TW/CW knives, blood, death (tell me if I missed any)
-------3 person P.O.V.-------
In the early morning, the nightclub was no longer beautiful. Clay was sitting on a stool by himself, a small glass of vodka in his hand. He knew nothing good would come from that glass of vodka, but whatever. Three hours ago he had to tell a mother that her only daughter was dead. He put the glass down and ran his hand through his blond hair, ruffling it a bit.
“Clay! What are you doing here?!” his best friend walked into the bar, his brown eyes burning with anger. The blond said nothing, he quickly drank the glass of vodka, feeling the liquid burning his throat. It did nothing to ease the pain.
“My god Clay! We already talked about this!” the dark-haired young man said to him, anger shining in his voice.
"I know I know. I'm sorry, George. But to be fair, I did try to call you,” Clay said, rolling his eyes.
"Sorry, did you check your phone?" George asked, changing the subject of the conversation with ease.
"No, why? Quackity found someone, for once?” Clay asked indifferently.
"Ugh, so you didn’t hear? The tenth person was killed and they want you. Apparently by Blue the killer,” George explained, annoyed at his best friend.
"Ok, let’s go, look I can even walk in a straight line," he said, and to prove it he got up and walked with a steady step, as he stood up the young man looked like a tree and his hair was falling over his eyes . The confident steps were surprising, considering he had just downed a whole glass of vodka. George raised an eyebrow, looking unconvinced.
“No way that you work like that! I'll take you to your apartment,” George said, grabbing Clay's hand, pulling him along with no worries. To George's surprise, the young man did not object, but followed his best friend.
"George, I'm not drunk," the young detective said and George replied with a wary look.
After a half-hour walk, the two detectives found themselves in front of a corpse. She had simple clothes, a large bloodstain on her chest. The hole in her hoodie indicated a stab wound. The body was lying between two buildings, a garbage bag in hand. On the opposite wall there was graffiti depicting blue glasses.
“Oneiro, you came,” George and Clay's boss Mark Smith said, a bit surprised.
"Of course, Smith," Clay said, in a calm and composed voice. He put on plastic gloves and crouched down in front of the corpse, studying the stab wound.
"Davidson, will you stop fidgeting?" Clay asked, without turning to George, who at the words stopped moving his foot.
"Are you finding anything?" Smith asked, leaning towards Clay.
“Almost...I think I recognize the style of the knife, but I'm not sure...” Clay said, biting his lip unsure of himself, “I can tell you it's done by a throwing knife, we can see the trace from where he had to remove the knife.”
“I see why they call you the best, Oneiro,” said a policeman, who had stood next to Smith.
"Mmm, he must be very good if he managed to kill someone with a knife," Clay muttered, deep in thought.
The detective got up and walked around the crime scene, trying to find clues. But nothing, absolutely no clues, as if nothing had happened.
"Why are you here, Davidson?" Smith asked, turning to George. When their attention wasn't on Clay, he slipped something into his pocket.
"Oneiro invited me," George replied simply, his eyes glued to his friend. Clay stood up, removing his gloves and dusting off his clothes.
"Didn't find anything?" Smith asked the blond detective.
"I can tell you he threw the knife from that building, and he went that way," Clay said, pointing in the named directions.
"What?" a policeman asked, confused.
“Yes, look you can see she fell straight back, and from the building you have a straight shot,” Clay replied, walking around the corpse, “And here you can see a shoe mark.” Everyone leaned over the trace, “I recognize it from somewhere, but I don’t know from where.”
"I see, it's already too late, let's all go home and we'll see each other again at nine o'clock," Smith said, rubbing his eyes. Clay joined them with a dark look and he seemed lost in thought.
“Clay! Next time, if you want to get drunk, call me! You know there are a lot of rapists and killers!” George exclaimed, anger burning in his eyes. The two detectives were standing in front of the police station.
"I know, I know, I know," Clay repeated, rolling his eyes.
"Oh, shut the fuck up," George said, nudging Clay friendly.
"But really. I'm sorry,” Clay said sincerely, grabbed George's arm to regain his balance. The detective was surprised by George's muscular arm.
"Don't worry, but don't ever do that again," George said, with a smile, "Okay, shall we go up?"
Once in the building, Darryl - another detective who works on Bleu’s case - joined them in the entrance.
“Hello, Clay and George! You asked me to research the victims,” Darryl said warmly.
"Thank you, what did you find?" Clay asked, following Darryl to his office.
"He seems to only kill bad people, rapists, criminals. But what they have in common," Darryl said and with a moment of hesitation, "The police didn't have enough evidence to put them in jail, even if you ask me they were clearly quilty."
“Hmm, I see...” Clay replied, deep in thought, “Thanks Darryl. I have to follow a lead, George, are you coming with me?”
“Are you sure you want to have a lead already?” George asked, unsure of the detective's decision.
"Yeah, do what you want," Clay said, calmly.
“Someone is following us,” George said, looking behind the detective. The two young men were walking down a dark alley, shadows in every corner.
"I know," the detective replied, not looking behind him, but his hand seemed to be grasping something in his pocket.
Suddenly, a hand landed on the detective's shoulder, forcing him to turn to see two men with long coats. The other had a knife and the other a baseball bat.
“If you want to stay alive, give us your money,” one of the men announced with a menacing grin, “And if you open your mouths, we'll kill you.”
Without thinking Clay pulled out a knife quickly, attacking the man behind him, George followed suit and attacked the villain holding him. Clay didn't have time to see if George was fighting well or not, as the detective was getting punched. Clay and the thief exchanged punches and kicks, both trying to stab each other. After several blows were exchanged, Clay managed to knock him out.
As he turned his eyes to George, he expected to see George dead and covered in blood, but the thief was sprawled on the ground bleeding, his eyes closed. Confused Clay frowned, the George Clay knew wouldn't hurt a fly, but Clay didn't have time to ask a question, when George cut him off, "Let's go?"
"Okay...let's go," Clay said slowly, continuing straight down the dark alley.
"Hello, Dream," said a pink-haired man, once the two detectives entered a black-painted house, "It's been months."
“Techno. This is your stuff, right? the detective asked, rudely. He threw a piece of metal on the young man's desk. Clay and George were standing in the office of someone who looked – to George – like a mob boss.
"Hmm, yes it looks like you're right," Techno said, after looking at the piece of metal.
"I thought you weren't selling guns anymore?" Clay said, his eyes burning with anger.
“You're right, we aren’t selling anymore...” Techno said, scratching his head, “But there was someone who tried -and succeeded- in stealing three of our best knives.”
"No way, I'm leaving for three months and someone has already robbed you," Clay had a big smile on his face. The detective noticed George freezing in place as Techno spoke but decided to gloss over it.
“If you want you can go and see the room, I'm sure you can find something. Surely you know the way,” the young man said, rolling his eyes.
Without a word Clay exited the room, George hot on his heels.
“Do you really think you can find something? The theft is probably several weeks old,” George asked in a strained voice.
"Of course, I'm the best after all," Clay said in a very confident voice, a smile still on his face.
At his words Clay went into a room like the others, but once inside, the two friends found a big pile of cardboard boxes. After thirty minutes of searching the detective had lost all hope of finding any clues. As he was about to quit, he hit the jackpot.
"I got it! I found a fingerprint!” Clay said, his eyes shining with joy. George stiffened at the words and slowly turned to see his best friend. When Clay turned his back to retrieve the print, George walked up to him and went to his side.
"I'm sorry Clay, you know too much," George said, voice lacking emotion. When Clay turned his eyes to ask what he meant. George plunged a knife into his best friend's back. Clay's eyes widened in surprise, as the colour slowly faded from his face.
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A/N I longer chapter today! Hope you like it :D And I appreciate all the votes and reads. Remember to drink and eat something