Well, would you look at that? I managed to finish this story before the holidays. Took a little extra work but it was worth it. So here are a couple of thoughts…
This story is called Monsters for a reason. And while we don't want to think about it, horrible crimes have happened as long as humanity has been around. Mike and Steve are going to have their hands full working this latest case.
The holidays are coming up and to be perfectly honest, it's been an awful few years for many of us. Even if you didn't lose a loved one, your life was still gravely impacted by what's been going on. All that to say that I would love for you to take my newest story as a donation, as something that I spent an ungodly amount of hours on to help you pass your time. In return, could I humbly ask that if you are in a position to donate, would you consider donating to your local food bank or animal shelter? Many of those noble programs are currently suffering due to a mixture of rising grocery prices and economic insecurity, and it's more important than ever to support them. If you can give even as little as a dollar, I know it would make a difference on their end. It would be such a tremendous gesture and a true token of community from all of us here on the fanfic network.
If you've been following me long enough you will notice the beginning of this story starting out quite similar to "Love and Hate". Any connection to that story was purely unintentional.
I appreciate all of you more than you can ever begin to imagine. You are my inspiration. You are what keeps me going most days and it's been a heck of a journey. Thank you!
ACT I
The air was so thick it threatened to choke him out, travelling down his windpipe and into his lungs at the speed of cold molasses. Like a carrier of misfortune, the odor of fresh blood and gun power accompanied the sensation, making the unpleasant scents remain in his nose, drowning out anything else as if to ensure they'd received center stage.
And they sure did.
Desperate screams could be heard from outside the building, people arriving at the scene, tormented by the extent of the bloodshed. On the inside, nothing but deadly silence greeted them. Somewhere in the back, a partially detached ceiling fan hitting the soft fiber tiles acted as a pendulum, forcing time to move on in a place where it had come to a complete and horrific standstill.
Off in the distance, still so painfully far away, he could hear ambulances and additional support arriving, men who wouldn't be the least bit prepared for the massacre that had occurred here.
Steve gasped involuntarily when he tripped over a leg sprawled out on the dancefloor, immediately glancing down, heart hammering in his chest as he grasped his .38 in a death grip.
Upon realizing that the leg wasn't moving, he swallowed hard, trying to keep his spiraling emotions at bay considering the circumstances, releasing the grip on his gun somewhat as he went down on one knee.
With his expression softening, then turning into outright sorrow, he followed the sprawled out body all the way to the head, the face belonging to some twenty-year young man in an expensive suit and purple tie, freshly shaven, elaborately styled blonde hair accentuating his distinguished jaws, his partially open mouth showing well taken care of teeth, his brown eyes glazed over and staring at the ceiling that was splattered with blood.
Reaching for the carotid artery more out of professional sense than actual need, Steve leaned over, letting his fingertips trace the cold skin on the young man's neck, the lack of a heartbeat causing him to drop his chin to his chest.
"This one's dead also…", he announced broken-spiritedly, causing Mike to nod subtly, as the Lieutenant moved on, passing the piles of dead bodies on their somber way to ensure all danger had passed.
Getting back up despite his knees suddenly seeming heavy and sore, not wanting to advance deeper into the large room, Steve tried to draw in a deep breath, the sheer act resulting in him being overwhelmed with the coppery scent lingering heavily in the bar area, nearly making him vomit.
"Let's make sure we find Vargas.", Mike answered coldly, not an ounce of emotion to be found in his professional voice as he made his way past corpses with distinct urgency, looking to find the one that was responsible for all that bloodshed.
With the sirens sounding no closer at all, Steve followed his partner at a safe distance, ensuring that if there was additional gunfire, the range of targets would be…spread out, more or less.
The Lieutenant's shoulders were rigid, his pace slowing down but still determined, his eyes scanning every single inch of the large room
The same couldn't be said about his partner.
Leaving behind the dead male, Steve glanced back and forth, taking in other sprawled out bodies, trying to judge if there was a heartbeat to be found on either one of them, discouraged when all he could make out were torsos riddles with bullet holes, at least two to three of them fatal, all of them coming from an automatic, high-powered rifle; all of them hollow-point bullets that easily penetrated skin, bone and flesh.
Swallowing the nausea for the umpteenth time, he moved the .38 closer to his thigh, his left arm rigidly by his sides as he followed Mike past the battlefield of nightclub patrons who had chosen the wrong night and the wrong place to enjoy themselves.
"This one's dead too.", Mike announced from a few feet away, bending over just enough to check for a pulse, his body language changing completely once he turned the victim's head to the right to reveal the large hole in the side of her skull, dried blood sticking to the long, blonde ponytail.
Not summoning the energy to answer, Steve resumed his inventory of bodies, looking for those who might have escaped the hailstorm of bullets, those with maybe only two or three holes in them where it didn't matter quite as much, somebody an experienced surgeon might be able to save.
But there was just too much blood, so much blood that it made the air thick and moist, causing it to stick to his skin, penetrating each pore of his body, even enveloping his soul.
Bile was quickly beginning to form in his throat, as he veered right while Mike headed left, peeking into the bathrooms and kitchen, hoping to cover the inner perimeter of the night club to take inventory, unwilling to let their guard down until their assailant was accounted for.
As he got closer to the bar, the sweet scent of spilled alcohol filled the air, many of the bottles lying on the floor, shattered from the attack, puddles of liquor mixing with those of blood.
A nearby disc jockey station was unoccupied that evening, the tables and speakers spared from much of the damage.
Several couples were lying on the floor, caught in the middle of a dance when the attack happened, one set still holding hands as they died together.
Steve clenched his jaws, forcing himself to push his feelings far away for the time being, ignoring the desperate pleas from his soul to stop the onslaught of traumatic scenes at once.
A slight creak disrupted the ominous silence, making him flinch.
Looking over, he noticed Mike peeking into a supply closet; his shoulders sagging imperceptibly as he opened it wider, then let his arms drop to his sides.
"I found Vargas."
Torn between relief and terror at what would await him, Steve bridged the short distance to his partner, gently avoiding the maze of bodies on the floor, trying to ignore the lifeless eyes staring back at him to no avail.
Even though he wanted to be strong, be the professional and act like one, he nearly vomited when he stepped into a puddle of blood, his boots sliding just enough that he lost his balance for a beat, then thankfully caught himself on a bar chair.
If Mike had noticed his faux pas, he didn't say anything.
Instead, the Lieutenant stared straight ahead, as if the sight of Vargas' dead body somehow closed the circle for him, if not the entire case- even though it wasn't theirs to begin with.
Following his partner's glance into the supply closet, Steve sucked in a sharp breath, barely able to recognize Vargas with half his skull missing, the rest splattered against the inner walls, turning the small room into a crimson chamber of horrors.
The machine gun still in his left hand, he'd used a large caliber revolver in his right to end his life, likely a .44 from the looks of the damage done.
There was no need to verify it now and compromise evidence, Steve told himself, hoping Mike would agree.
With the robbery suspect turned mass murderer confirmed dead, the case could now get handed over to the Feds, the guys who made a living of large scale assaults and killing sprees, this place undoubtedly swarming with white dress shirts and boring grey ties in a matter of a few hours.
Steve didn't begrudge this one, the sheer amount of drama and heartbreak too much to handle even for the department of a metropolis the size of San Francisco.
As such, he sighed in relief when Mike spun around and headed toward the exit, grabbing him by the elbow to escape the horrors that happened here less than an hour ago.