The closet was her space. Their space, really. Where no one could touch them except each other. Detective Annabeth Chase and Sergeant Luke Castellan ripped the other's clothes off in the small space that was close quartered and at risk of someone catching them.
But these moments were scarce and Annabeth wasn't going to let anyone interrupt. She'd felt it, his pulling away. She'd been in love with Sergeant Castellan for nearly five years, ever since she saw him when she was an officer just starting out in the 11th precinct.
Annabeth pulled her boss's shirt off, running her hands down his six pack. His skin was pale and tough, like leather. His muscles tightened as he continued to assault her lips with his own. It was leaving her breathless and hungry for more. For his cock to be in her.
Her shirt was off next, her pony tail was loose, and her jeans were unbuttoned. Luke's hand was down her pants and grazing her panties. She nearly moaned out loud. She was about to. Then the door opened.
The two leapt from each other, nearly knocking down the stacks of supplies that were around them. Light crept into the small room, making the scar on Luke's face look evil. But then it was gone.
Her attention turned to the interrupter and she nearly had a fit. Percy Jackson stood in the doorway with a stoic face and dead eyes. He had started looking bad a couple of weeks ago, a week after the Lieutenant had announced that the FBI were sending another profiler. She hadn't arrived yet but they did get a name: Alecto Dodds.
Annabeth wasn't that worried about Jackson. It was his routine. He'd light up at another crime scene of the Spotless Killer and then as the weeks wore on, he'd start going downhill. Then another murder would bring him back to full health again. The weeks varied.
"Hand me the fucking swabs." Even his voice was strained. Like he hadn't used it in a while. Or had used it too much. Luke did so without hesitation. It was odd to see Luke answering to someone below him- much less a Lab Geek like Jackson. Annabeth thought they were at least friends.
Jackson stood there for a second then shook his head. He caught Annabeth's stare and snapped a strangled, "What?"
"You mind?" She asked snobbishly. Jackson didn't react. Annabeth's eyebrows raised, shocked that Jackson didn't show any emotion. He hadn't been this bad in a couple months. It was like any emotion but irritation and anger drained out of him.
"Blow me," he said shortly. Before she could say anything he was gone, his footsteps were non-existent. Annabeth stared at the closing door. Perseus Jackson, Blood Spatter Analyst... That's all she knew. Everything she knew about Jackson was his name and his job.
And she was fine with that.
She turned her attention to her boss who was staring at her with the same look she'd seen hundreds of times. She smiled a sultry smile as he dipped his hand into her pants again and began to kiss her neck.
All thoughts of Perseus "Percy" Jackson was put out of her mind as Luke demonstrated his talents.
LineBreak 1
Percy Jackson wasn't doing so good. It's been a few weeks. Four to be exact. Four weeks of arousing, bloody, and gruesome dreams. Of screaming instincts, fantasies, and voices, all urging the slaughter of people on the street and his fellow law enforcement.
Percy knew he was getting bad. He knew when he imagined Grover on the end of his combat knife. When he imagines his cousin, Nico DiAngelo bludgeoned at his feet. Nico was the only other person who knew of Percy's darkness. Of the Itch and the screaming inside his head.
He needed to kill and he needed it now.
But it was broad daylight. He couldn't kill yet. That and he didn't have a prospect. Prospects were important. They mapped a serial killers M.O. Mapped targets that could predict a serial killer's next move. Unfortunately, Percy didn't have targets- specific targets, anyway. If they were human, they were a target.
Percy had always tried to keep targets. Specific targets. Criminals that were lost on the radar of the NYPD or ones that weren't caught. Destructive murderers to petty purse thieves. Sometimes it was just a civilian that got in his way. Such was the case of his last victim, Miranda. The only reason she had a case file was because she had a parking ticket five years ago. She was just unlucky.
Percy sat at his lab table, watching the news. Lieutenant Brunner was making the announcement he should have made two to three weeks ago. That the Spotless Killer left a message.
"Sir? There are reports that the Spotless Killer left a message at Miranda Scott's house- the latestvictim of the Spotless Killer," the channel Four news lady said. Percy shook his head, trying to get away from the thoughts that invaded his mind. He could last... He could last just a little bit longer...
"Yes, the Spotless Killer did,in fact, leave a message at the last crime scene," Brunner replied. "The message was painted on the wall of Ms. Scott's house,above her body. These pictures are graphic and I advise any person without a strong stomach or kids under eighteen to look away."
Pictures flashed across the screen of the HDTV. All were crime scene pictures, getting every angle of the message. 'Call Me Cain.' Percy's hand twitched. The memory was resurfacing and Percy really didn't need the Itch to remind him that he needed to kill soon.
No, NOW!
Percy stood up, almost making his silver metal stool clatter to the floor. He couldn't wait until nighttime. He needed this. And he could probably do it, given everything his father taught him. His father, Poseidon Atlanta, is a Navy SEAL. One of the best. Poseidon is an Admiral Chief of Naval Operations. He'd spent more than twenty years in the field, becoming one of the best soldiers the U.S had ever seen. Percy only met him five times since he was twelve. He's twenty four now.
Percy walked out of his office, out of Homicide, and out of the NYPD Precinct Eleven. New York was a crowded and restless place. Everyone saw nothing but yet there was always one who saw everything. Percy was that one. The one who noticed how a girl walked with a limp because her boyfriend raped her. The one who noticed how the children of the Big Apple had horrible parents who beat them. The one who noticed the others.
The others- serial killers. The predators that stalked the creatures of the wild that was New York. The competition. The people that Percy knew were better than him but couldn't stop killing them. The murderers, pedophiles, abusers, rapists, and drug dealers. Mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, citizens of New York, all of them were at Percy's fingertips.
He barely had feelings. The longer he went without killing, the more apathetic he turned. His feelings turned into ghosts, leaving his haunted house until a new body joined the ones underneath his floorboards. When he was a teenager, he killed almost on a daily basis. Animals, of course. He killed for his mother. To let her have the experience of raising a normal teenager.
Then he killed Gabe...
Gabe Ugliano was Percy's stepfather. He was a dick and a drug dealer. He was an abusive fuck too. He hit Percy and Sally, his mother, numerous times. Percy was thirteen when he killed the fucker. A table lamp. That's what Percy used. Over and over again. Percy didn't stop for a full ten minutes. It was a brutality only trained Pit Bulls and German Shepherds had seen.
That was when Percy realized that killing humans felt so much better than killing animals. For the next nine years, he fought every instinct, every dream, every itch, and every voice that haunted him. Every night. For nine fucking years.
Percy was going crazy. He spent nine years trying to suppress instincts that were so violent and natural to him that, eventually he exploded. He had just gotten out of work at a McDonald's- before he became a Blood Spatter Analyst- and was walking next to an alley. A woman was screaming and their were two lowlifes trying to get her jeans down. Percy took his time with them. A knife he kept for skinning animals was embedded in their sternum and used it to skin them.
He almost killed the girl too. But the kills gave him enough control of the Itch to let her go. He killed fifteen more people before the night was over. By the time the sun was rising and showing through the sky scrapers of Manhattan, Percy was covered in blood, intestines, and human skin. Since then, he's been more careful and never went that long from killing again. He would never make that mistake ever again. Ever.
After that night, the police had been chasing the 'Spotless Killer.' Percy took a lot of classes on Forensic Science, Blood Spatter courses, and eventually became Precinct Eleven of the NYPD's Blood Spatter Analyst. He managed to get his degree in a couple months, despite his dyslexia and ADD.
Percy spotted his target. People say there is love at first sight. Percy believes in murder at first sight. That with one look, you can tell if the person is a murderer, if it's right to murder them, and if they have it in them to harm others. The answer is almost always a yes.
Percy followed someone. It was a girl that-
The vibration of his phone stopped him. It felt like a smack in the face. What was he doing? He didn't have anything to kill her with, there were too many witnesses, and it was broad daylight outside. He couldn't do this now. Not yet. Percy rummaged through his pocket and took out his phone.
"What?" He snapped despite his best efforts. The voice on the other end gave out a huff and Percy knew immediately who it was. "Huff all you want. Just spill it, Chase."
"That's 'Detective' to you," she retorted from the other line.
"Do you have anything useful to say that I won't ignore? I'm in the middle of something." Yeah, getting a hammer and smashing some-
"We got a crime scene, genius. Why else would I be calling you?" She did indeed have a point.
"You wanted to talk with my winning personality and hear my voice that haunts your fantasies," he said in a monotone voice. Sarcasm often got the 'Detective' to shut her trap and get to the point. She wasn't really the joking type.
"Just get here," she huffed. "Apt. 28A. 34th and 2nd West. The Spotless Killer struck again."
Line Break 2
Annabeth showed her badge to the officers already on scene and ducked under the tape to get into the tiny apartment. The body hadn't been there for long but it had the Spotless Killer's M.O. all over it. Over her. Blood was splattered around the floor around the couch, making it look like an island with one dead occupant.
She sighed, knowing that she was the one needed to call in Jackson since Luke had not shown up yet. She reached into her NYPD jacket and took out her phone, dialing his number from memory.
"What?" Momentarily put off by his voice, she gave a silent huff. Apparently it wasn't silent as Jackson said, "Huff all you want. Just spill it, Chase."
"That's 'Detective' to you," she replied snobbishly. She didn't like the way he said her name. Like she wasn't worth his time and was only an annoyance he couldn't wait to get rid of. Not that she didn't act the same way towards him but still. She was the detective, he was the geek. He was supposed to think she was hot and cool and awesome.
"Do you have anything useful to say that I won't ignore? I'm in the middle of something." The middle of what? Annabeth thought angrily to herself. What could he be doing that is so goddamn important?
"We got a crime scene, genius. Why else would I be calling you?" Her voice was harsh and challenging. A challenge he met to perfection.
"You wanted to talk with my winning personality and hear my voice that haunts your fantasies." Annabeth had to hold in a snort. She had never thought his personality as 'winning' or that his voice was silky and smooth, having the perfect baritone when he talked. Nope, never. Though one thing she can say and think honestly is that she had never- ever- fantasized about Percy Jackson.
"Just get here," she snapped. His comeback had left her speechless for a millisecond but she quickly regained her composure. "Apt. 28A. 34th and 2nd West. The Spotless Killer struck again." Silence reigned on the other line. "Jackson? Jackson? What the hell are you doing."
"I'll be right there." The line went dead and Annabeth was left holding a phone with a dead line against her ear in the middle of a gruesome crime scene that made her want to throw up. How did she even get there?
Jackson was there in under three minutes. A record when he's usually fifteen minutes late everyday. He was still as horrible as he was earlier that day when she saw him when he opened the closet. Except his eyes looked worried and confused instead of broken and the bags under his eyes looked heavier.
"Move," he told her and she complied, feeling that something was off about this. Everything felt off. Jackson stood in the middle of the room, looking around the room while turning in a circle. His eyes looked everywhere. Taking in every single detail.
Percy's thoughts were screaming at him. This... this wasn't him. The blood was still fresh, dripping from the ceiling and staining the carpet. The indents on what could be seen on the bone came from a hand axe of some sort- he would know after inflicting wounds like that on countless other people. The body's rigor mortise hadn't even set in. But Percy was back at the station when this happened... an hour ago. Maybe two.
Then who did it?
Annabeth watched him as something flashed through his eyes and disappeared. It was here she began to get worried. When a Spotless Killer murder happened, Percy Jackson was usually seemed refreshed and relaxed- even when a murder is called in at three in the morning.
Now though, he looked even worse than he had when she saw him earlier. The bags under his eyes seemed to grow, his cheeks were gaunt and his eyes were a poison green, and his hands twitched violently at his sides until he wrung them together.
"Well?" Annabeth snapped when she finished analyzing him. He whipped to her, his eyes unfocused on anything in the room. "Are you going to do your job or what?"
He stared at her for a second. Then he bolted from the room and sprinted down the hallway, knocking a startled Detective Castellan to the side as he came on the scene.
"What's with him?" Luke questioned Annabeth as she stared after the Geek.
"I have no clue," she answered.
Line Break 3
He would kill him. There was a copycat running around his city, killing his kills, creating a crappy impersonation of Percy to leave behind. Percy would kill him. If it was a him. And if it was... Oh, he was so going to get skinned.
Percy was going to cut the Copy open and tear out his liver, keep him alive, sow it back in, and rip it out again! He was going to cut the fucker open and drench him in fucking whiskey! Stuff the CopyPussy full of goddamn McDonald's French fries and hang him on the golden arches like a fucking piƱata to be hit by eleven year olds! He was so going to kill him...
But first, Percy needed to go kill someone else.
