A/N- Hi everyone, here's the new story; I hope you all like it. Rated 'M' mainly for violence.

Disclaimer: The majority of the characters belong to Cassandra Clare. Procedural inaccuracies are all mine.


From the outside nothing was wrong. It was just an ordinary house on an ordinary street in the middle of an ordinary town. Purple hyacinths lined one side of the pathway leading to the front door, while the other side was lined with yellow carnations. Not a single plant was out of place, each flower aligned within the millimetre. A carefully trimmed hedge surrounded the property, giving it an air of privacy. As PC Lance and her partner stepped out of the police cruiser and opened the perfectly maintained gate leading to the entrance to the house there was no one to be seen on the street. That was understandable; it was 6AM after all.

Looking around, PC Lance thought that the 999 call reporting a domestic disturbance had to have been a mistake. It was all so quiet. The curtains were closed and there was no obvious damage to the front door or windows. When PC Phillips returned he confirmed that no, there was no damage to the back door or any of the other windows on the ground floor of the property. Peering into the little glass panels on the front door, PC Lane could see a stack of magazines placed on a small coffee table and a child's cuddly toy discarded on the floor. Nothing was out of place. Nothing indicated that something was wrong.

But still, they had received an emergency call and their boss would eat them alive if they ignored it and later today had a murder investigation to deal with. So, despite believing that there was absolutely nothing wrong and that she'd soon be apologising profusely to very tired, very annoyed parents, PC Lane rang the doorbell. There was no answer. Which again was understandable; no one would be awake at 6AM if they didn't have to be. So she waited a few minutes and rang the doorbell again. Still, there was no answer. The same happened on the third, fourth and fifth attempts. It was at this point that she began to think that something was seriously wrong.

"I'm beginning to feel uneasy about this Rodger. It's starting to feel a bit too quiet." Looking at her partner, she could tell that he was also concerned about the lack of an answer.

"They could have gone on holiday, Sarah. Maybe that's why they've not answered the door?"

"And left all the curtains shut? No, maybe we should try the door, see if it's unlocked."

"Sarah, we've been on this job for 10 years, when have we ever been lucky enough that the front door was –". He cut himself off as Sarah gripped the door handle and pushed it gently, the door easing open without resistance.

"You were saying?" Sarah gave him a playful wink as she stepped over the threshold, turning her torch on as she heard Rodger close the door behind them. "Sir? Ma'am?", she called. "It's the police; we received a phone call that there may be some kind of trouble."

In the meantime, PC Phillips had searched the rooms downstairs. The living room where a child's mat full of toys still lay on the floor, the kitchen where some plates were left to dry on the sink, and the laundry room were all clear. None of them showed any signs of a disturbance.

"There's nothing down here Sarah, if there's any trouble it must be in one of the bedrooms."

"Right okay, follow me then".

The two officers slowly made their way up the stairs, keeping an eye out for any intruder who may try to rush past them in the hallway. PC Lance was a couple of steps ahead of her partner when she reached what she presumed was the master bedroom. But when she pushed the door open and saw what was waiting for them, she wished she wasn't the one to find it.

"Oh God no", she heard herself whisper as she took a step back from the room, her eyes wide as she turned to face her partner. PC Phillips was shocked when he saw the tears forming in her eyes. They had been partners for 10 years after having received their training at the same centre. In those years he'd seen her face numerous terrors with a steely determination which contrasted with her usual soft and playful character outside of work. She had stood unflinchingly when an armed robber pointed a loaded gun at her; she had remained calm and professional as she held a young man bleeding dangerously from a severe stab wound. Whatever had happened here, Rodger knew, had to have been bad to get her this upset.

"Why don't you go and radio it in, and I'll take a closer look around", he offered, gently pushing her back towards the stairs whilst she nodded slowly, obviously still in shock. He took a moment to compose himself, taking a deep steadying breath and tried to prepare himself for the worst.

But no matter what he tried to imagine, nothing could compare to the sight that was waiting for him.

The first thing he noticed when he stepped into the still bedroom was the stench; the overwhelming metallic tang of blood. There would be no one alive in here.

Looking around, he could see blood splattered over the bed sheets. Yet nothing seemed out of place. None of their possessions were broken or toppled over, and nothing indicated that there had been a struggle. It clearly was not a murder done for gain. Revenge perhaps?

This last thought was confirmed as he took in the white wall immediately above the head of the bed, the elegant decor ruined by the hastily painted "MINE"; the letters dripping slowly down the walls in a horrendously mesmerising pattern.

Looking closely at the bodies in the bed, he could see that the man's eyes were still shut; a sign that (if only bringing the slightest comfort) meant he wouldn't have seen anything coming. He must have been the first to be killed. The woman was not so lucky. Her eyes were wide open, and that, more than anything he had seen so far horrified PC Phillips. She must have known what was coming, what had happened to her husband (he could see the wedding rings) and what would happen to her.

Yet even more chilling was the fact that the murder was neat. It was no rushed job, no amateur. Everything pointed to a professional job; either someone who had done it before, or someone who had spent a long time planning exactly what they were going to do. If that was the case, PC Phillips thought, the couple never stood a chance.

Reluctantly, he tore his eyes away from the scene on the bed to scan the left hand side of the room. He knew immediately what had upset his partner. There sat a child's cot, and he knew, without having to take the five steps forward that the child would not be alive. He didn't want to see what was waiting for him there, but he couldn't stop himself from moving, one foot slowly being placed in front of the other until he was stood at the edge of the furniture and peering down into the lifeless body of the little boy.

Looking around the room one last time before heading back down to check on his partner, he couldn't help but wonder how sick, how evil someone had to be to do that. The child had done nothing, could say nothing. There was no need to kill him too. There was no justification for that act, and he promised himself that he would not stop until that sick bastard faced the life behind bars that they deserved.