I go this idea after watching Sherlock Holmes (not with RDJ) on PBS one night. Yeah, I watch PBS. And I enjoy it too, so there.
I don't own Escaflowne or its charaters, blah, blah, blah.
He needed help.
But the blood rushed so quickly, his wounds too deep. He could feel his fluids seeping to the outside, the sharp pain from the many pierces to his side daring him to move another inch, lest he fall apart at the seams and his bowels cover the floor.
If only he could reach the door…
But who would answer, could answer at this time of night? If only he hadn't followed, been bewitched to the point of blindness at his own impending demise. It was but a second and the blade stabbed to his abdomen, over and over, so many times where he soon lost count… A wolf in sheep's clothing…
"Someone…please… I…."
The room grew dim as his lungs labored to their last, the blood flooded within them quickly traveling to his mouth, choking him-
Too late. A gurgle escaped his throat as the red stained the polished floor, his once bright eyes now dark and devoid of life.
Huddled in a corner at the far end of the room, the one witness to his death dared not move. Sobs filled the room with desperation and sick remorse.
The tears wouldn't stop.
If only he remained in the light, and not come to the darkness, he would still live. But the deed was done. And as their hands clasped the knife that had taken a life, deprived so many of days, they wished to free themselves. But they still clung to hope, that someone, a dark angel, would soon release them from their nightmare…
"Urgh- "
His stomach churned at the smell of the rotting corpse that lay in the middle of the ornate room, the reality of its horror juxtaposed against the whimsy of the fine couches, paintings, rugs and vases that decorated the floors and walls.
"Do you need some air?"
He shook his head, bringing a handkerchief to his face to filter the fumes, "No, no I'm fine. Just what in Hades happened here?"
"He happened."
The man watched incredulously as his companion stooped to the dead man for closer inspection. Silently he put on his gloves and brought his bag to his side. Quickly he reached inside for his forceps, intending to pick the body for any evidence the killer may have left behind.
"Don't get so close, Van, I don't want you contaminating the field. We can collect evidence at the morgue. "
He ignored him as he went about his work, using his strength in attempts to shift his limbs; it was a hard task, as rigor mortise had set in. How long had he lain there, he wondered. One, two days? A week, perhaps?
"Ah, Sir Fanel. We have been anticipating your arrival."
The other man turned at the voice behind him, promptly shook his head at the misidentification, and spoke from behind the handkerchief, his voice muffled, "No, his partner actually. My name is Dr. Allen Schezar. He is the man you seek." He nodded toward the ebony-haired man so engrossed in his work that he bothered not to look up at the reference.
"Ah, then you are Van Fanel. That is, Sir Van Fanel."
"No need for formalities." Quickly he rose from his task to meet the man who inquired of him, "Van will do just fine. Can I help you?"
"Your presence at this dark hour is more than I could hope for. I am Taeki Utada, father of the unfortunate soul before you," he glanced at the body's direction, "that is, stepfather."
He offered his hand to Van, but drew it back at noticing the gore that coated his gloved hands. Noticing his shock, he promptly removed them, but the older man seemed hesitant to resume the greeting, opting instead to bow, an old formality, but one a man with noble blood in his veins, as Van had, would understand. He supposed correctly, for Van returned the bow, "I am sorry for your loss Lord Utada."
"As am I. My wife can barely compose herself. Soma was her only child, whom she loved dearly- whom we both loved dearly… We're just trying to make sense of what's happened here."
Van grimaced at the words- two months four victims, with Lord Utada's now the fifth- he too was trying to make sense of it all.
"Few things make sense these days, Lord Utada," Van spoke, his eyes dark.
"Indeed, we live in dark days. I weep to say that my son's passing is not the first we've heard of in the past few weeks." He sighed, "Do you think they might be related in any way?"
Van declined to answer, his eyes fixated upon the bloody scene. There was so much blood. Never had he seen so much, not since…
As Van was lost in his thoughts, Allen stepped forward to gather information on the victim's background. "Only seventeen years of age and living alone in this apartment- why was your son on his own in this large city, Lord Utada?"
The older man looked to his feet, his eyes flecked with shame and his voice heavy with guilt. "We had a falling out some months ago. The…troublesome years of adolescence transformed him into…set him on a path his mother and I had rather not seen him travel down. He became wayward, our very own prodigal son, only his mother continued to provide for him, as she so doted on him. This apartment was one of the many provisions he received."
Producing a pad from his pocket, the Blond man quickly jotted his notes.
The older man continued, "If only we had kept him home, given him more time to…more time. I would have liked more time with him…" His voice cracked as he spoke the words, but he quickly cleared his throat and straightened his back to maintain his calm. "Lady Utada and I are overjoyed that you will be leading the investigation into our son's death, Sir Van. And you as well, Dr. Schezar."
Allen accepted his gratitude with a quick nod, "And when did you last see or hear from him?"
"Not up until a two weeks ago, when he wrote us a letter. We supposed it was a request for money, and I thought to reply with refusal. But upon reading it, we found he instead desired to return home. Apparently he had fallen in love, and wanted us to meet the girl he, as he so grimly put it in light of the circumstances, would 'gladly die for'. That's when we decided to come and meet him instead, to see about this girl whom he'd known for but a month and yet desired for a wife. And then… well, you gentlemen see what we found."
Allen nodded, addressing Van as he folded his pad and placed it back in his pocket, "I think we're done here Van. It's best if we take him to the morgue, where MIllerna and I can investigate further."
Van, somewhat absent- mindedly, nodded in agreement, signaling the policemen to ready the covers that would deliver the young man to his final destination. Quietly he inhaled as they covered him with the white sheets and covered him with black tarp, and secured all the covers with thin rope. It was an all too familiar scene, and his blood boiled at the senselessness of it all. Were there any who knew the value of life?
Snapped from his thoughts by the touch of his partner's hand upon his shoulder, Van turned to the deceased's father,
"Lord Utada, I promise I will not rest until your son's killer is captured.
"Thank you, Sir Van. I have every faith that you will accomplish justice where my son's murderer is concerned."
Van nodded and turned to follow Allen towards the exit.
"What do you think Van?"
"I think we've got a serial killer on our hands."
Allen ran his fingers through his shoulder length blonde hair in frustration, "Are you sure?"
As they walked Van produced a small bag, "Rose thorns, embedded deep in his wounds, just like the others. I doubt it's a coincidence."
The men hurried down the short stairs, quickly nodding to acknowledge the female presence of the maid who stood at the door.
"Thank you gentlemen, have a nice day."
"Madam," they replied in unison, and headed for their cab. Van climbed in first, eager to return home so he might sort out the day's events. Allen followed, his mind also working toward some order to all that had happened. He spoke first,
"We need to find that woman, his fiancé. If they were so madly in love, as Lord Utada claimed, surely she must have come to see him sometime in the past week."
"I agree," Van replied. "I can but wonder why she made no report of her lover dying."
"Considering the brutal manner in which he died, Van, I would suspect she was scared, frightened beyond her wits to make any report. Maybe she thought she would receive the blame?"
Van exhaled grasping the bag tightly in his hand, "Maybe. All I know is that I'm going to stop this."
Allen stared at Van's determined face. Ever since his own tragedy fourteen years ago, Van harbored a hatred for murderers, criminals in general; all those who would so readily take a life and in the process, destroy others', as had happened with Lord Utada and his family. He was a skilled detective- he had captured many lawless men, foiled numerous plots- no matter what, where, when or how, Van always solved his case. He had no doubt that he would have a similar outcome with this one.
"That's a rather hefty promise Van," he replied.
Van looked Allen squarely in the eyes, his seriousness showing in his deep brown eyes,
"And I mean to keep it. I won't let anyone else die because of this maniac."
A/N: I would type more, but it's 2 am… Anyways, read and review. Thanks a bunch.