It becomes bigger than it was before and there is nothing I can do about it.
TWO
AGENT CALLUM DEBRIEZE
Shit.This scene is a mess. I got the call to come to the warehouse district to investigate a suspicious fire. On my way over here, I spent time looking at the crime scene photos that had been sent to me an hour ago. Right away I noticed it was arson. No one can miss the trail of what I assume is gasoline, that is clearly leading from where the fire was started.
Continuing to flick through the pictures, I see something under some of the rubble and the skin on my neck begins to tingle. “Shit.” I can’t see it clearly, but I know what it is going to be and now, I am on alert. My mind is going over the number of ways I am going to have to break the law during this investigation. Damn it.
My driver pulls into the lot, and I can still see ash and smoke in the air. The fire marshal is writing things down for his end of the investigation and I grimace as each footstep he takes covers up more and more evidence. “Agent Debrieze.” He holds his hand out for me to shake. Returning the gesture, I look around and my gut starts to churn. “Agent.” I look up at his eyes and realize he is expecting me to answer him.
“I’m sorry. I am cataloging the disaster. I missed the question.” He nods his understanding as he looks around as well.
“I asked if you have seen the victim yet?”
“No. I haven’t.” Not only is this building on federal land, but it seems we have a victim. Not surprised. “Is the M.E. here?”
“Yes. He is with the body.” Nodding, I move toward the direction his finger is pointing. On my way there, I look down, knowing what I am going to find. Like I expected, underneath the ash, hidden but somehow still white and pristine, is a card. A card bearing the image of the angel of death, only as a woman, with bright red lipstick. Her head is down, cloaked in a black hooded jacket. Her raven hair is flowing underneath and the sadness and anger I can feel when I hold it, permeate through my fingers.
“What have you got there?” I slide the card under my sleeve and shake my head, not willing to let anyone else in on what I know.
“Nothing. Just a business card. You know reporters,” I say, rolling my eyes and trying to change the subject.
“Vultures,” he grumbles before turning back to the body.
“So doc, what can you tell me?”
“Well, I will have to get the body back to my place to be able to tell you anything substantial, but I can tell you he was alive when his appendage was cut off.” Ouch. I smile on the inside picturing the scene in my head. Savage.
“Why do you say that?”
See the amount of blood, the heart was still pumping when it happened. I’m betting on a crime of passion,” he says smirking, and shaking his head. His gray, unkempt hair is shaking, partially from the ceiling fan that was set off when the blaze started and from his own amusement. I actually agree with him, but I know for a fact it is not the type of passion he is thinking.
I walk around and make a few mental notes before leaving. Once I am in my car, I pick up my phone and make a call I have been making more often lately. “Again?” the voice on the other end says, mocking me.
“I know. She has been busy. Do you have more?” He chuckles and I hear clicking on his end. Minutes later he takes a deep breath.
“I found some more. Seems he has been busy as well.”
“I need them at the address I just sent you. Arson.”
“Got it.” He hangs up and so do I. Now, I have to figure out how to proceed. Especially when she is always running.
THREE
CATRIONA
ONE WEEK LATER
Are you serious?I want to know why the hell I am standing in a room setup for torture, watching as my supposed best friend tries to drag the piece of shit who should be dead right now, out of here and into her car? “Please, Cat. Help me,” she pleads trying to drag this massive dead weight on board planks. I can see how much she is struggling, but I can’t do it. I can’t help her save someone who had a hand in murdering my father. No matter how small the part was. So, instead I turn my back to her and stand there, letting her know she is on her own.
I listen for minutes, what feels like hours as she struggles, and he groans and grunts. It isn’t until I hear her car start that I face the door. “What a waste,” I say to myself realizing I won't even get to leave my card this time. Turning out the light and not bothering to clean up, not wipe up my fingerprints or nothing, I leave.
I know. It’s crazy to not clean up right. I could get caught. Yada, yada, yada. I know, trust me. The truth is, I don’t give a shit. When I decided on this mission, I knew it would be risky and I knew I would either die or be thrown in jail. Hell at this point with ten kills under my belt I am a serial killer. They would give me the chair. But, I don’t care. I have nothing and no one. I am… alone. As soon as the thought surfaces I know I am wrong. There is someone. Someone who cares for me, in his own way. Someone who wants me even though we can never be together. Reminding myself, I pulled the latest letter I received from him from my pocket and read it again for the hundredth time.
My Dark Angel,
I have dreams of us. Dreams of a life where you finish your mission and you come to me. You come to me, and we begin a life. Together. Away from all of this. I dream of laughter and love, Cat. Of giggling kids and yappy dogs. Of sunshine and water and you in my arms watching our young ones grow as another is inside of you preparing to meet us. I don’t just dream of it, Cat, I see it. I can hear the laughter. Can’t you? Do you yearn for it like me? Need it as much as I do?