Title: R is for Rose

Written for the A - Z Challenge

Rating: FR 15/T

Genre: Mystery, Angst, and all that jazz

Warnings: Disturbing imagery

Disclaimer: Seriously, I still don't own anything.

Summary: The investigation of an attack on one of their own sends the rest of the team on the trail of a serial killer.


Prologue - Run

The sky was just beginning to show a faint blush of pink when Marla Jenkins started out for her morning run. She had just finished a hellacious night at work and she was looking forward to the chance to stretch her muscles and clear her mind. After a brief warm-up, she set off along her favorite route: four miles, few hills, but some lovely scenery to appreciate along the way.

Almost a quarter of the way through her run, she saw a familiar figure approaching. She had seen this man almost every day for the past two years, yet she had never learned his name. She knew he lived in the same apartment complex that she did, as they occasionally saw each other in the lobby. She had gained the impression that he was maybe a bit on the shy side, or at least liked to keep to himself.

When they were within a few yards of each other, he smiled, nodded, and gave her a little wave. She returned the gestures as they passed one another, and after a few heartbeats she slowed, turned and looked back.

Nice form, she thought to herself with a smirk. Among other things…

Reluctantly, she returned her attention to the path ahead and resumed her normal pace. Soon she reached the half-way mark and turned back, satisfied with the level of calm she had reached during her journey. She was looking forward to a nice hot shower and the rest of her morning routine, and the troubles she had experienced only a few hours before had been swept from her mind.

As she approached the end of her run, she slowed when she noticed something odd. The grass along the sidewalk had been disturbed, and recently. She was sure it hadn't been that way when she started out. Suddenly she noticed something in the middle of the walk and when she discerned its identity, she felt her pulse quicken.

It was a single running shoe.

Her eyes followed the path beyond that solitary object and she felt her breath catch in her throat. A crumpled form was lying at the edge of the path and as she drew closer she could see rivulets of dark liquid around it, their flow halted by the deep cracks in the concrete.

Her routine completely forgotten, she opened the small pack belted around her waist and pulled out her cell phone. She pressed a number on speed dial and knelt next to the figure, tentatively reaching out her other hand to check for signs of life. As she did so, she registered the fact the person before her, despite the damage, was familiar. She let out a stream of invective at the drunken idiot who had probably caused this just before the call connected.

"Emergency services, how may I help you?"

"I need an ambulance, immediately. Looks like a hit and run. Massive trauma, with probable internal injuries."

"Location?"

"Westwood Place, NW." She looked up at the nearest street sign. "Crossroad is 15th. Just tell them to hurry. This is going to be a scoop and run."

"Understood."

Suddenly she noticed something and sucked in a loud breath.

"Ma'am?"

"Tell the police this may not have been an accident."

"Yes, Ma'am. The ambulance is on its way."

She put her phone down and started to do what she could for the grievously injured man, which, much to her frustration, wasn't much. She barely kept the tremor out of her voice as she tried to reassure him.

"Just hang on, buddy. Help is coming. Stay with me." She checked his pulse again and swore. "Damn it, where is that bus?"

Finally she heard the sirens in the distance. As soon as the EMTs and police arrived, she filled them in and stepped back, hoping she had done enough. The respite gave her time to really take in what she had seen, and she felt a wave of nausea that the sight of the injuries themselves had not been able to conjure.

What would someone do this? This was deliberate, damn it! Why?

The object that had raised her suspicions had quickly been documented in situ by the first responders and was soon transferred to an evidence bag, awaiting transport and analysis. As she watched the process, Marla sincerely hoped, somehow, it would lead the investigators to the person who had done this. With a shudder, Marla closed her eyes. She didn't need the pictures to remember what she had seen. She knew that first image would stay with her for a very long time.

Lying across the open palm of the man's pale, blood-spattered hand, a single black rose.

TBC…


I have until November to finish this one. Bear with me...