Chapter Text
Three Years Ago
Grian dragged himself from his desk with a sigh, throwing his hand across the paperwork lining the hard surface. His breath came out harshly between his teeth, hissing through the gap in his back two molars. He was angry, no, furious as he stared down at the jumbled mess of words in front of him.
It was far too late for him to even understand half of what was on the papers, but he had still spent the last few hours trying. Pictures of the latest victim stood out among the paperwork, a visceral red against white. He slowly leaned down, neatly stacking the papers and photos in his hands.
The victims deserved more than having their photos thrown on the ground.
“What am I supposed to do?” He voiced his thoughts aloud.
A small parrot plushy that rested just above his computer stared back at him with unblinking eyes. The vibrant yellows and blues were a welcome sight after scanning through pages and pages of white.
“It’s been so long and I feel no closer than the very first victim.” He whispered to the bird as if it could hear him and offer some sort of advice. Obviously it didn’t. “This case is going to be the death of me.”
His eyes flickered a few times over the photos before he pulled himself away from his station. His light was the last one on, the entire floor cast into darkness as he flipped his switch. Shaky hands, from both the late hour and the obscene amount of coffee he had consumed to stay up that long, were shoved into grey knit pockets.
He could use some more coffee, and maybe a listening ear. Instead of turning to go to his flat, he instead traced a familiar path down the sidewalk. He didn’t bother with his bike, knowing he would pass by it on the way back.
A little walking wouldn’t hurt anyways.
His leather shoes clicked neatly against the cement, surely warning any late night criminal that someone was out on the streets. He didn’t mind much, his gun pressed firmly in his holster. He was one of the few detectives allowed to carry one, but the case he was working on warranted the need for it. He preferred not to have that need, but circumstances were cruel, and fate was often crueler.
He also had a new taser, gifted to him by Martyn earlier that night. It was a good alternative to a bullet he supposed.
He tried to shake the thoughts from his head, but it was futile at that point. Every waking thought was on the stretched-out string of murders he had been assigned to almost a year ago. What had started as a simple murder case had devolved into an awful game with the killer who was still on the run. He knew he was obsessed with the case beyond reason to others, but he had to be for the sake of the victims.
Eventually his feet led him to the storefront of a local cafe. It was a cheery looking building, a bright yellow exterior with all the embellishments needed. The windows were wide, letting any light in when the sun was out. It was London though, so that was not often.
Almost as if his thoughts spawned them in, rain clouds started to gather in the night sky. He felt a drop hit his shoulder and sighed, air whistling between the gap in his teeth. Slowly he brought a hand up to the door. Although he was reluctant to even go inside, his knock was firm as his mother taught him.
Clattering upstairs alerted Grian to the fact that he had caught Scar unawares. He almost smiled, but it was four in the morning, so he let any jest die on his tongue before he could voice it. Instead he waited patiently for Scar to get himself decent, trying to ignore the steadily growing patter of rain on his head and shoulders. His umbrella was still at his office, unfortunately, leaving him to soak in the rain. It drenched the mussed mop on his head that he called hair, probably making it look better at that point. He absentmindedly wondered how long it had been since he washed his hair, or even gone back to his flat.
He had fallen asleep on his desk the night before, so at least a solid thirty two hours, possibly more. Probably more.
Finally the door creaked open, a glimmering pair of green eyes studying him through the crack. When they appraised that it was him, the door swung open fully, a good natured laugh coming from the man in the now open frame.
“I almost hoped you wouldn’t show up at my doorstep tonight.” His teeth shone brightly in the darkness, a permanent smile seemingly in his face. “Let me guess. Coffee?”
“You know me so well Scar.” Grian huffed as he stepped into the small cafe. He brushed any remaining droplets of water from his jacket as Scar stepped away. “Just one sugar and no cream.”
“Rough night huh?” Scar said, already behind the bar. The hum of machinery filled the room as he started the brew.
“It could have been better.” Grian frowned then, pulling himself onto a chair behind the counter top. His voice was starting to go out from the day, fading with each syllable.
“Confidential, birdie?” Scar’s tone was light, not like he was asking about serial murder. It was good to dissociate though, no other way to talk about that kind of subject matter.
“Unfortunately yes.” Grian’s slightly damp sleeves made for rather nice pillows against the cold counter. His voice was pressed now, coming out of barely open lips. “You’ll hear about it on the news tomorrow though.”
“Aw,” Scar’s pouting could be heard in his tone. “No spoilers for me detective?”
“They’re not spoilers when it’s murder.” Grian chided the brunet, rolling his eyes at how unserious he was being.
“Oh of course not. That’s not what I meant at all.” He was closer now, the soft chords of his voice just in front of Grian’s closed eyes. “I was simply trying to lighten your mood. Have you ever thought of taking a vacation? I’ve heard France is a sight to behold this time of year.”
With quick motions Grian was sitting straight up. His hands clenched into his own jacket sleeves, mirroring the tenseness of his jaw. While he knew that Scar only meant the best, it was far too early in the morning for any of those types of jokes.
“You must be joking.”
“Of course I’m joking.” Scar leveled him with a look that seemed to pierce through him. The green eyes cut through his skin, leaving him feeling almost bare. “You’re far too involved in this to stop now and all that.”
He tilted his head ever so slightly, his smile brightening. “Maybe one day I’ll take you to France though. It would be a blast, there's a beach I used to visit quite often.”
“All that? What did you mean by all that?” Grian pressed, not willing to move past what Scar said before. “People are dying, Scar.”
“It seems that everything I’m saying is falling on tense ears.” Scar remarked, holding out a fresh cup of coffee. “I apologize if I offended you, it is quite late.”
“Early.” Grian drew the coffee to his lips.
“It’s basically the same thing,”
The moment the hot drink entered his system he felt himself relax just a bit. The warmth dropped his shoulders and steadied his shaking hands just enough for him to calm.
“Sorry Scar, it’s been crazy lately.” Grian muttered into his drink, not sure if he wanted Scar to hear him fully. “New evidence popped up and I think it might just catch us our killer. I just can’t seem to reason it out. I feel like I’m playing a game that I don't even know the rules of.”
Scar’s eyes tightened at that, a wider grin overcoming his face.
“You’re going to do a-may-zin.” He almost seemed to be gushing, words spilling out far too fast. “Do you think you’ll catch him soon? It’s almost been a year right? It would be ironic if you caught him on the year date or something.”
“I’ll let you know when we catch him.” Grian chuckled. His hands trembled momentarily as there was something off about Scar’s words. Before he voiced his concern he caught himself. It was late, there was no need to alienate the one cafe owner that let him come in at a time like this. Or his friend, his only real friend outside of his unit.
He was just tired. Yeah that was it.
Scar seemed to read his hesitancy, a smile lighting up his features again. “Oh I have exactly what you need. Stay right here.”
“If this is another one of your pranks I will walk out right now.” Grian threatened, getting halfway out of his chair as if to prove a point. Scar quickly came around the bar, placing his hands on Grian’s shoulders and pushing him down.
“No, none of that.” He brushed his hands nervously across Grian’s soaked jacket. “Just hang on a sec.”
Grian grumbled out his complaints as he waited for Scar. This time was not nearly as patient as before, but he already had his coffee, so that was that. Just as he turned his attention back to the cup, there was a loud thud upstairs.
Grian had worked as a detective long enough to know the sound of someone falling. He rose from his seat immediately, shaking his head at the foolishness of Scar. He had probably fallen in his room, or something like that. Still, it was polite to go and check, so he started up the stairs.
He was halfway through the hallway to Scar’s bedroom when he heard a whimper of pain. It froze his every movement, his heart dropping in his chest. That wasn’t Scar, that was a woman. His eyes shot to the moving light under Scar’s door, then back to the guest room at his side. It was awfully impolite to walk into someone else’s room, but something in his mind was screaming at him to at least check it out. With a measured breath he twisted the knob, silently slipping inside. He only let out the breath when the door pressed close behind him.
Immediately the sound came back, except worse. He couldn't see where it was coming from, the bed in the center of the room blocking his view of half of the space. He kept his steps light as he moved around the room, his back almost pressed to the wall. Only when he saw where the noise originated, did he stop in his tracks. A strange stiffness came over him, paralyzing him, only for a second.
Blood, lots of it. That was the first thing that registered as he stared in absolute shock. The second thing he registered was the panicked movement of the person that said blood was coming from. She tried to move away from him, dragging the pool of dark crimson further across the floor.
He quickly dropped to his knees beside her, the warmth on his legs barely a second thought. His hands hovered above her as he tried to gauge where she was even bleeding from.
“I’m a detective with the London CID unit, I need to know where you’re injured. Can you tell me?” He asked as quietly as he could.
She choked out a small cry of pain, and Grian tilted his head forward to try and understand. Only when he got closer did it all hit him. She couldn’t talk. Her mouth was-
He never saw it coming.
Suddenly a splitting pain erupted in his lower back. He belatedly realized that she hadn’t been crying out in pain. She had been warning him. He tried to twist around to gain reach on his attacker, but the very thought was taken from him as he nearly fainted.
The knife in his back ripped through his skin easily, very obviously sharpened to do so. Despite being actively stabbed, his mind couldn’t help but supply the information to him. He tried to scream out in pain, but all that came out was a dismal groan. The pain gagged him in a way he had never experienced before. He quickly found he didn't like it.
His gun was pulled from its holster before he could say a word. It barely made a noise as it skidded across the floor. The knife was pushed deeper for only a second before it was drawn away completely.
Grian gasped as he was pulled back, his head landing squarely on something softer than the carpeted floor. As he looked up, he realized that he was in someone’s lap. Scar’s lap. Grian’s head rested across his legs as he winced.
Scar was the one holding a gleaming knife. The moonlight coming through the window glinted off the blood dripping from the steel surface. His face was twisted into a crazed grin, animalistic in its own terrifying way. Ever so slowly he pulled his hand to Grian’s cheek, cupping it with warm fingers slick with blood.
“I really hoped that you wouldn’t find this place, but you’re too nosy for your own good my little bird.” Scar said, and his voice was disgustingly sweet. “You’ve forced my hand now, I can’t have you going around and telling all your detective friends who I am.”
The hand on his cheek patted his skin lightly, like one would do with a child. Grian opened his mouth to at least try and call out, but the cold steel of the knife pressed against his lips stopped him. He stared up at Scar in horror, trying to connect him to the killer he now knew he was. It didn’t make sense. It couldn't.
“I’m sure this is all very confusing and whatnot.” Scar mused, almost humming the last of his words. What had once been endearing to Grian was suddenly, absolutely terrifying. Months of conversations with humming and singing were ruined in the span of only seconds. “And maybe I’ll explain in a minute, but I really need to do one thing first.”
The metal that was laying flat against his lips was slowly turned to a point, pressing against the side of where his lips met his skin. A spike of fear coursed through Grian and he reached up to grab at Scar’s face, to maybe scratch his eyes out. The brunet simply laughed, then put pressure on the knife.
Pain. His vision swayed as the knife started to cut through his skin, widening his mouth into the killer’s signature calling card. His attempt at fighting back was forgotten with a wave of pure agony. He screwed his eyes shut, at least wanting to die not looking into the eyes of a man he once considered his friend.
The hand on his cheek was suddenly at his throat, nails digging into his skin.
“Look at me.” Scar growled, the advance of the knife stopping momentarily.
Grian took the chance to clear his thoughts as much as he could, then something lit up in his brain. Scar thought he was completely unarmed.
Just as he opened his eyes, his hand fell to his side. It inched towards his waistband, triumphantly latching onto plastic.
“There we go, those-”
Grian wrenched his hand up, letting the full energy of the taser course through Scar. He felt a small amount of it tense his muscles, but it was nothing compared to what Scar felt. His hand fell from Grian’s face and neck, the knife heavy against the carpet. In the fall it tore through the thin skin of his cheek, curving downward.
Slowly Scar keeled over himself. Grian quickly drew away, adrenaline coursing through him as he reached for his gun. His entire body protested at the movement, screaming out. He could feel himself actively losing blood, but he needed to get to any sort of defense.
Only when his fingers connected with the firearm did he slightly relax. He passed it to his other hand, clenching it tightly in stained fingers. The sight was set on Scar, whose body slowly unwound. The tension from the taser faded, but it returned when he looked down the barrel of the gun.
“You wouldn’t shoot a friend, would you, Grian?” Scar’s voice was raspy, a shadow of its previous self. Grian almost preferred it. It was better than the sickly sweet fakeness of before.
“I can and I will.” Grian’s voice on the other hand was completely steady. Searing pain coursed through him as he spoke, pulling at the unfinished cut at his mouth.
He kept his eyes on Scar as he drew his radio from his belt. Despite still being on the ground, he knew he had the upper hand here. His finger itched on the trigger as he pulled the radio up.
“All units to the Goodtimes Cafe, I found our killer.” He said as he tried to keep from wincing at the pull on his lip. “And bring an ambulance.”
There were responses to his call, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything else. Instead he frowned at the radio momentarily. He had been expecting those words to come with excitement and triumph after a long search. A cheer would have erupted when he finally pinpointed the right person, and an arrest would be made. This had none of those things, except the long search part. The killer he had desperately chased for far too long had practically fallen into his lap.
Worst of all, he had stumbled across the murder in a dark room. It was almost completely luck. No, not almost. Complete dumb luck.
“Do you think you’ll be able to stay awake long enough for your friends to get you?” Scar questioned, his head tilted like it was some sort of game to him. In the dark his eyes gleamed like that of a predator staring down its prey. Maybe he felt he was. “Or even alive? You’re bleeding quite a bit aren’t you?”
“Shut up or I’ll just shoot you right now.” Scar’s eyes seemed to dim as he realized that Grian wasn’t lying. Slowly he raised his hands above his head, a placid sort of expression settling in his features.
“Well it was a good run wasn’t it?” Scar laughed, the sound almost wistful. “You and I?”
Friendship or chase? Grian couldn't tell what he meant, but both had the same answer at the moment.
“Good isn’t how I would describe it, Scar.” Grian hissed through gritted teeth.
It was a strange experience, bleeding out. Every trail of blood on the carpet below was his life slowly draining from him, and that realization alone terrified him. He could feel every time his heart beat more of his blood into convoluted streams, twisting through the fibres of the carpet and mixing with the girl's. Each painful beat reminded him that he was mortally injured.
“How did you find out?” Scar asked. “You were suspicious, otherwise you would have never gone up those stairs.”
He was wrong, painfully wrong. There hadn't been a single doubt in his mind about Scar before. Grian pushed his features into near stillness, not letting Scar see anything. Still, those green eyes seemed to cut through him, it strangely felt so much more frightening than ever before.
“I guess you’ll never know.”
“That’s not very fair.” Scar’s voice betrayed his genuine disappointment at Grian’s words.
“If life was fair I would be in my swimming trunks on a beach far away.” Grian said with a tightness in his throat. “Not bleeding out on a murderer’s floor. Life isn’t fair, Scar, and you don't deserve fair.”
They were silent until the sound of sirens filled the street. The flashing lights outside the window drew his attention for just a moment, and Scar took the opportunity. He leapt like some sort of beast in the night, his hand gripping Grian’s gun.
Despite what he expected, there was no weapon, no fingers going to choke him out. Instead Scar just caressed his cheek softly, hand pressing where the blood had dried on his skin.
“I could have taken you to France.” He whispered, and for the first time all night Grian saw his smile drop.
Just as quickly as he had lunged, he stepped away. When the door was kicked open and lights filled the room, Grian felt all adrenaline leave his system. Through blurry eyes he watched as Scar was forced to his knees and cuffed. Someone knelt beside him, trying to speak, but he couldn’t understand a thing they said. His body slumped down, and his mind went somewhere far away. A sandy beach with a bottle in sun tanned hands.
The world faded to a peaceful black.
◇─◇──◇─◇
Present Day
The coffee was bitter, almost too bitter for him. Still, he had run out of sugar days ago and didn't feel particularly inclined to get some more. He just sucked it up and downed the rest of the black coffee, groaning at the gritty feeling left on his tongue. His brew was always poorly made, yet it was a desperately needed source of energy.
His mug went in the sink without even a wash. He would have to scrub the dark ring left at the bottom later, but that was a task for future Grian. He threw on his jacket as he rushed out the door, only casting a quick look at himself in the mirror. Like always, his reflection made him frown.
The scar drawn down the side of his mouth had turned his expression into that of a permanent grimace. He tongued the inside of his cheek, a motion that had become common practice now. It slid across the hardened scar tissue, the movement barely registering in his brain.
In the corner of the room he could see her. The shadow of a figure reflected back at him in the mirror. He stared at her for a moment, glaring at the impossibly wide smile glowing on her face. Only when he couldn’t handle it anymore did he shift his attention away, and back to his own reflection. She didn’t fade, a dark blot in the corner, lurking.
Finally he tore his eyes away from his grim expression and stepped out onto the streets. He glared at the lock as his key once again decided to get stuck in the metal. After a minute of pulling, he was able to get the door fully locked. The sun barely started to rise over the city, casting previously dark shadows in a warm light.
He stopped by his letterbox, his key a rusted orange. The metallic smell lingered on his fingers even after he opened the box. It squeaked on its hinges, an ear splitting noise so early in the morning.
His heart dropped as he saw what was waiting for him.
Green, the shade of emeralds, or the eyes of someone with the rare color. The envelope was thick, good quality paper. Pressed into the green was a detailed drawing of a cat. It was rather good, it was always good. Grian couldn’t help but scoff as he saw it though.
He didn’t open the envelope, instead tucking it into his jacket pocket. It would soon join the ever growing pile of green letters in his closet. He didn’t exactly want to go back to his flat again though, so it would have to accompany him to work.
With slightly shaky hands he unlocked his bike, pulling the pedals around to comfortably set his feet on. The metal creaked under his weight, having been left out in the rain far too many nights in a row. Droplets from the night before lingered on the metal frame, the liquid reflecting the bright red paint back at him. His fingers hastily found the moisture, wiping it away without a second thought.
Despite it being rather early, the streets were bustling. Grian biked past groups of people crowding into various cafes to get their breakfasts before work. Maybe years ago he would be joining them, but now he made everything he needed at home. Cafes held no appeal to him anymore.
The station was also busier than usual, officers pouring in and out in a steady stream. He kept his head down as he pushed his bike into its stall, locking it with trained movements.
“You’re here late.” He didn’t jump despite the loudness of the voice in his ear. He only blinked after a moment, letting his hands slide away from the lock and to his side. He had placed the footsteps seconds ago when the lip of their shoe had caught on a crack in the sidewalk.
“It really shouldn’t be a surprise at this point.” Grian turned his lips up into what he knew would only be a half grin. “When have I ever been on time?”
An arm slung around his shoulder, hand hitting on his collarbone with the edge of a silver wedding band. Grian rolled his eyes as he turned towards Joel, his annoyance easily read on his features. The other detective only laughed, pulling Grian closer into a slight headlock.
“You were on time yesterday so don't give me any of that.” Another voice sounded from behind them, tone bright.
Both Grian and Joel groaned in exasperation at the chipper attitude of their other partner. Joel released Grian, who playfully rubbed his neck. Jimmy came up behind them, two coffees in his hands. With no ceremony he pressed one into Grian’s outstretched hands, the warmth leaching into his numbed fingers.
“Sorry, something came up today.” Grian sipped at his coffee, grateful for the sweetness that Jimmy added. It almost helped him forget his rotten drink from the morning.
“Is that something you sleeping past your alarm?” Joel teased, pushing his elbow into Grian’s side. He cringed away slightly from the touch.
Instead of answering with words, he dug around in his inner pocket. With a muted breath he produced the green envelope. The two detectives beside him stiffened. Jimmy grabbed it from his tense fingers, sliding his own across the expensive material.
“He still draws on these?” He muttered with a visceral disgust.
“He still sends you these?” Joel snatched the letter from Jimmy with a growl. “He knows you don't even read them right?”
“Yes and yes I would assume so.” Grian frowned as the letter was returned to him. It joined the random paperwork in his pocket again. Maybe if he was lucky he would forget that it even existed and throw it out with the rest when he cleaned his jacket.
He knew he wouldn’t be so lucky. No, he would add it to the pile and stare at it until he couldn’t handle it anymore.
“Fine, you're excused then.” Joel said with a huff, the joking mood from before completely crushed.
Grian tried to grin, feeling the awkward pull of skin on the edge of his lip. Luckily the two understood that he was actually smiling, not trying to give them nightmares.
“I’ll just throw it away like the rest of them.” Grian lied through his teeth, tongue automatically finding the scar as was his habit.
“Good man.” Jimmy clapped his shoulder with a wide smile. They both drank in sync, trying to ignore the tense air.
Grian’s eyes traveled to the CID building, its dull colors and windows strangely lightening his breath. The lift up was dismally lit with a bulb that Grian was sure hadn’t been replaced in all the years he worked there. It flickered randomly, making it hard to read the case notes he balanced loosely on his fingers.
“Got anything good?” Jimmy leaned over his shoulder, eyes scanning the information.
“I think we finally found our guy.” Grian pressed against his eyes with the edge of his knuckles, trying not to spill what was left of his drink. “Going to run it by Martyn today and hopefully we’ll have an arrest tonight.”
“You’re too good at your job, Grian.” Joel grinned, an edge of sarcasm in his tone.
“Oh come off it.”
“I’m not even lying.”
“Yes you are. Don't think I can’t see that cheeky grin.”
“Once again proving your superior detective skills.”
Grian could only shake his head as he stepped from the lift. The carpet below his feet was crusted over, years of awful cleaning jobs apparent in the way it crunched against his sneakers. He paid it no attention, having contributed to more than a few of the stains.
They split off to their relative desks, Grian’s being the messiest of them all. He dropped the papers onto one of his piles, pushing it aside to open his computer. Dozens of tabs from the night before had stayed open, reminding him of what he needed to focus on. His breath came out harshly, a familiar whistle accompanying the noise.
He spent a few hours on his computer, writing up the needed report for Martyn. While he rather enjoyed the investigative side of his job, writing reports always had him wanting to tear his hair from his scalp. Still, he was good at his job, so he typed away at the long winded forms.
Another stack of papers slammed on his desk. He barely looked up, only acknowledging the other person with a slight nod of the head.
“If I have to try and sort through your email and forms one more time, I will lose my mind.” Mumbo’s hands were spread wide across the mess that Grian called a desk. “Just forward me the evidence for void’s sake.”
“But then you’d be out of a job Mr. Jumbo.” Grian leaned onto his hand, smiling innocently up at the analyst.
“My job.” Mumbo pulled at his tie with frustration evident in his eyes. “Is to study patterns and catch criminals in tandem with your evidence.”
He slid into the chair beside Grian, leveling their eyes. His usually neat hair seemed to be falling from its hair tie, black strands hovering over his face.
“I cannot do that, when all the evidence is on your ridiculously cluttered computer and desk.” His hands clenched together as he brought them under his chin.
“Then I wouldn’t have you bothering me at my desk as well.” Grian put in his best impression of a pouting child. His eyes dropped, his lower lip pushing out as far as it could. “I miss you when you hole yourself up in your little analyst room.”
“We get drinks after work at least twice a week!” Mumbo protested.
“Boring.”
Mumbo drew his hands up to his eyes, an exasperated breath leaving him. Grian reached forward and tucked his hair neatly behind his ear, grinning at the way it twisted Mumbo’s expression.
“You’re impossible, Grian.”
“Just admit I’m your favorite and I’ll leave you alone.”
With a huff, Mumbo placed his hand on Grian’s shoulder.
“Alright you’re my favorite. Can you please forward me the information neatly next time?”
He waited until Mumbo was nearly out of ear shot before responding. “I’ll think about it.”
The analyst simply shook his head, shaking his fist at Grian as he left the floor. He chuckled at the distraction like it could somehow keep him from the ever growing pile of work.
He didn’t get far. Another hand was placed on his desk, much gentler than Mumbo. The nails were filed to near perfection, a contrast against the powdery burns on the tips of the fingers.
“I heard you’ve figured out the homicide on Morton?” Martyn was as serious as usual, an impossibly dry tone to his words. The only time Grian ever heard him get riled up was when he was drunk or tired of dealing with his antics, and that was a herculean task on its own. “Are these the reports?”
“Yes I’m almost finished up on them.” Grian tilted his head down slightly in respect, smiling at the scoff it got from Martyn.
“Cut that out.” Martyn flicked the back of his neck, straightening his shoulders. “I may be your superior, but you’ve got seniority.”
“You’re still my boss.”
“And you could’ve been mine years ago.” Martyn sighed as he straightened the reports now in his hands. “Speaking of which, you’ve been offered another promotion, this time-”
“I don't want it.” Grian snapped as he forced his hands into stillness on his keyboard. “Tell them no.”
“It’s been three years, Grian.” Martyn’s voice was coming the closest it could to pleading. “Are you sure you don't even want to entertain the idea of it?”
“I’m completely sure.” The scar across his back burned at the mention of time passed. His pocket was suddenly heavy with the weight of whatever awful words had been written in that stupid letter. “I enjoy my job now, no need to make a change.”
“Some change might be good.”
“Not this change.”
His tone was final like a death shot. The air almost reflected it, a stiff silence as Martyn thumbed through his reports.
“Whatever you say detective.” Martyn finally sighed as he tucked the reports under his arm. “Joel requested a second on a new crime scene discovered a bit ago. I told him I’d send backup. Address has already been texted to you.”
“You’re the best!” Grian exclaimed as he sprung from his chair, the animosity from before dashed.
◇─◇──◇─◇
There was an exhilaration bubbling through him that came out in the form of his shaky limbs. He had to calm himself enough to read the address in small text on his screen. It was within walking distance, so he didn’t even try to unlock his bike.
People shied out of his path, but he didn’t take much offense. He was sure he looked rather terrifying. His scarred skin and pace would throw almost anyone off. He had grown used to the staring and slightly scared expressions long ago.
His jacket whipped behind him as he ran like a dramatic protagonist. He couldn’t help but snicker at the thought. He was the furthest thing from a protagonist, probably only a side character in the long run.
The crime scene was recognizable enough. Flashing lights and the start of tape alerted him to the exact building it was in. Bonnington Square, interesting. Committing a crime so close to the police station was one thing, but in this part of town it was bold. The flat was a pale yellow, the bricks slowly fading into white.
He noted the color on his pad, stepping around the building to write anything of interest. Nothing particularly caught his eye. Once bored of loitering around the front, he finally turned to head inside. A simple flash of his badge and a nod granted him access to the flat.
He slipped plastic covers onto his shoes, neglecting the gloves they provided him. He had his own package in his jacket that wouldn’t give him a nasty rash for days after.
It was split into two floors, a steep staircase leading to the smaller flat upstairs. All the commotion seemed to be coming from there, so he started up the wooden steps. A few creaked on his way up, which he noted with muted interest.
Before he could enter the main room, he was stopped by two hands on his shoulders. He looked up to meet Joel’s eyes, and was surprised to find something close to panic in them. The hands gripping his shoulders squeezed a little harder than what was considered normal or friendly.
“I don't think you should come in for this one, Grian.” His usually flushed skin was deathly pale. Not a single case they had worked on together had done that to him before. Except one.
“I can handle gore better than you Beans.” Grian slowly pulled himself away from Joel’s grasp, straightening the lines of his jacket.
“It’s not gore. I should have asked for Jim on this one.” Joel pulled a hand across his face as if to wipe blood back into his system and return the blush to his cheeks. “Trust me when I say that you don't want to see it.”
“Joel.” He fixed Joel with a dead stare as he stepped to his side. “How about I take a look, and if I decide to bow out I’ll call Jimmy myself.”
They locked into a staring war. Neither of them wanted to break, but as usual, Joel did first. He wiped tears from his newly watering eyes. Usually it would be accompanied with a smile and complaint about his loss, but all he did was frown at the ground.
“I’m holding onto you then.”
Grian couldn’t reason out the request, but nodded anyway. Joel latched onto his right arm, making it rather difficult to write. Still he pulled his pen into place and entered the room.
He realized why Joel had wanted him to stay back with sudden clarity.
The first thing that hit him was the smell. Despite years of experience it was still like a hit right to the senses. It took Grian a few filtered breaths to even be able to start his job.
The body was positioned on its back, hands resting over the heart. It was a man, early thirties, if Grian had to take a quick guess. His hair was a dyed blond, brown showing through the roots near his bangs. There was no blood surrounding him, not a drop spilling in the floor despite some rather obvious wounds. Grian felt himself take a step back as his eyes found his face. His lips were cut at the sides, a disturbing smile stretching to each ear even in death. Joel’s hand was steady on his arm as he appraised the scene with fresh eyes.
With measured steps he forced himself in front of the body. Flashes of dozens of bodies just like the one before him crossed his mind as he stared down at him.
“Believed cause of death?” His voice barely shook despite the painful emotion twisting through him.
“Deep laceration across abdomen.” The pathologist kneeled beside the body, making a cutting motion across the stomach. Just beyond him, the photographer snapped photos of every surface available. “Based on the surrounding tissue it is believed that the wounds sustained on the mouth and around the heart were inflicted later.”
“Heart?” Grian asked, mouth as dry as a desert on the hottest day in summer.
“Yes, heart.” The pathologist leaned over the body and pulled the shirt up to reveal something that made Grian’s knees weak. “They cut out his heart.”
Grian turned to find Joel’s stoic face. The other detective’s hands were clenched into his own jacket. He didn’t look at the body at all, instead looking at how Grian reacted.
“Copycat killer?” The two words were all that Joel needed to understand.
“I believe so, but it’s a well informed one.” Joel finally turned to the body, bending his knees slightly to point at the ground. “The public was never told about the suspicious lack of blood around the victim. Not to mention, the cuts are practically identical, surgical.”
“The missing heart is new though.” Grian finally trusted his legs enough to step around the body. The pathologist was still studying the wounds, marking off notes of his own.
The pen in Grian’s hand felt as heavy as lead. It was a struggle to pull it from under his thumb and write the words he had dozens of times before. Laceration stretching from ear to ear, running through mouth.
His eyes flicked away from the victim’s face, which was a harder task than expected. It took everything in him to not to raise a hand to his own scar. Instead he wrote everything about the clothes and appearance of the victim.
Falling into the routine of doing a regular investigation helped him stay on his feet. His pen tapped nervously against the pad as he circled the room. There wasn’t much that caught his eye, but there usually wasn’t. All the things that stood out would come to him in a few days when he stayed up far too late to pore over the photos.
“This feels exactly like we’re looking at another one of his victims.” Joel whispered near Grian, who had stopped to study a bookshelf.
“I know.” Grian pressed a frown back, instead scribbling a few things down about the contents of the books. “We’ve had copycats before, but none this close.”
The Goodtimes Killer had stirred up quite a following when he was sentenced to sixteen consecutive life sentences. A number of copycat killers had sprung up over the last three years, trying to recreate the fame of the smiling killer. They were all caught easily, and none held a candle to the Goodtimes Killer’s media popularity.
“Do you think he’s having someone do this for him?”
“Impossible.”
“We have to entertain the possibility.” Joel swept his fingers across the book titles. He frowned at the suspicious lack of dust. That too, mirrored a pattern he knew intimately. “I hate to say it, but this is way too similar to be someone that looked the case up on the internet.”
“It could be someone who got access to our files though.” Grian pondered aloud, pressing his finger against a familiar book. “They cleaned the room. No dust, clothes, or any mess really.”
“Unless our victim had cleaned recently, that could be the work of our killer.” Joel theorized. His gaze was sharp, that of a trained detective in his element. “Are you writing that down?”
“I write everything down.”
Grian had to swallow back the bile steadily rising in his throat. Being turned away from the body made it easier to act like it was any other murder site. The second he saw that face again, he didn't know if he could keep himself on his feet.
Almost like a gift from the void, his phone started to ring. He motioned to it once and eagerly took the chance to get out of the room. Once out of the room he stripped his gloves off, his palms clammy with sweat.
It smudged against his screen as he answered the call, leaving a line of oil where his thumb once was. His fingers were slick against his case as he pressed it to his ear.
“Hello? Grian speaking.”
There was only silence on the other end of the line. Grian rolled his eyes at the spam call, annoyed at how bad the timing was. He did appreciate the break from the stuffiness of the room though, so maybe it wasn’t the worst thing to happen.
“Hello? Who is this?”
All he could hear was breathing. It was slightly uneven, catching when Grian spoke again. He quickly hung up, dropping the phone to his side. How annoying.
Instead of going back to the victim, he sat himself on the top stair. His hands cradled his face as he finally let himself take the first deep breath he could since being in the room. All pretenses of being calm left him as he dropped his head onto his knees.
His fist slammed onto the wood of the staircase, the crack of his knuckles against the surface grounding him just enough. His mind swirled with thoughts like a coastal storm crashing through houses and buildings alike. Not a single thought could be picked from the madness that was his head. So he simply didn’t try.
Instead he let his arms hang limply across his knees as a platform to rest his head. As always, he found the inside of his scar and pressed his teeth tightly against it. If the killer had his way all those years ago, Grian’s face would have mirrored that of the body on the floor only metres away.
He would have also been dead. But that was a whole different train of thought he didn’t want to tackle, ever.
Grian listened to Joel’s familiar footsteps as they left the room. Instead of pestering Grian to join him, he dropped to the stairs with a heavy thud.
“I heard you talking with someone in there.” Grian didn’t lift his head from the dark safety he had created for himself. “Any more ideas?”
When Joel didn’t answer, he knew something was wrong. Joel would take the chance to fill any empty air, even if it was with a degrading joke attempt. Silence wasn’t like him.
Slowly Grian raised his head, waiting for some sort of bad news. He wasn’t expecting a deathly fear to be spread over Joel’s features. His stomach dropped before a single word even left the detective’s mouth.
“Grian, can I see that letter?” Joel’s hands were trembling, like a tree being blown viciously in the winds. It wasn’t even his hands alone, his entire core was shaking, the wind strong enough to move the trunk.
“Why? Joel-” His friend didn’t dare look at him in the eyes as he spoke. “Joel please tell me what this is about.”
“I promise I will, Martyn wants to know what Scar wrote in that letter though.”
The name was like a punch to the gut. Grian hadn’t dared utter it in years, almost like the mere mention would give the killer some sort of power. It did snap him into action though. He tentatively pulled the letter from his pocket and glared at the ridiculously detailed drawing.
“Why does Martyn need to know?”
To Joel’s credit, he didn’t take the paper from Grian. Instead he watched as Grian broke the seal himself. It almost pained him, he hadn’t opened one of them in a very long time. Despite the thrumming of his heart in his chest, he kept his hands steady enough to peel what remained stuck to the adhesive.
He delayed opening it for another moment, taking a second to filter his breaths through clenched teeth. The paper inside was a pristine white, lined like a student’s. His breath caught in sync with Joel’s as he moved to unfold it and reveal whatever writing awaited him.
Grian,
I miss you. Do you miss me? I assume not, otherwise you would have visited me long ago. You won’t have to worry about that for long though. I should be seeing you very soon.
I hope you enjoy the gift I brought you. I thought it was quite special.
-Scar
“What does this mean Joel?” His voice was on the edge of hysteria, breaking on the last syllable. “You know what it means don't you?”
Silence. It was unnerving, especially after reading the words still clenched in his hands. He had a feeling he knew what Joel was going to say, but he needed the confirmation first.
“Scar Goodtimes, he-” Joel looked away for a moment before steeling his gaze back on Grian’s. “He escaped prison early this morning.”
No.
“Nobody could even tell because he massacred almost all the guards and staff.”
This couldn’t be happening.
“Apparently he had help from the inside. They say it was a guard, but he must have killed them too.”
Joel’s words became nothing but static in his ears as he stared down at the paper. I should be seeing you very soon. He was coming back for Grian.
Of course he was.
The buzzing in his pocket returned, and it was the same number as before. Grian abandoned the paper on the ground as he rose to his feet. Joel’s voice in his ear only got louder, but he couldn’t hear a single thing. He brought the phone to his face again, not even introducing himself. He knew who was waiting on the other end now. The breathing was almost excited this time.
“Scar.”
Joel stopped at that, waiting on bated breath for Scar’s response. He was basically hanging off of Grian’s shoulder, ear pressed against Grian’s fingers.
“You changed shoes.” Grian’s entire core shook at the voice. His every movement stopped as his hands clenched the phone as tightly as he could manage. “It’s a shame, I liked the leather. They probably weren’t very good for running though.”
He tried to say something, anything, but the words were caught in his throat.
There wasn’t even a chance for him to, as the call disconnected. The distant tone settled in his ears as his vision blurred. He didn’t even feel his knees hit the ground, only realizing it when Joel crouched beside him.
The phone dropped from his hands, joining him on the floor with a muted thud. On the screen was the number from before, taunting him.
A shadowy figure crossed the room into his vision and kneeled next to him. The bright white of her smile burned through his eyes even as he closed them, and he shuddered.
He absentmindedly wondered how long it would take Scar to kill him.