Page 43 of Nightshades

Taking off my sunglasses, the sun barely shines through the clouds, but it’s enough to have me squint at the ground. Twisting, I follow the red drops, connecting the dots that shots were fired.

“I have blood!” I yell, slowly standing so I can get a better view of the trail.

Waylon, Zig, Jenkins, and Jake come closer, their shadows swallowing me.

“Looks like it goes across the street.” Zig points his finger at the street, and we all follow.

I’m the first in line, lifting my badge at traffic during the red light so drivers know not to go on green. The blood trail becomes more visible on the sidewalk; the bright red droplets are still wet, meaning it’s fresh.

And it leads to an older, rundown house. A small puddle collects at the stoop of what used to be a door that’s smashed to pieces.

“Leads into the house,” I whisper, unholstering my weapon.

“I got your back,” Waylon says, lifting his gun into the air and pointing it forward. “Ready?”

I nod, taking the first step into a war zone.

“CPD!” I announce, out of breath from running across the park.

Gun drawn, I aim it in the direction in front of me.

“Body!” I announce to Waylon and Zig, who are behind me, wondering how the victim ended up bent in half.

I continue my sweep, careful not to step on any broken pieces of wood or glass. I don’t want to fuck up a crime scene. I’ll never hear the end of it.

Turning left, I nearly lose my lunch when I see what is in front of me. “Jesus.” Not much makes me gag. I’ve seen a lot in this career, but this is beyond anything I have ever seen before. “Another body!” I shout, covering my mouth when bile threatens to creep up my throat.

“Two bodies up here!” Waylon yells from upstairs.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” Zig says, clearing the living room for any other suspects. “¿Quién podría hacer algo así?”

“In this small town? I have no idea who could do something like this, Zig. I have never seen anything like this before,” I say, stunned to my soul.

The body lying on the floor has a gun in its hand. I would say suicide, but the barrel is bent backwards towards the direction of where his head used to be.

“Upstairs is clear!” Waylon announces.

“Clear down here too!” I reply, squatting next to the body.

Pulling out a pair of gloves from my pocket, I slip them on, not wanting to contaminate evidence. I wrap my hand around the barrel, and it’s still warm, as in, it was recently fired.

“We need a three-block sweep! The gun is still hot. He can’t be far.”

“I’ll get Jenkins. We will do it.” Zig walks away and radios them with the information.

Standing, I make my way to the man bent in half near what used to be a staircase. His head is touching his feet. His back is completely broken, his entire body snapped in half as if it were a toothpick. His eyes are still open, his mouth stained with his blood, and even though he is dead, one expression is permanent on his face.

Fear.

His mouth is parted on a scream, and his eyes are as round as possible.

“What happened to you?” I ask him, knowing damn well he can’t talk. “What happened here?” Brainstorming, I think about what can cause this amount of damage.

There’s no way kicking the door in would explode the wood like this.

“You are going to want to come see this,” Waylon announces from upstairs. “I think there’s a message for you.”

I whip my head around, looking up at Waylon. “What?”