Story: It all began with Toby Shaw. Early one cold and grey Seattle morning, twenty one year old Toby Shaw's body is found murdered in his apartment. When another body turns up not long after, the people of the peaceful little college town are no longer safe. Who could be responsible for these hideous crimes? Who will be next? No one knows. But one thing they know for sure is that no one is safe. Setting: Modern day Seattle Characters: (keep in mind, this is a serial killer plot and your character can end up being a victim. If that happens, you can just make another character.) Name: Age: Job/occupation: Appearance: Personality: History: Rules: Rule # 1 keep all drama IC, pretty please. We're all here to have fun, so let's make sure it stays fun.
Toby Shaw woke up alone, feeling hazy and unsure of how he'd ended up at home in his living room. His dark hair was messy and matted to his skin in damp waves and his bright green eyes were bloodshot. Curling up under the soft warm blanket, he tugged it up over one naked shoulder, a livid purple bruise disappearing from view as he did. He'd been nothing short of a train wreck at that party and he had the bruises to show for it. Tossing back shot after shot until he couldn't even stand up straight. Until he could barely see. His friends had hovered around him, clinging to his arms to keep him upright. They'd been laughing at first. Watching him stagger around, laughing too loudly and dancing wildly. The night had gone sour after he'd fallen face first into a solid wooden table top with jarring force, leaving an angry looking bruise above his right eye. They'd stopped laughing after that. It was obvious that Toby was dangerously drunk. The night ended like this: Toby, too drunk to even see straight, ended up in the swimming pool where he sank like a brick. With limbs that seemed unable to function, he flailed and struggled as he sank beneath the shockingly cold water, his lungs burning and his vision growing dim. Then the frantic voices of his friends fading in and out as they rolled him over to his side while he coughed up pool water, shivering and gasping. He rolled over on his front, lifted himself onto his elbows and puked up a lung full of chlorinated water and sick before he finally passed out. Toby awoke an hour later, sprawled on the soft couch in his living room, lying on his side, one arm dangling over the edge of the couch. His hair was still slightly damp from his sudden dip in the pool and he still felt slightly chilled. He had a blanket draped over his slight frame and was dressed in a pair of flannel pajama bottoms. Micah, one of Toby's best friends, had been the one to drive him home from the party and had been the one to take care of Toby while he was passed out in the backseat of his car. He'd dragged him from the car, barely conscious and soaking wet and had deposited him on the couch, wrapping him in a blanket and dressing him in a fresh pair of pajama pants. Toby didn't remember being sick all over Micah's back seat but he felt bad about it either way. He'd have to apologize to him for that. Toby glanced at the digital clock on the coffee table. It read 1:55 AM, though he couldn't really read the numbers. Thankfully, tomorrow was Saturday. No way he'd be able to sit through his classes in the state he was going to be in. He was already struggling to keep up in his classes as it was. His Engineering professor had pulled him aside the other day to inform him that he was failing the class. His English grade was sinking day by day and the work was continuing to pile up on him. He'd been doing fine all year. But then he'd gotten preoccupied. He was terrified of being alone. Being alone meant being alone with his own thoughts. So he distracted him self the best he could with taking nice girls to bed for cheap meaningless sex. They were nice girls and Toby Shaw was campus king. They believed him when he told them he cared for them, only to be completely blindsided when he threw them aside like nothing. It was cruel. It was heartless. Toby wasn't proud. But he would not let another person make him feel ashamed. He'd spent too many years of his life letting his father treat him like he wasn't worth anything. He'd never been struck and his father never really said anything overtly cruel to him. But he knew he was a disappointment. When Toby was fifteen he was diagnosed as dyslexic. He remembered the flicker of disappointment in his father's cold, impassive eyes as he listened to the school guidance counselor using words like accommodations and resources. But his father's eyes just said stupid, stupid, stupid, fucking disappointment, fucking failure. His stomach lurched violently and suddenly and he clamped his hands over his mouth and bolted for the bathroom stumbling all the way. After five minutes spent slumped over the toilet being violently ill, Toby fell back against the wall, feeling spent. His head swam and he let it fall back against the wall with a soft thump and closed his eyes. He sat and breathed, blissfully unaware of the fact that he was drawing what may very well have been his last breaths, his heart ticking down the minutes before it beat its final beats. The sound of soft footfalls on the hardwood floor of his bed room caused his eyes to snap open. "Mica'?" He slurred. "Mica, 's that you?" He called clambering to his feet and leaning heavily against the wall for support. Silence. Why wasn't Micah answering? "Micah?!" He called, feeling vaguely annoyed now. He hated being ignored. He scowled, and ran a hand through his dark hair and began to pick his way down the pitch black hall way. Poking his head inside the bedroom, he squinted into the darkened room. Silence. The room was empty. He must have been hearing things. He laughed aloud and shook his head at himself. Over active imagination. He turned away from the door, bashing his shoulder on the door jamb as he did so. He fell twice and slammed his knee into the coffee table on his slow trek back to the living room, muttering to himself. Throwing himself face first onto the couch, he sighed contentedly into the soft fabric of the cushions, rolling over onto his side. Eyes closed, he felt the sensation of a hand gently stroking his cheek, the touch feather soft. "Mica?" He mumbled, brows furrowing slightly in confusion. Blinking his bleary eyes open slowly, he rolled over on his back. The pain came out of no where and his eyes flew open, body jolting forward. A sharp ripping agony seized his abdomen and he felt alight with pain and shock as he choked, his hands clutching his suddenly bleeding stomach, he glanced down at his hands, they were coated in a thick dark substance. Blood. His blood. Dear God, he'd been stabbed. He wanted to scream but the air wouldn't come. He rolled clumsily off the couch, feeling the hot sticky warmth of blood beginning to spill from the wound in his gut, his hands leaving bloody smears on the floor. His lungs heaved painfully, as he gasped for air that he couldn't seem to get. Stabbed. Stabbed. Who? Who did this I'm dying I'm dying help me help me, ran through his mind in a terrified litany, the words coming in time with his frantic heartbeat. He'd been stabbed. In his own home. It wasn't possible. This kind of stuff just didn't happen. He crawled on his hands and knees, whimpering as he did. Unable to hold himself up any more, he collapsed on his front and tried to drag himself across the floor, sobbing in pain and terror. Blood streaked across the floorboards as he moved. He just had to make it to the door. It wasn't far. Just the door. Then he was safe. He was almost there. A pair of strong hands grabbed his leg suddenly and fighting desperately to get away, he felt hands on his shoulder, flipping him over on his back. He could see the dark flashing eyes of his attacker, hair falling over their eyes in a curtain as they straddled him. He was helpless. The knife came down again. Desi knew he shouldn't have gone to that party. He knew that nothing good would come of it. School was absolutely kicking his ass lately and he was way behind in his studying. His best friends were idiots and his mom was trying to enter his life again. The first issue he could deal with. No problem. However the other part was a bit more difficult. Last night, he'd gone with some friends to a party at one of the frat houses and Desi, against his better judgement, had decided to go. His friends were wasted by the end of the night. His best friend Toby had been so drunk he'd fallen in the swimming pool and nearly drowned. He'd been fine, they hadn't had to do CPR on him but it had brought up some bad memories for Desi. All he could think of when he looked at him was the time his own mother had fallen down the stairs of their old apartment, her dark hair matted with blood and the smell of whiskey coming off her in waves. Des? Des? Where are you swee' heart? Mama's had a bit of a fall. Come on over and help me up. He'd never forgotten the sight of her lying on the floor, smiling up at him with her lipstick smeared bleeding mouth. It hurt to remember his mom that way. The same way it had hurt to see Toby self destructing, smiling the same smile he'd seen on his mother's lips all those years ago. He glanced at the alarm clock on his nightstand. 4:45 in the morning. He could hear his room mate, Travis, moving around in the next room getting ready to go to work. He had barely slept, his mind racing with thoughts of his mom, thoughts he hadn't had in years. He hated thinking about her. He loved his mom. That would never change. But it was too hard for him to let go of the pain she'd caused him. Too hard for him to forgive. He wished he'd never gone to that stupid party and dredged up so many awful memories. Travis had already left for work when Desi made his way into the kitchen and grabbed a bagel. It was still early and the faintest beams of sunlight filtered in through the blinds. With a mug of steaming black coffee balanced in one hand a bagel slathered in cream cheese in the other, he seated himself at one of the kitchen chairs with a tired sigh. Morning saw him dressed in the clothes he'd fallen asleep in: a red flannel shirt and a pair of nondescript black jeans. He'd gotten in from the party at twelve and had spent most of the time adding the finishing touches to his sociology essay, only to find he couldn't focus on it at all. He'd ended up passing out sometime after two. Biting off a piece of the bagel and chewing it slowly, he ran a hand through his dark hair. He was exhausted. It was a struggle just to keep his eyes open. Despite this and all the bad feelings from last night, he was actually feeling pretty good this morning. It was a Saturday and he had the day off from work. Meaning he had plenty of time to catch up on getting some rest. Downing the last of his coffee, he stood and carried his plate and mug to the sink. Zeppelin, the two year old chihuahua he'd adopted last year was barking in the hallway, demanding to be fed, the sounds bouncing off the walls of the narrow hallway. Dropping his dishes in the sink he turned and moved towards the sound with a tired smile. "Hey bud, what's up?" He murmured, crouching down next to the small dog who bounced excitedly towards him, yipping happily. "How's it goin', little guy?" He crooned softly, picking up the small dog and carrying him into the kitchen, chuckling softly. After feeding Zep, he grabbed his motorcycle helmet from off the kitchen counter and headed out to where his bike was parked. The sun was finally coming out, the bright beams of light peeking out through the clouds and he felt his good mood lift even more. Going down the steps to the lower parking lot of the building he hummed softly to himself as he jogged over to his bike and straddled it. Toby's apartment felt like home. It represented safety, security and warmth. There weren't many people Desi could say felt like home. But Toby did. Desi had never expressed that sentiment out loud for fear of being misunderstoood. It was simple, really. When he was around Toby, it didn't matter that he wasn't as popular or smart as all the other boys his age. It didn't matter that his grandparents had barely scrapped together enough money to put him through college. None of that mattered because Toby loved him for who he was. Toby, who all the girls gaped at for his lean muscled body and vibrant green eyes and chiseled jaw. Toby was more than a face and his father's money. Toby was the best fucking person in the world. No one understood Desi like Toby did. Toby was the one Desi ran to when things were bad, when everyone seemed to be against him. Toby's apartment was surprisingly modest for someone who came from such a wealthy family. The building was an old brownstone that looked a bit delapidated from the outside; the steps leading inside always looked like they were about to crumble. Toby had paid most of it off himself, never really wanting to rely on his father's money to get by when he could do it himself. Standing in front of Toby's door, Desi lifted a hand and knocked once, running a hand through his hair as he waited for Toby to answer. He didn't. The seconds ticked by and he wondered if maybe Toby wasn't even home. After a solid one whole minute of waiting, Desi knocked again. He's probably still sleeping. It's still really early. Rolling his eyes, he grasped the door knob in his hand and turned it, pushing the door open. "Tobes? You here? It's Des." The door creaked open slowly and he frowned as his eyes struggled to see in the darkened apartment. "Tobes?" He called stepping inside. The apartment was quiet. Almost frighteningly so. Toby's apartment was never this quiet. He glanced around the room, squinting at the darkness. Where the hell was Toby? He stepped forward, fumbling for the light switch on the wall. Flipping on the light, he felt all the air leave his lungs at the sight in front of him. "No. No. No. No. No. Oh God, No." Toby lay on the floor, green eyes half mast, naked to his waist, his body broken from too many stab wounds to count. Desi felt something inside him break and splinter into a million little jagged pieces as he raced towards his best friend. Every inch of his body was caked with blood and vicious looking stab wounds littered his frame. One arm had been so completely shredded that it was barely attached anymore. Toby was limp as a rag doll, green eyes half open and staring ahead as Desi took him in his numb arms. "Oh God. Oh God. This isn't happening. No. No. No. No. No. Toby. Toby. Please. Please" he wasn't sure if he was screaming but he couldn't breathe. CHEATER was carved in angry scrawling letters on Toby's chest and Desi clutched the cooling body in his arms, the skin around it caked in so much blood that all he could see was red, hardly any of Toby's natural skin tone shone through. He knew Toby was dead. He could see all of Toby's insides but he pressed his ear to Toby's ruined chest, thinking about his wonderful amazing beautiful friend who could maybe miraculously survive this because he was Tobias fucking Shaw and he could survive anything. People survived crazy unbelievable things every day. He searched desperately for a pulse that he knew he wouldn't find. "Toby?" He choked, gasping, cradling his friend's face in his hands. You're not supposed to touch the body. His vision was getting fuzzy at the edges and he felt as though he couldn't get air. His hands didn't feel like his own as they pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed the only number he could think of at the moment. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he needed to call 911 but he was in shock. What was he supposed to say in a situation like this? Hello, 911? My friend's dead. I just found him like this but I didn't kill him. How long had he been here, clinging to his best friend's lifeless body? How long had it been since he'd turned on the lights to find Toby dead on the floor like a broken toy?
Tremaine wasn't a seasoned drinker, so his slight binge costed him his inhibitions during and most certainly after the party. All worth it as yet again he made a splash in the Sea of names that dropped by for shots and sluts. Waking up to a couple bros that bumped the wall outside his room, probably horseplaying, he sat up too fast and lost focus of the room's landmarks. He closed his eyes and rested the back of his head against the headboard a moment, inhaling deeply, then shot putting a breath before slowly opening them again to snag a solid visual of his mini fridge. Water will be his most trusted ally on his quest to go into a good morning. Get up, bruh. He kicked his shoes to the side after stepping on one, then made his way to the fridge. "Shit", he mumbled, groggy from the party last night. Though a short distance, the absence of balance tacked on a few extra ticks, as he bumped into the door when he lost his footing. He pried open the door and fished out a Crystal Geyser. He nearly downed half the bottle and slammed the fridge door, with his eyes closed. "Hmm...", hummed a voice that made Tremaine jump a little, causing him to drop his bottle before he could put the top back on. It came from the bed. "Shit", he blurted slightly louder than his first obscenity for the morning. He grabbed another water out of the fridge, then grabbed a dirty t-shirt and placed it on the spill. Was that the only spill he made? Who was this girl in his bed? He mentally ran through the pages of his little black book, then remembered he didn't want to go to the party with anyone that night, in case his crush decided to attend the festivities. Was it her? A grin snuck up on his face. He only took a rest stop in ecstasy, then curiosity booked him on the first thing smoking back to reality. He went back to the bed to wake up whomever this lucky lady was. She laid face down in the pillow, only her right arm and head were out of the blanket. He sat on the bed and gave her a gentle nudge on the shoulder to wake his sleeping beauty. "Hey", he softly spoke into her ear. "Want some water?" He playfully pressed the cold water bottle to her exposed arm, which woke the mystery girl up with a moan. He chuckled at her jerking out of her rest, then he saw her face. It was Kenzie. Not his crush, but one who crushed on another, so he thought. He didn't know her well, but they had a class together, so he at least recognized her. Wasn't she on Toby's nuts? What the fuck happened at that party?!
Upon awakening, Kenzie's first thought was: ow ow ow, my head. My head is exploding, dear God can someone turn off the sun!? Kenzie didn't usually go to parties and she certainly didn't get drunk. Her eyes slowly fluttered open and she uttered a weak groan, struggling to lift her head from the pillow. Her head felt fuzzy and already the details of the pleasant dream she'd been having were fading. It had probably been about Toby. Weren't her dreams always about Toby? "T-Tremaine?" she stammered, back pressed against the head board and bed sheet wrapped around her naked frame, face burning with embarrassment. What the actual hell had happened at that party? How had she ended up in bed with Tremaine Wilson? She barely knew him. She didn't get drunk at parties and hook up with guys she barely knew. There was a commotion of sort coming from outside the room, loud voices going back and forth, excited and upset voices. What's going on out there?" Sure, Tremaine. I'll have some water" she sighed. Because seriously. Hangovers were actual hell. How could people actually go out of their way to get drunk when this was the end result?
He handed Kenzie the unopened bottle of water then grabbed his phone to check his email and social media. He was tagged in several photos and video clips from the party. The list ranged from popular kids, to campus visitors, to the earliest set of groupies he'd encounter in his athletic career. He noticed that the hot teacher's assistant to Professor Sherman, Monica, took a rather naughty flick with him too. Nice, Tremaine said to himself before remembering his present company. He put his phone away and addressed Kenzie, who might've been a little out of her element right now. "Soooo...", he started up. "How are we this morning?"
She took the water Tremaine handed her and opened it, taking a long swallow, the cold water soothing her dry throst ever so slightly. Tremaine seemed temporarily occupied with something on his phone. No doubt looking at coverage from the party on social media. Running her fingers through her long brown hair in an attempt to smooth out the tangled mess, she spotted her clothes strewn across the floor in a heap. "I'm ok. How are you?" She winced internally. Dear God, why did every word that came out of her mouth have to sound so dorky? No wonder Toby wasn't interested in her. She dressed quickly, feeling exposed and embarrassed in her brown leather mini skirt and silky pink top that showed off far more skin than she was comfortable with. Collecting her purse from the floor, she said quick goodbye to Tremaine and began her hasty retreat back to her place. The early morning sunshine left her blinking dazedly as she walked. Last night's actions were so out of character for her. She felt as though she was a completely different person. Like today was the first day of her brand new life as a brand new Kenzie. Brand new Kenzie. She liked the sound of that. A new Kenzie who smiled and flirted easily, dressed in short skirts and crop tops and didn't care if people stared. No longer would she feel stuck in the shadows of her sisters. Her phone had been going off non stop the moment she stepped through the door. "Lauren?" She called to her room mate, glancing around the living room. Her phone vibrated for what had to be the fifth time in ten seconds since she'd stepped through the door. "Ok. Ok. Jeez" she muttered, opening her purse she pulled out her cell phone and unlocked it. 9 text messages and 5 missed calls? She felt a small bubble of panic begin to swell up in her chest. Something had to have happened. "TURN ON THE NEWS " her friend, Emily wrote. Feeling another jolt of confusion and fear, Kenzie seated herself in front of the television and picked up the remote to flip to the news. BREAKING NEWS: BODY OF LOCAL STUDENT, TOBIAS SHAW DISCOVERED IN HIS APARTMENT EARLY THIS MORNING.
Damn she left quick, but she was wearing a mini skirt, baby. "Gold star for the good girl", he thought as his eyes wrapped around her curves, ever so closely shadowing her as she abruptly left his room. This chick had nothing to be ashamed of, too bad she didn't know it yet. He picked up his phone again to check his texts, emails and social media more attentively. He noticed a text from an unsaved number, with Kenzie's name in it. He also saw a couple texts and emails from some alumni about a charity event tonight. Once he checked his Instagram page, the Toby Shaw hashtag had blown up like C-4, at least amongst his campus friends and followers. Wait a minute, that says #riptobyshaw. Tre clicked a couple pages to discover that Toby died, but nothing described how. "Damn", said Tremaine. Toby was a popular kid, much like himself, attracting attractive people and hitting big in the party scene. He didn't know much else about him. They ran in some of the same circles, occasionally exchanging fist bumps and taking shots, and taking a few photos with the hot women. He made a couple posts on various websites to show respect for Toby, then began to wash up.
On an early Saturday afternoon, as the bright sun was boasting about his welcoming beams above the cloudless blue sky, Paul opened his eyes to the sound of the TV and he was stifling. The stickiness of his skin sticked to the leather sofa and he stood up sweating. He did not pay attention to the TV and he went by the window to take a peek at the hectic street that lied 4 stories downstairs. The first thing his watery eyes saw through the dirty windowpanes was clustering clouds and it was dark and ominous. He opened the window to check if it was starting to rain but, much to his surprise, it was not. On the contrary, the beaming sun and the monochromatic sky suddenly sneaked into his apartment and the black clouds where nowhere to be seen. When his senses slowly started to perceive reality again, he finally noticed he forgot to turn off the TV. He overheard Alicia Serrano on King 5 talking about the brutal death of a student but when he got closer, it was Travis Pittman talking about the Seahawks’ playoff position. What was this all about? Paul stepped out of his living room and went into the kitchen. He turned the radio on and it was Dave Ross on Kiro and all he heard was Trump, North Korea, Choice, Trump, Iran, Life, Trump, Las Vegas, Tax Cuts, Trump, Puerto Rico, Local governments and finally he went back to sleep. He dreamt of a flying mushroom-headed trump drifting in the air and dropping one dollar bills over Puerto Rico before landing on the wooden floor of his bedroom and delivering the bleeding body of Tobias Shaw with a football helmet. The sight of this fictitious picture in his mind-eye woke him up. He started to feel pins and needles all over his body as his heart was pumping faster and stronger. He was trembling. He clenched his jaw so as not to pass out. He did it so hard that he broke one teeth, then another. Thirty seconds later, the whole set of teeth was crumbling into his mouth and he couldn’t take the pieces out and he woke up again with a start and another anxiety attack. Hours later, Paul was working in his study. He did not remember well what happened earlier. His mind was used to it and overlooking was better than overthinking. He was writing a book called The Mourning Room. It was about Luke, a young mass murderer and a sculptor by trade, who had lost his twin. Luke was unable to cope with his loss and, as a consequence, he started sculpting a perfect reproduction of his beloved brother, but with fresh human body parts. After an hour of delving into his most sorrowful and fond memories, Paul decided to take a break and enjoy a cigarette under the hot and glaring sun. When he reached the window, he noticed the TV screen was on and it was still King 5. It displayed the following news: BREAKING NEWS: BODY OF LOCAL STUDENT, TOBIAS SHAW, DISCOVERED IN HIS APARTMENT EARLY THIS MORNING. Paul was apathetic. He was not surprised as if nothing could reach him anymore. When he understood this, his first thoughts were about his lack of self-expression, his awareness of externals and his self-centeredness. He knew Tobias quite well. He was his English Professor after all. He grew even fond of him and his brittle excentricity. He understood why he needed to be so sociable and why failing his exams was a necessity. He wanted to help him forget and move on. At least that was it, he was released. Paul spent the rest of his day on social medias looking for his student’s accounts. He read all the messages left on Tobias’s Facebook page. It seamed both natural and phoney, he believed, to read the fond recollections of siblings and strangers, friends and enemies and even automatic messages generated by the media itself. Nonetheless, what struck him was that Tobias was still alive on Facebook. Paul kept on doing this for hours, smoking dozens of cigarettes, scratching his elbows and legs. Finally the pins were here once again, but stronger. It was different and he could not control the gusts.
45 minutes after Desi found the body of his dead best friend and made that frantic phone call to his confused room mate, he was watching Toby's body being placed in a body bag. One of the officers on the scene, a middle aged red haired woman with a hard, frowning mouth and deep set green eyes, had gently pulled him away from Toby's body with gentle but firm hands and ushered him into a corner while the men worked. She called him "Hun" and "sweetheart" in a voice that said she was used to employing it on traumatized 19 year old kids. He watched the men lift Toby up and into the black bag with surprising delicacy as though they were afraid of hurting him more than he'd already been hurt. He choked back a small cry and tried to move towards them. Don't. Please. Don't put him in there. The woman grasped his arm while he struggled. "Hey, hey, sweetie. Just stay here with me, alright? It's alright. Just take a breath, sweetie" The woman murmured, her hand softly stroking his shoulder soothingly. "Hey John?" Red head called to one of the men, glancing at Desi's bloody hands. "Kid's got blood all over him, I'm gonna go have the medics take a look at him." She started to lead Desi away and Desi felt something in him shatter and he jerked his arm free, panicked and trying to move towards Toby again. "No! No! Please. Please! Don't!" Desi strained desperately in the surprised woman's arms, feeling her soft powdery hands on his arms as she pulled him away, locking her arms around his torso and keeping him restrained. He wasn't sure what he was trying to tell them not to do. Not to take him to the medics or not to take Toby away? "Hun, listen to me, listen, It's alright. It's alright." John, the man red headed cop had been speaking to, glanced over at Desi and the woman, heavily lined face full of sympathy. "Watch it. His arm..." his partner cautioned, eyes on Toby's mutilated arm. The arm, which had slipped loose and was dangling limply to the ground, was barely holding on. The man paled and quickly grasped it gently in his hands, trying to keep the limb attached. Please, Desi found himself thinking, please don't hurt him anymore. The men carefully folded Toby's arms over his chest, the process painstaking and slow, the mangled limb hanging by gruesome sinewy tendons. They gently lowered the rest of Toby's body inside the bag and slowly began to zip it closed. Desi wanted them to stop. Toby hated feeling smothered and he would hate being zipped up in a heavy black leather bag. But the words died in his throat and soon Toby's body was gone from his sight. The men were now securing the body bag onto a gurney, their hands working deftly as they tugged the straps in place. Then Toby was well and truly gone. Once outside the apartment, Desi clung to red head's arm. Cameras flashed, reporters circled the scene like vultures, voices rising through the air like keening animal cries. Red headed woman glanced at the blood that had dried to his hands, his clothes, his face. He'd gotten it all over him when he'd pressed his face to Toby's chest, he could feel it drying to his skin. "Are you hurt, hun? Where's that blood from?" Desi shook his head "Not mine" He mumbled, eyes trained on the men who were now lifting Toby's body into the coroner's vehicle. "Are you sure? You need to tell me if you're hurt" the woman pressed, eyeing him warily. Desi shook his head again. Not mine. Red head woman's name was actually Detective Simons. She wasn't pretty or comforting to look at but she treated Desi like he was made of the most fragile glass. He craved her comfort and soft hands like a junkie desperate for a fix. But this woman seemed to understand that. Detective Simons led him to the back of a police cruiser and draped a blanket over his shoulders. Then she crouched down in front of him, her eyes peering into his face. "Can you tell me your name, love?" She murmured, taking both of his hands in her own. "Desi" He mumbled. "Desi. Ok Desi. I'm gonna need you to answer a few questions for me. Can you do that for me, love?" Desi nodded weakly, blue eyes on the steady procession of the body being lifted into the van. Reporters and photographers swarmed the van, thrusting microphones and snapping pictures, shouting questions at the coroners. The whole spectacle of it was horrendous and it made him feel sick.
Ophelia turned in her bed and felt a warm soft thing touching her cheek. When she put her head on what she thought to be a pillow an acute meow woke her up. She startled awake and her eyes focused on a furry shape just in front of her face. In an effort she managed to mumble “Good morning Samsara”. The cat crossed her face and curled up in the notch of her neck demanding cuddles. Her head was pulsing as if her brain had grown bigger during the night and was pushing on her skull. She dragged herself to the kitchen and drew a deep breath. She smelled a faint scent of herbs lingering in the room. She took a bottle of water from the fridge and chugged it down like a sink drain before collapsing on the sofa. After a few moments she dug through the many books on the coffee table to find the remote. There were both novels and books on spirits, divination and other occult knowledge. She found it near her deck of tarots and turned the TV on. BREAKING NEWS: BODY OF LOCAL STUDENT, TOBIAS SHAW, DISCOVERED IN HIS APARTMENT EARLY THIS MORNING. It took her a while to register what had actually happened. She didn’t know Tobias personally, but she remembered him falling drunk in the pool. “fuck” she thought, until that moment the murders announced on the news never seemed real. They just slipped on her like the sports news. But this, this was different she actually saw the victim and not long before. She turned off the TV and decided to see what the tarots would say. She drew the tower, upright. She looked at the card and then she tried again, with the same result. “The tarot spoke”, she thought,”danger is on the way”.
