temple but all the blood had long washedfrom the wound. It was now just a black scab occasionally yellow from dried puss. What struck Ames most were the lady's eyelids, with the letters C and H carved into them, respectively. He peeled one back to see that the gouges went deep into her cornea. He let the eyelid droop back into place, some dried blood flaking onto his leather glove.

            The woman had been stripped of all her clothing, aside from a red scarf wrapped around her waist. To Ames surprise, her torso had not been touched, aside from a stab wound in her left breast, seemingly through her heart. Was that the final wound, or the first, Richard wondered as he undid the knot that kept the scarf in place. He carefully slid the garment out from under the body, the soaked fabric collecting dirt and bits of leaves as he did so. As the cloth unfolded an envelope tumbled to the ground, instantly absorbing the rain and water from the already drenched earth beneath it. Ames quickly snatched it up, trying to protect the contents from harm.

            Disregarding his own safety, Ames began to tear the seal, not afraid of a trap. 

            "It's all part of the game," he muttered to himself, knowing he was in no danger.

            Ames tilted the open envelope and let the folded piece of paper fall into his hand. He pulled off his gloves, letting them rest along with the leaves and the dirt. Carefully tugging at the edges of the paper, he unfolded the page, revealing a short poem printed with the typeface of an old typewriter. The letters made it seem like the page was ancient, but Ames knew better.

            "All part of his game," he muttered once more as he began to read.

Standing in the rain he waits,