by Ian Farquharson

Created on: January 23, 2012

The cop looked up. The derelict city buildings surrounding him rose up and disappeared into a slate grey sky. The growing evening gloom and driving rain only added to the disquiet of the scene.

Wiping rain from his eyes, the cop looked back down at the body, a sense of foreboding washing over him. The single bullet hole in the head still seeped blood, showing how the man had died. The broken arms and legs lay at grotesque angles. If the man had been alive during the torture, he would have welcomed the bullet that ended it.

The cop shivered. He could hear the blare of sirens growing in the distance, but knew it would likely be 5 minutes more before they arrived. He silently urged them to hurry.

The serial killer had struck again. The cop didn’t have to be a detective to work that out. The tortured and broken body he kneeled beside was all the evidence he needed. This was the tenth victim and when the news broke in the morning the fear hanging over the city would intensify. The police seemed powerless to stop the killer. No clues, no leads, no nothing.

“Officer.” The voice was quiet, emotionless.

Lost in his thoughts the cop looked up, startled. “Sir, this is a crime scene, you nee….”

“I know what it is.” The monotone voice cut across the cops words.

Realization came to the cop too late. The gun slashed through the air, the butt smashing across his temple, sending him crashing to the ground. Wiping blood from his face, the cop looked up. The cold, empty eyes staring down at him were as desolate as the surroundings. The cop knew they meant only one thing.

The sound of the gun shot was drowned in the cacophony of approaching sirens. The killer melded back into the shadows, becoming lost in the huge metropolis once more, just another soul on its voyage.

Backup finally arrived on the scene. It was too late. Getting out of their cars, the cops grimaced at the sight of the two bodies, a sense of foreboding washing over them.

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