18th January, 2013.
It was night-time, the moon and the stars glinting wickedly against their inky background. Below, a forest rested on Mother Earth, swaying to and fro in the gentle wind. All was silent, except for the occasional hoot of an owl, or the scurry of a fox. Eerily peaceful, nothing could disturb the forest's rest.
Suddenly, a band of teens made their descent into the woods, laughing and chatting. Instead of studying for exams or getting some well deserved rest, these teens where far more content in sharing a joint or a bottle of vodka that one had smuggled from their parents. Tonight, it was the joint.
Passing the joint between wet lips, the embers highlighting the contours of their faces, the group laughed and discussed about school, friends and the latest rumours going on around the town.
"Hey, did you hear that my father's boss might be having an affair?"
"Seriously?! No way!"
"Sounds like a load of bull."
"I'm serious! He was supposed to hand in some papers, was about to knock on the door when he heard a woman moaning!"
"So what? Could be his wife..."
"Dad doesn't think so but, I reckon the boss wanted a quickie at work...anyway, that's my little snippet of gossip for you all."
"Hey you guys, I need to piss."
The boy, a timid teen with an ugly face, spoke up. In truth, he wanted to leave, go back home to his bed, his safe zone. He hated smoking marijuana but only did it to keep up with his friends. Besides, at times it was rather relaxing, even though he preferred to read. His friends looked at him.
"Just don't get lost Percival."
Percival Wemys Madison smiled weakly before rushing off, turning the flashlight on his phone to make his way through the woods and get out. Stumbling through the foliage, Percival had found the exit after 10 minutes, only to drop his phone.
"Shit..." he swore, bending down to pick up his phone and check for any cracks. That was when he saw the hand.
Curious, he lifted branches, shining his phone into the bush, expecting the hand to be from a mannequin. Then he noticed blood, matted black hair and rotting torso. Horrified, he stumbled back, accidentally breathing in the stench of decomposing flesh. He retched once or twice before vomiting, face ghostly white. With trembling fingers he dialed 999.
"Detective? What's the situation here?"
Detective Roger Black trudged down to the crime scene, his plucky partner Maurice Whitman following. His response was simple.
"Young man, aged between 23-26, possibly of Spanish descent, was found naked in a bush. The man had multiple stab wounds to the chest and a head injury...sounds to me like a crime of passion."
Maurice shivered at Roger's dead-pan tone. How could someone describe such a grisly scene (at least to him) without flinching or showing any sign of empathy for the victim? He guessed that's what happens when you have witnessed many corpses in your lifetime. Maurice himself had been working with Roger for a few years now and he still couldn't walk into a crime scene without asking for a sick bag. Realising he needed to stop thinking about anything to do with corpses, he decided to question Roger some more.
"Who found the body?"
"Some teenager. Possibly out here smoking instead of studying. Dumb brat."
"Uh-huh...you know who the victim is?"
Roger said nothing so Maurice assumed no. They continued to walk. Eventually the crime scene came into view and the men quickened their paces. Police were already there, taping the area off. The men strided over.
"Mr Creek. We're here."
Bill Creek, an officer and close friend of the two, looked up from his camera and grimaced.
"Good timing. Chief was getting anxious."
"Understandable. Fill us in on what you found."
"Well...nothing much, however our vic could just be a prostitute who met a tragic fate. Also, this killer is pretty smart...from what I've seen so far. No weapon-"
"Of course there is no weapon. Anyone with common sense would know not to leave the weapon in the vicinity of the corpse." Roger snapped.
Both Bill and Maurice flinched. He had a point though...Bill cleared his throat.
"Plus, no DNA samples have been found yet, and the body is pretty clean, suggesting the perp took their time with disposing of the evidence..."
Maurice quickly got out his notepad and pen, scribbling down what Bill was saying. His partner nodded slightly at time to time, deep in thought. Finally, he looked at the two.
"Can I see the body?"
Bill nodded and led them to where the body. Maurice held back, his dark skin paler as if he was about to throw up. Roger huffed.
"Come on Maurice, stop acting so pathetic. You've seen corpses before."
"I know...I'm still not used to seeing them..."
The detective rolled his eyes and walked towards the corpse, rolling on his gloves and kneeling down. Dark eyes scanned the face. Caramel skin and a heart-shaped face, delicate cheekbones. Too pretty for a man. His nose was small and cute, coated with a smattering of freckles which spread to dust across his cheeks. Roger guessed this man would have had a soft rosy blush to complement his face, however there was none, and the caramel skin was sickly in colour. One hand reached out to trace the corpse's face.
"So damn pretty...well, you used to be...but, who are you...?"
Judging by the decomposition, Roger guessed that the corpse had been dead for at least three days, since it was still relatively intact. Also due to the fact that there were no missing person posters put up with the corpse's picture. Either no-one cared about him or everyone was used to him being silent for long periods of time. Now they had to go to the station to find out who he was. That was when Roger noticed the eyes.
"Green eyes?"
Despite how glassy the man's eyes were, Roger was certain he had seen those eyes before. Bright, emerald eyes, filled with wisdom and kindness, decorated with golden and blue flecks. Those ethereal orbs reminded Roger of the sun dancing on the sea, ones that stirred his stomach with an unknown feeling; not love, but a kind of admiration, maybe fear. They made him remember his college days, where he would spend most of his days looking out the window, coal eyes always finding that boy, sitting cross-legged under the Great Oak, either his nose in a book or sketching parts of nature.
Wherever Roger was, he was there also. Once he dared to strike up a conversation, his voice soft yet memorable, wise and warm. For the first time in his life, Roger responded, never being one to talk, even to his friends. However, there was something, just something about him that peaked his interest. His fragile body, his cute face, his gentle demeanour, his wise, lilting voice and those damn eyes. The man had said his name too...
"Roger huh? That's a nice name, simple but quaint. I guess I should tell you my name. My name is-"
"Simon Belmonte..."
Maurice looked up.
"What did you say Roger?"
"This man...his name is Simon Belmonte."
"Oh! I remember him! From college...he was a bit weird, but nice enough I guess..."
"He was batshit crazy."
Roger's answer was blunt, huffing a little as he stood up. Maurice glared at him with slight disgust.
"That's a horrible thing to say!"
"If you would have talked to him, you would have known what I mean...look, at least we have a name."
His partner sighed a little, hands in his pockets, hair falling in his face.
"I guess you're right...I'll go and get Chief."
Maurice turned around, only seeing their boss walk up to them. Icy eyes bore daggers into both men.
"Gentlemen, I'm glad to be working with you two again."
"Evening Merridew."
Merridew laughed briefly, ugly face scrunched up.
"Roger you don't need to be so formal! We've been friends since we were seven! Or is it because you're still pissed Ralph chose me over you~?"
At that name Roger flinched, hands clenching. His hands itched to hurt, but he couldn't. Not while he was working at least. Instead, he turned to look at Merridew.
"No I'm not. Blondie doesn't mean anything to me anymore. The only reason I'm being so formal is because we are still working and you are my boss."
'Lies, I still love Ralph with all my heart. I only address you formally because I hate you. You took the only person who made me realise that there was light in this world. He saved me from suicide. We belonged together, we loved each other, and you, being the manipulative, selfish bastard you are, stole him from me.'
Merridew was looking strangely at Roger, his thin lips stretched in a lazy smirk. Finally, they parted.
"You always have been such a horrendous liar Roger."
Roger took one step forward, as did Merridew. Fortunately, Maurice stepped in, preventing the two from fighting.
"C-chief! I-I mean Jack!"
"Yes Whitman?"
"I...Roger found the victim's name..."
"Oh really? What's his name Roger?"
"Simon Belmonte."
Jack's eyebrow raised a little, a soft frown resting on his face.
"Simon Belmonte? He is-well, was Ralph's closest friend. Such a shame, Ralph will be extremely upset..."
"That is very tragic Chief...how will you reveal this to him?"
"Over dinner maybe...hey Roger?"
"Yes?"
"Why don't you and Whitman come around for dinner tomorrow? It will be lovely to catch up with you two outside of work and we can break the news to Ralph..."
Maurice nodded sympathetically and Roger shrugged. Jack smiled at them both.
"Thank you both...I really don't want to deal with Ralph by myself..."
Maurice patted Jack's back, trying hard to get mad when he felt his boss flinch. Roger glared daggers, signalling to Maurice that they should get going.
"C'mon Maurice, let's get you home..."
Maurice nodded, bidding Jack goodbye before following Roger. They walked in silence, the atmosphere uneasy. Neither dared to speak, it was only once they were in the car did Maurice pipe up.
"Jack is a racist asshole."
"I know Maurice."
"Well it's not like he's trying to be subtle is it? Everyone saw him flinch and did nothing about it!"
"Because they're frightened of him. Even I used to get uneasy around him. He's always so calm and calculating...he never snaps."
Maurice shuddered, grabbing a CD to play. After a moment of fiddling, Amy Winehouse began to play softly. He looked over at Roger confused.
"What? I like her voice."
"I didn't mean it like that Roger! I'm just surprised you like her..."
"Well, add that to the small list of things you about me then."
Maurice huffed, looking out of the window, pouting a little. Roger grinned, always feeling satisfaction in toying with his friend, just to see his expression. But he reverted his gaze as not to crash and continued to drive.
34 minutes later, Roger pulled up at Maurice's, switching to the radio. Maurice smiled at Roger, unbuckling and exiting the car.
"Hey Roger?"
"Hm?"
"...Get some sleep. We had a big day tomorrow."
Roger smiled, reaching out to pat Maurice's larger hand, rubbing it a little with his thumb.
"You too."
Then he leaned back and drove away, leaving Maurice alone in front of his house, keys in hand. He sighed, making his way up to the door, the shocking revelation still burning in his brain.
Simon Belmonte was dead, brutally murdered. One of the purest souls, murdered in cold blood. Sure, he was a little batty, but he never deserved this fate. No-one did. He hoped to find out who murdered this poor boy, before it was too late.
Little did he and Roger know that in order to find and arrest the perpetrator, they would have to unearth Simon Belmonte's story, a story of lies, lust and betrayal, which would set the path for his untimely death...