Gruesome findings.
The wall is covered with a puzzle of photographs. The total is a sequence of a man's face being eviscerated. It's weird, but faces are so important to us, that even a minor facial injury looks terribly to us. I've never been too good with autopsies but then the victim's already dead, right? The amount of blood on those pictures clearly indicates the victim was still alive. Oh my dear God, I've seen a lot but this….
When my stomach finally calms down after a violent retching, I brace myself against the view and look around. Below the pictures is a small box. I can hardly make myself step closer, but I have to.
"Warrick?" it's Cath from upstairs.
"It's alright, Cath. Don't come down." I answer, my voice not as firm as I'd like it to.
"Warrick, are you OK?" I can hear her steps on the stairs.
"Stay upstairs, Cath! For God's sake do as I say!"
OK, one deep breath. *You can do this, Warrick. It's just pictures. They won't bite you. You're a big man, not a kid any longer. You can go there* I grab the box and rush upstairs as if the devil himself was after me.
I'm not stopping before I'm outside the house, where I can breathe fresh air. Only now I open the box: Hi8 video-cassettes. Three of them, 180 minutes each.
Cath had learned in the meantime that Mr. Franks, the man who lives here, has left earlier together with a man in a dark SUV. By now every policeman in and around LV is in search for Nick's Tahoe. We can't do too much, except see what is on those tapes. I don't want to. I have a guess and that's enough. Yet, we need to know. They might hold the hint we will need to find Nick!
+++
None of us has managed to watch longer than 35 minutes. We're outside the room, avoiding to peek through the glass-wall like hell. After all the vid is still playing. We don't want to see it.
We can't.
It's too sick.
It started rather….well, kind of harmless with some CBT – that is cock-and-ball torture. I don't know why but there are guys going off at having their balls put in a vice. That was the moment Greg gave up. The vic was being tied spread-eagle on a stainless-steel-table. Looked like the morgue to me. Then a man starts to fuck the victim. Nothing too bad so far, but then, while fucking he starts to cut his victim with a scalpel. Criss-crossing the chest. That was when Sara left. I felt sick, but tried to concentrate on the surroundings, the background, honestly trying to find out where the hell this had taken place. He was then cutting away the flesh of the man's cheeks and …. I don't know. That was the moment when Cath and I made a run for the restrooms.
I'm still reeling with horror. Nobody's speaking a word. I don't know if I can get these pictures out of my head ever again. I look at my co-worker's faces and we all think the same: Is Nick the next? Yet nobody dares to utter those words, as if speaking them out aloud would make it become a horrible reality. As if silence could prevent Nick and us from what seems to happen.
The phone rings.
Good Lord! Finally something. This time it's me who's making the run.
"Yeah?" I'm switching on the loudspeaker.
"Warrick?" but it's Gil, not Brass "Are you ok, dear?" his voice is concerned, that single word I spoke must have carried all my anxiety and fear and shit! Gil doesn't know they all can hear him. Being honest, I don't really care at this moment.
"Gil? I got the speaker on."
"oh."
"Gil, something terrible happened: Nick is missing and so is a suspect he went to see."
"How?"
I try to tell it in the proper way but recalling fucking upsets me and I start to stammer.
"Warrick, I want you to calm down." God, his voice alone can do that! I can actually FEEL my pulse drop a bit. "Try to breathe slow and even OK?"
"Yeah."
"OK. You think you can go on, then do so. Take your time." He's so calm, like a rock in wildest surf and he calms me. I continue "When you called we hoped it was Brass. Hence the speaker on."
"I'm on my way."
"Good. We really need you here, Gil." Yeah and I do, especially! I hang up the phone and meet the eyes of my co-workers. None of them cares about my little secret uncovered. We have more pressing things to worry about.
"Wait! I need to see that again…" Greg mutters and disappears in the vid-room. The rest of us exchanges quizzical glances, then we're following him. Greg rewinds the tape and then goes in single-picture-mode. He points at some structure in the background.
"Can you get that clearer?" he asks.
I'm glad I have something useful to do and throw myself at the switches. We can produce an acceptable image of what Greg saw. It's a large steel-hook hanging down from the ceiling. The shadows behind indicate there are several more behind in a straight line.
"What the hell's that?" I ask.
"I wasn't sure, but the table looked somehow familiar. See, we had lots of big dogs at home. We always went to the abattoir to buy the leftovers. These hooks – they hang the corpses onto such hooks." Greg was terribly excited "I bet this is some abandoned slaughterhouse."
"Call Brass and tell him." The tape is stopped, the screen mercifully shows only that ominous steel-hook.
"They found the car!" Greg announces. He waves with a note, the addy jotted down in his impossible handwriting. We cram us into a single SUV. Not that there are not enough cars, but we all have the need to stay together right now. Mobile red-light flashing and honking Greg files through the traffic like a hell-rider. The kid does a good job until a patrol-car tries to stop us. We all wave our IDs and the officers understand, get their car in front of ours and escort us through the maze of back-lights.
It's indeed an old abattoir, surrounded by hoards of policemen. Chances are Nick is still alive. Dear God, let him be OK! Sara – hell, why did we take her along? She is too involved! Not that anyone of us is not, but she's the one in love with Nick. Sara dashes towards the building and I really have to run to catch her.
"Sara!"
"Let me go!" she bucks and struggles like a foal, It's hard to hold her.
"Sara, you can't help him now." I don't want to hurt her, but how else shall I keep a freakin' woman steady?
"Let –" we hear a shot rip through the night, piercing our frayed nerves. Sara hits me square in the face and elbows my groin so badly I double-over, still not letting her go. It's all I can think of through a haze of pain: don't let her go, War, and if it's the last thing you do. Just hold on tight.
Bend and twisted as we stand while I try to breathe through the pain, to come up again.
"You hurt me!" Sara complains. Really, do I? I bet I'm not hurtin' her as badly as she just did me. Bitch! At least the pain had cleared her head a bit and she nearly gave up struggling. We watch paramedics run into the complex, policemen flooding the building like ants.
"Is he OK?" a voice from behind inquires. It Gil! Oh my God, sweet baby Jesus and all saints that is what I needed! I feel a load of worries fall off my heart.
"Thank God you're here! We don't –" ...know I wanted to say but just then the paramedics roll out a stretcher. Seeing no reason to hold Sara back any second longer, I release her. Greg and Cath join us and greet Gil. The sight of Greg makes him raise an eyebrow, nothing more. Together we walk towards the stretcher.
It's Nick.
He's either unconscious or in a very bad state.
"They say he's completely drugged. Bruised and zoned out, they could not find any other external injuries. They're going to take him to hospital for further examination." Sara doesn't even ask, she takes it for granted that she'll drive in the ambulance, holding Nick's limp hand.
"I'm going to process the scene. Cath, Warrick, you join me. Greg, get back to the lab, ASAP." Gil already heads for the Tahoe to pick up a field-kit. When he realizes no-one of us actually moved, he turns "the sooner we're done here, the sooner we can go to the hospital and see Nick. We cannot help him now, except in finding what went on here."
"Come-on." Cath amicably slaps my back. Yeah, he's right. As always Gil knows best what to do.
+++
The stink inside is nauseating. Rotten flesh. We all know the smell but in here its intensity is unheard of. Like we're walking against a wall of stink each of us pauses for a second before we enter with a disgusted groan. I'm glad I don't have to take pictures of Nick IN HERE. It gives me a bit more of distance, makes working easier.
"Over here!" Cath's voice echoes eerily throughout the dim hall. As I approach her, the stink gets even stronger, if that is possible at all. The white beam of light cuts out details of a total I'd be glad to miss. A pile of flesh and bones, haphazardly loaded onto one another. The sterile building had kept most insects away, only bacteria were at work. The remains are partially in a liquefied state, flowing and melting into each other.
*flash* *flash* I let the celluloid testify the crime. I'm still too shaken, reeling with fear and relief as to do anything but work mechanically. I admire Cath. She shows once more that women are truly the strong sex. Amazing how tough she is!
We find four skulls in different states of decay within the pile that we pull apart with steel-beams. Even the freshest cannot be identified: the eyes are gone, the flesh is cut apart in large areas, making the face a terribe mess. The hair is balck and curly though. It might be Ramirez' brother. The dentist's files will show.
Although we get backup from day-shift it takes hours to secure all evidence and have it all transported. I'm bone-dead and mentally numbed by the time we're done.
The wall is covered with a puzzle of photographs. The total is a sequence of a man's face being eviscerated. It's weird, but faces are so important to us, that even a minor facial injury looks terribly to us. I've never been too good with autopsies but then the victim's already dead, right? The amount of blood on those pictures clearly indicates the victim was still alive. Oh my dear God, I've seen a lot but this….
When my stomach finally calms down after a violent retching, I brace myself against the view and look around. Below the pictures is a small box. I can hardly make myself step closer, but I have to.
"Warrick?" it's Cath from upstairs.
"It's alright, Cath. Don't come down." I answer, my voice not as firm as I'd like it to.
"Warrick, are you OK?" I can hear her steps on the stairs.
"Stay upstairs, Cath! For God's sake do as I say!"
OK, one deep breath. *You can do this, Warrick. It's just pictures. They won't bite you. You're a big man, not a kid any longer. You can go there* I grab the box and rush upstairs as if the devil himself was after me.
I'm not stopping before I'm outside the house, where I can breathe fresh air. Only now I open the box: Hi8 video-cassettes. Three of them, 180 minutes each.
Cath had learned in the meantime that Mr. Franks, the man who lives here, has left earlier together with a man in a dark SUV. By now every policeman in and around LV is in search for Nick's Tahoe. We can't do too much, except see what is on those tapes. I don't want to. I have a guess and that's enough. Yet, we need to know. They might hold the hint we will need to find Nick!
+++
None of us has managed to watch longer than 35 minutes. We're outside the room, avoiding to peek through the glass-wall like hell. After all the vid is still playing. We don't want to see it.
We can't.
It's too sick.
It started rather….well, kind of harmless with some CBT – that is cock-and-ball torture. I don't know why but there are guys going off at having their balls put in a vice. That was the moment Greg gave up. The vic was being tied spread-eagle on a stainless-steel-table. Looked like the morgue to me. Then a man starts to fuck the victim. Nothing too bad so far, but then, while fucking he starts to cut his victim with a scalpel. Criss-crossing the chest. That was when Sara left. I felt sick, but tried to concentrate on the surroundings, the background, honestly trying to find out where the hell this had taken place. He was then cutting away the flesh of the man's cheeks and …. I don't know. That was the moment when Cath and I made a run for the restrooms.
I'm still reeling with horror. Nobody's speaking a word. I don't know if I can get these pictures out of my head ever again. I look at my co-worker's faces and we all think the same: Is Nick the next? Yet nobody dares to utter those words, as if speaking them out aloud would make it become a horrible reality. As if silence could prevent Nick and us from what seems to happen.
The phone rings.
Good Lord! Finally something. This time it's me who's making the run.
"Yeah?" I'm switching on the loudspeaker.
"Warrick?" but it's Gil, not Brass "Are you ok, dear?" his voice is concerned, that single word I spoke must have carried all my anxiety and fear and shit! Gil doesn't know they all can hear him. Being honest, I don't really care at this moment.
"Gil? I got the speaker on."
"oh."
"Gil, something terrible happened: Nick is missing and so is a suspect he went to see."
"How?"
I try to tell it in the proper way but recalling fucking upsets me and I start to stammer.
"Warrick, I want you to calm down." God, his voice alone can do that! I can actually FEEL my pulse drop a bit. "Try to breathe slow and even OK?"
"Yeah."
"OK. You think you can go on, then do so. Take your time." He's so calm, like a rock in wildest surf and he calms me. I continue "When you called we hoped it was Brass. Hence the speaker on."
"I'm on my way."
"Good. We really need you here, Gil." Yeah and I do, especially! I hang up the phone and meet the eyes of my co-workers. None of them cares about my little secret uncovered. We have more pressing things to worry about.
"Wait! I need to see that again…" Greg mutters and disappears in the vid-room. The rest of us exchanges quizzical glances, then we're following him. Greg rewinds the tape and then goes in single-picture-mode. He points at some structure in the background.
"Can you get that clearer?" he asks.
I'm glad I have something useful to do and throw myself at the switches. We can produce an acceptable image of what Greg saw. It's a large steel-hook hanging down from the ceiling. The shadows behind indicate there are several more behind in a straight line.
"What the hell's that?" I ask.
"I wasn't sure, but the table looked somehow familiar. See, we had lots of big dogs at home. We always went to the abattoir to buy the leftovers. These hooks – they hang the corpses onto such hooks." Greg was terribly excited "I bet this is some abandoned slaughterhouse."
"Call Brass and tell him." The tape is stopped, the screen mercifully shows only that ominous steel-hook.
"They found the car!" Greg announces. He waves with a note, the addy jotted down in his impossible handwriting. We cram us into a single SUV. Not that there are not enough cars, but we all have the need to stay together right now. Mobile red-light flashing and honking Greg files through the traffic like a hell-rider. The kid does a good job until a patrol-car tries to stop us. We all wave our IDs and the officers understand, get their car in front of ours and escort us through the maze of back-lights.
It's indeed an old abattoir, surrounded by hoards of policemen. Chances are Nick is still alive. Dear God, let him be OK! Sara – hell, why did we take her along? She is too involved! Not that anyone of us is not, but she's the one in love with Nick. Sara dashes towards the building and I really have to run to catch her.
"Sara!"
"Let me go!" she bucks and struggles like a foal, It's hard to hold her.
"Sara, you can't help him now." I don't want to hurt her, but how else shall I keep a freakin' woman steady?
"Let –" we hear a shot rip through the night, piercing our frayed nerves. Sara hits me square in the face and elbows my groin so badly I double-over, still not letting her go. It's all I can think of through a haze of pain: don't let her go, War, and if it's the last thing you do. Just hold on tight.
Bend and twisted as we stand while I try to breathe through the pain, to come up again.
"You hurt me!" Sara complains. Really, do I? I bet I'm not hurtin' her as badly as she just did me. Bitch! At least the pain had cleared her head a bit and she nearly gave up struggling. We watch paramedics run into the complex, policemen flooding the building like ants.
"Is he OK?" a voice from behind inquires. It Gil! Oh my God, sweet baby Jesus and all saints that is what I needed! I feel a load of worries fall off my heart.
"Thank God you're here! We don't –" ...know I wanted to say but just then the paramedics roll out a stretcher. Seeing no reason to hold Sara back any second longer, I release her. Greg and Cath join us and greet Gil. The sight of Greg makes him raise an eyebrow, nothing more. Together we walk towards the stretcher.
It's Nick.
He's either unconscious or in a very bad state.
"They say he's completely drugged. Bruised and zoned out, they could not find any other external injuries. They're going to take him to hospital for further examination." Sara doesn't even ask, she takes it for granted that she'll drive in the ambulance, holding Nick's limp hand.
"I'm going to process the scene. Cath, Warrick, you join me. Greg, get back to the lab, ASAP." Gil already heads for the Tahoe to pick up a field-kit. When he realizes no-one of us actually moved, he turns "the sooner we're done here, the sooner we can go to the hospital and see Nick. We cannot help him now, except in finding what went on here."
"Come-on." Cath amicably slaps my back. Yeah, he's right. As always Gil knows best what to do.
+++
The stink inside is nauseating. Rotten flesh. We all know the smell but in here its intensity is unheard of. Like we're walking against a wall of stink each of us pauses for a second before we enter with a disgusted groan. I'm glad I don't have to take pictures of Nick IN HERE. It gives me a bit more of distance, makes working easier.
"Over here!" Cath's voice echoes eerily throughout the dim hall. As I approach her, the stink gets even stronger, if that is possible at all. The white beam of light cuts out details of a total I'd be glad to miss. A pile of flesh and bones, haphazardly loaded onto one another. The sterile building had kept most insects away, only bacteria were at work. The remains are partially in a liquefied state, flowing and melting into each other.
*flash* *flash* I let the celluloid testify the crime. I'm still too shaken, reeling with fear and relief as to do anything but work mechanically. I admire Cath. She shows once more that women are truly the strong sex. Amazing how tough she is!
We find four skulls in different states of decay within the pile that we pull apart with steel-beams. Even the freshest cannot be identified: the eyes are gone, the flesh is cut apart in large areas, making the face a terribe mess. The hair is balck and curly though. It might be Ramirez' brother. The dentist's files will show.
Although we get backup from day-shift it takes hours to secure all evidence and have it all transported. I'm bone-dead and mentally numbed by the time we're done.