There was something of a black haze, Joe noticed as he was staring down at the body. It was thick and smoky, and hovered gently along the edges of the corpse. An unmistakable scent of roses gave a poor attempt at trying to brighten the black smoke. It might also be read as a poor attempt to brighten the grisliness of the situation.
The body was thin, pale, young and female. Despite the tracks lining the stiff inside of her left arm, it was obvious by the black haze of maliciousness that her end was not brought by overdosing. Golden blond strands were thin from dye and snarled beyond brushing, splayed across the poor, cracked concrete of the pavement.
"She's so pretty," he heard Barry say quietly. Joe hummed in agreement and tuned out the normal sound of the camera clicking. Light flashed, but he ignored it, finding something new to focus on.
The pale, stiffened and cold skin was free of any other damage or scarring with the exception of those aged track marks and two slightly larger puncture wounds over her carotid artery; it was a deliberate killing.
Her pink tank top was ruffled and had ridden up her torso, and her blue jeans were torn at the knees and ankles. Somewhere down the street there was a pair of high heeled wedges taped off in a scene of their own. Toenails decorated with sparkling nail polish were broken and torn, pieces of polish scattered through the path from her shoes to her feet.
Megan Lane, 24, heroin addict, ran like hell a mere seventy feet to an abrupt stop and landed on her side once the vampire was done with her.
"How many does this make?" Joe asked, exhaustion clear in his voice that could only be intertwined with the hour of the night.
"Nineteen," came his partner's voice. Eddie was just as tired, dragging his feet at snail pace, still rubbing the dried sand of sleep from his eyes. He yawned, and Joe snarled a bit, resisting the urge to mirror the action. Barry didn't even try. He just clenched his jaw to prevent the noise from escaping.
Joe took some steps away, his phone beeping twice in his back pocket. His hands were shaking as he took it out and flipped it open.
"I was hungry."
He heaved a sigh, didn't even try to respond. The number was a burner, pointless to trace. And would no doubt lead to a small city in another state if he tried, anyway. No fingerprints, no foreign DNA to be found, no skin under the nails. No physical evidence at all of another person. Just the bite.
"Did you bite your lip again?" Caitlin asked, looking up briefly from her tablet.
Blood, and a small amount, trickled down a dusky lip onto fair skin. A tongue escaped to lap it up, careful not to expose protruding fangs.
"Looks like it."
Caitlin sighed and looked back at her tablet.
"What am I gonna do with you, Cisco?"
He shrugged, smirked, and walked off. "You worry too much." He went back to his workspace and started disassembling a phone and loading the parts into a new project for Barry's suit.
Short fic, written spur of the moment. Please review!