A/N: I'm not abandoning the other story, I swear. I just really wanted to start this one. This plot bunny has been poking me in the back of my head for weeks. It's getting annoying, so I gotta get at least a chapter down. That bunny has sharp claws, damnit!
"First case of the year. Fresh off the press," said Sara holding a crisp, white piece of paper in her hands.
"I wonder if it'll be different, somehow. Ya know, special," said Greg, while making a gesture with both hands.
"They're all special. In their own little ways," she said handing the paper off to him.
He took it gingerly, "Yeesh, you sound like a 1st grade teacher talking about her students,"
She leaned against the break room table with her hands in her pockets, "Puh-lease. Teachers don't get a fat enough paycheck to talk about their students like that. They tell them their special, but that's not actually how they feel,"
"Now you're just stereotyping. Plus, it's not like we get immense paychecks, either,"
A small grin on her face, she narrowed her eyes, "…Touché,"
"Yeah, that's right. Eat it,"
"Hmm, and here I thought you were maturing. But no, you're in fact, regressing,"
"Oh yeah? Well… I'll regress you,"
"What? That doesn't even makes sense,"
"…Maybe I just went over your head. Ever think about that?" he said, cocking his head.
"Now who would ever think that? That's just crazy talk," she said smiling smugly at him. "Speaking of crazy talk, I've had enough of it. Let's get this show on the road,"
"Alright, what do we got here?" he said quietly, referring to the paper. "D.B. at a motel. Very original,"
"Don't bitch. This is the job of your dreams. Remember, champ?"
He got up from the chair he was sitting in and stretched. "I remember,"
They arrived at the dark and dingy motel half an hour later. The words "Masterford's Motel" were displayed at the front in tacky pink florescent lights with a few letters left unlit. The parking lot contained about 4 or 5 cars and there were bits of garbage strewn all over the ground. There was a dodgy-looking guy standing against a wall to the left of the crime scene, silently observing the happenings with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, casting an eerie shadow on his face. He'd be questioned later, no doubt. The air smelled of urine and smoke. Altogether, not a very inviting environment.
Vega walked slowly towards them with a somber look on his face. When he reached them he greeted them "Sidle. Sanders," They nodded in return. "It's not the prettiest of sights in there. There's blood all over the place. Slit throat,"
"Do we have an ID on the body?" asked Sara, to which Vega shook his.
"Nothing," he turned, leading them to the scene: room 15. The rooms had the same smell as the parking lot. The two entered and digested their surroundings. Furniture was tipped over, lamps were broken; there was a struggle. On the floor beside the bed, lying in a pool of blood was a thin, young woman. David was already there waiting for them to arrive.
"Rigor mortis isn't set; she hasn't been dead long," said David when he looked up to see them. The woman's body was tilted to the side; her blonde hair was spread across her face. Her clothes were grunge style and she had a lot of jewelry.
"She can't be more than 25 years old," Sara observed, taking a few pictures.
Greg furrowed his brow. He was starting to get a bad feeling about this in the pit of his stomach. Something seemed wrong, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. David lifted one of the girl's hands gently,
"A whole lot of defensive wounds," and right he was. There were multiple cuts on her hands and arms. "She was definitely not willing to go easily,"
Sara looked up from her work to see Greg standing, staring at the body with a confused look on his face. "Hey Greg? You gonna dig in or just stand there?"
He snapped out of his trance, "Sorry," he said quietly, then proceeded in taking a few shots with his camera. She cast a raised eyebrow in his direction and shook her head.
After a couple shots had been taken from just about every angle, Sara pulled her camera away from her face. "Alright David, can you turn her? Let's get some pictures of the wound that did her in" He nodded and did so. Her hair cascaded off of her face and neck in the process, revealing her slit throat. Sara continued on taking pictures.
"One quick, deep slash to her neck," she commented.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Greg sink to his knees. She turned her head towards him. He was staring directly into the victim's eyes.
"Greg?" she said, confused. He didn't answer.
"Greg?" She said more loudly. "What is it?" Was this his first slit throat, or something? This certainly isn't the worst they'd seen.
His hands were shaking noticeably as he brought them to his face. He cleared his throat and said in a shaky voice,
"I… I can identify the body," Sara sat staring at him confused and surprised. Greg swallowed and said solemnly,
"She's… my sister, Liv,"
