I do not own any of the DC Universe Characters
Chapter one:
Commissioner James Gordon had to admit to himself that he was getting on in years. At three in the mourning his mind felt weary and his limbs tired, he rubbed his eyes beneath his wire framed glasses tiredly.
The east side of the beach was already cut off from the rest of the world by bands of yellow plastic tape; - it was like a whole other planet. The bone white beach sand was bathed in the constant flickering glow of red and blue lights, blues crawled all over the scene, an ambulance was off to the side, and at the very edge of it all Lieutenant Montoya was waiting for him.
The African- American woman looked how he felt – haggard and tired. She gave him a soft smile when he approached; it looked unnatural on her face.
"What do we have?" he asked already slipping a cigarette between his lips, and searching for his zippo in his duster pockets. Barbra was already really annoyed that he refused to quit, so he was mindful to keep so many of the little tickets for cancer at a minimum.
"Two floaters both children, no identification on em' yet"
They were passing by the ambulance now. Sitting on the steps to its open back door was a teen shivering like a leaf beneath the cover of a blanket while paramedics tried to soothe him. Gordon caught his shaky voice just as they walked by.
"They're alive in there man. There ain't no way no dead man can look like that."
Maybe it was the conviction in his voice but it made something nauseating crawl in Gordon's belly - the fact that the victims were children also didn't help any either. He turned to Montoya who had seemed to pause and look at the kid with a sympathetic look on her face, there was also something else in her expression but it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared.
For now Gordon let it drop, but he was beyond the age where he brushed such things of as just imaginings. Gotham had that effect on people - you could never be too paranoid in this city.
When they reached the bodies Montoya stayed a healthy distance away, Gordon was surprised to see the sweat beading across her forehead, and the fearful way the whites of her eyes showed. She smiled a shaky smile and waved off his concern.
"I have a phone call to make."
Gordon hadn't eaten anything before he left and he was glad he hadn't. He could feel bile rising in his throat, the cigarette in his mouth dropped into the sand and he covered his mouth with his hands. He dropped the plastic cover over the bloated body - shivering uncontrollably while he stepped back.
The smell of decompose flesh and salt was lessened but the image was burned beneath his eye lids. Through the rotting skin he could still see the bone curdling terror etched in their features and the chilling awareness of the eyes made him believe that the dead teen beneath the sheet was very much alive.
They're alive in there man. There ain't no way no dead man can look that.
Whoever did this to these kid's was a sick bastard that needed to be put down.