Another One In The Ditch
No matter your place in life, no matter how much strength you have, no matter how connections you make, there will always be something in New Meridian to remind you of just how weak you really are. I was reminded of that when I was just a boy. Now, I swear to never want to be reminded of that again.
Let's just get this out of the way. This is my first piece of work on this website and it won't be the last. People may not like it, and I'm ready to accept that.
That being said, I'm doing what I am because I truly do like this fandom, and believe that it is under appreciated. So while I may not have much experience in writing, I do have plenty of passion for what I will now be doing. So let's hope I can make you guys stick around, yeah?
Well, let's get the ball rolling. Sorry if you hate it, and thanks if you like it.
Cheers, eh?
The first thing I noticed when I stepped onto the front lawn was the ruined state of the front door. Even in the dead of night and with minimalist lighting provided by the current crescent moon, it was a rather noticeable sight to anyone walking by.
Completely knocked off its hinges and left with a gapping hole where the handle should have been, It made for an ominous sight.
Pulling a wrinkled up piece of paper out of my coat pocket, I held it up beside the mailbox situated next to me on the lawn.
Confirming the address written on the white parchment with the one engraved on the box, I kept the paper in hand whilst stepping up to the shadowed house and into its confines.
Taking care not to step on any splinters left in the broken doors wake, I made my way into the hallway connecting to the foyer. Much like the door before it, obvious damage had been done to both its wall and floor.
Pictures had been torn off the wall and thrown to the floor, while pieces of broken glass stood out here and there along the cheap rug taking up the length of the hallway. What really grabbed my attention were the specks that appeared randomly on the carpet, floor, and the pictures no longer protected by their frames.
Do to the lack of light within the house, I couldn't quite make out what they were.
Crouching down, I ran two fingers through a particularly large splotch of the thick substance. Bringing said fingers up to my nose I inhaled lightly before recoiling away from the scent.
Blood.
Wiping the iron rich liquid onto my jacket, I made to stand up before noticing an oddity lying face up on the ground.
A frame that, unlike the others around it, was rather small and, more importantly, unbroken. Within said frame, a picture of what appeared to be a middle aged couple remained undamaged.
The couple consisted of a young, tall, light skinned man, decked out in a tuxedo and smiling as if he just won the lottery whilst holding a much smaller and more composed young lady in his arms. Said women was wearing a modest and simple white gown, matching incredibly well with her soft brown eyes that seemed to sparkle in the light.
It was obviously a wedding photo. The two were dressed to well and seemingly too happy for it to be anything else.
The words "Congratulations, Anne and Marvin," written on the banner behind them helped a little two.
Offering the photo a small smile, I carefully pushed against the glass, forcing it inward and loose from the frame, allowing me access to the photo within. Taking it out carefully and placing the glass back into position, I folded the photo in half before placing it gently into my breast pocket.
Getting back to business, I made my way down the hall, stoping in front of a doorway the seemingly led down the stairs. I sighed as I began making my way down, noticing that even more blood could be seen on every few steps. It would be a serious pain in the ass to get the stains out.
About halfway down the steps, the familiar scent of blood began wafting into my nose. At the three quarter mark, I could see the outline of legs. Reaching the finale step, I was confronted by my purpose for coming here.
At the bottom of the steps, an old women lay face up on the ground, the back of her head soaking in a puddle of crimson blood.
Staring at the body, I froze, taking in a moment to take in her still form before muttering my first words since entering the house that night.
"Really?"
Hoping off the last step and over the old sack'a bones, I landed just outside the puddle, swinging my arms playfully in order to keep balanced before turning around a taking a look at the body.
Dressed in a disheveled nightgown and slippers, the women had obviously gone through hell before meeting her end.
Bruises littered her face from jaw to temple, a still noticeable handprint wrapped tightly around her neck. I was willing to bet she'd been strangled with one hand and beaten with the other. A real Tom Robinson the killer must've been.
Using the edge of my shoe, I nudged the women over and onto her front. It was there I noticed the large, red gash running along the back of her head.
Having pretty much pieced everything together, I hoped over the body once more and began making my way back outside of the house.
From what I could tell, the murder had started at the front door. The killer had probably knocked, the old lady answered, didn't like what he was selling, and closed the door on him.
Not taking kindly to that, he must've then kicked open the door before making his way down the hall towards her. He'd probably done it slowly, tried to scare her a bit by knocking over those pictures from before.
After that, he grabbed her by the neck, slapped her around for a bit, and then threw her down the flight of stairs where she cracked her skull on the concrete floor of the basement.
Pretty standard murder really. Doesn't even make it into my top ten. That one guy from a few weeks back? The one who made the some poor bastard eat dog shit before strangling him with the turd still in his throat? Now that was a classic.
Ending back up on the front lawn, I made my way towards the street and my parked van, it's sheeny black surface making it almost invisible in the darkness of the night.
Sliding open the side door, I rummaged through the mess I called a trunk before picking up a large black duffel bag and slinging it around my shoulder. Next came a rug, a mop, and a pair of disposable latex gloves from a little cardboard box next to my seat.
Slamming the door shut and turning around, I began making my way back into the crime scene.
It was time to get to work.
I began with the body, as I usually did. Putting on my gloves, I rolled out the earlier mentioned rug before stepping over to the old ladies body.
Unceremoniously, I began rolling her across the floor and onto the black rug, stopping her on the edge so that I could hook my thumbs under the edge of fabric before beginning the rolling process again.
Once she was all nice and tight within the soft carpet, I stuck my hand inside one end, doing my best to puff out the sides and make the bump less obvious, before taking some black duct tape and securing the rug properly and stopping it from unraveling.
With the body out of the way, I rolled up my sleeves before opening up my duffel bag and pulling out a bucket, and a box of sodium peroxide.
Running the bucket up stairs, I found my way into the kitchen and ran the bucket under the sink until it reached close to the rim.
Bringing it back down to the basement, I grabbed my mop, dunking it into the bucket before going to work on the small pool of blood. Luckily, the cut on her skull hadn't been to large, so only a small amount of blood had gotten out.
Cleaning up the small mess in about a minute, I placed the mop and bucket to the side before pulling out a small rag, drying the puddle before grabbing the sodium peroxide from earlier, sprinkling it liberally across the still remaining stain.
With the peroxide down, I threw the rug on my shoulder before making may way back to the van, laying the body down on what little empty space I had back there.
Entering the house, hopefully for the last time, I went back to the kitchen, searching for the house phone I knew would be there.
Finding it attached to a wall, I went to pick it up before noticing the stains present on its handle. I sighed at the absolute laziness of the killer. He hadn't even washed his hands before calling me.
Picking it up regardless of the messy handle, I pulled out my trusty piece of paper again before checking a different set of numbers from the one on the mail box.
Punching them in, I waited a few seconds before a familiar voice answered.
"This you?"
"The one and only."
"Yeah, whatever. Did you clean it up."
"I'm taking the stains out as we speak. Gonna let the sodium sit for another few minutes before pouring some more on top just to be sure. Did you leave the pay here, or do I have to come get it myself?"
"Nope. I still got it on me. I'm at a little dinner called Switzers. Meet me here in the next half hour if you want it. You know the place right?
"Yeah. I'll see you then."
Hanging up the phone, I walked over to the counter and tore some paper towel, running it under water before cleaning off the stains on the phone.
Typically, that wouldn't be enough to get the job done. Cops would still get the finger prints easy as pie.
Over the last few decades however, leaving evidence had become less and less of a problem. With the heavy influence of the Medici on there forces, the feds had come to the point where even if they did find any traces leading to a murder, they'd just dispose of it themselves rather then try and find a connection to the killer, less they accidentally find themselves being led to the mob.
Dad told me once that it used to be a lot harder to dispose of things back in the old days. Back when cops actually gave a shit. That's what led him to developing our state of the art disposing unit.
That whole disaster in the hallway? Twenty years ago, cops would've found the killer not even twenty four hours later with that mess alone. Now a days, you just had a get rid of the body, and the feds would call an obvious murder as nothing but a missing persons case.
Taking a look at a small clock hanging on the same wall as the phone, I made my way down stairs, deciding the sodium had sat long enough.
Taking the bucket, I pouring the rest of the water onto the pile, washing it away the small the substance and revealing a clean floor. A second layer wouldn't be needed it seemed.
Gathering up all of my cleaning equipment, I took a bottle of air freshener, gave it quick spritz, tossed it back in the bag, and made my way back to the van.
Tossing my bag in the back, I hopped behind the wheel, started the ignition and began making my way way out of Maple Crest.
The dashboard clock told me it was about two o'clock in the morning. Still another hour or two before I'd usually be in bed, so I didn't mind staying up a little longer if it meant getting paid.
Hopefully, my contact was still at the dinner.
Chapter 1 - End
And so, the first chapter is finished. For those of you who made it this far, thank you. For those of you who didn't, I don't blame you.
Now. I'm not quite sure where I'm going to go with this story, but I do intend for it a get kind of dark. Not to bad, but I may need to change the age rating. For now though it shouldn't be to bad.
I've got a general layout for the story, as well as my Oc, Donavan. Once I get in a few more chapters, I may release an actual bio of the character so you guys can visualize him better. Hopefully I get that far anyways.
As I said before, I'm writing this so as to add to the fandom, and to get some ideas out of my head.
Well that's that.
Cheers, eh?