Detective in-the-making Finn Jones stands in the open air outside, gasping for breath like he'd just run across twenty-five blocks. Truth was what he'd just seen inside was enough to make that nauseous feeling tickle the back of his throat within seconds. His partner, the experienced Jim Carter, had told him to catch some breath before coming back inside.
"You're still green," he said, "It'll pass, don't worry,"
How can it ever pass? That girl inside, well… 'a real mess' just wouldn't cut it in the report he'd have to write later. She was hacked and slashed to ribbons, flesh torn apart and tossed around the room messily. It was all over the walls, hanging off lamp fixtures. They even found the dog feeding on scraps of lung tissue that had been left in its bowl. Who could do such a thing?
"Something on your mind, kid?" Carter croaks, flicking the dying remains of his cigar down a nearby drain.
Finn doesn't answer, his gaze fixed firmly on a prostitute over the street trying to flash around some business. Behind her, in the alleyway, a tramp lies motionless, dead probably, and behind him an endless tunnel of blackness, twisting and turning through every nook and cranny of this decrepit city.
Corruption was in the air. It always had been. It was times like this he'd look up at the stars, almost clouded by the ever present veil of murky fog and wonder: when did this become me?
He always had these thoughts on clear nights. Reminded him of the day he and his sister had gone their separate ways, Lucinda off to become an insurance investigator and Finn himself joining up with the police force.
"We all look up and see the stars, but everyone's got their own perspective."
Those were her last words to him, as cryptic a leaving note as she could've left. The last words she'd ever say.
"You look a little shaken. Why don't you take the rest of the night off?" Carter offers.
"No, it's fine. I just needed a little breather, is all," Finn assures.
As he walks passed, the experienced cop places a firm hand on his shoulder, "I'm serious, you're as pale as a sheet. Get your ass home,"
"No," Finn bites, shaking Carter's hand away, "I need to do this,"
"You're a Junior Detective, remember? What we got in there, it's sure not the kind of thing juniors need to be seeing',"
"I'm not scared," Finn whines.
"Scared?" Carter quips, "Maybe you ought to be, huh? It don't make you any less of a man for being scared. Some of the best cops on the force know fear like it's the back of their hand. We're all human, right?"
"Tell that to the poor girl lying in twelve pieces behind that door. What she saw tonight wasn't humanity,"
"All I'm saying is that you're training to be a detective, not a beat cop. People like us, we don't get any breaks. Our work is our life. You gotta be ready to get inside that killer's head and think like that motherfucker does, you understand what I'm saying? It ain't the kind of thing you can learn to do overnight,"
"You're my partner, not my boss. I wanna go in," Finn says, "And besides, this ain't the first time I've seen this, right?"
He brushes passed Carter, knocking into him slightly. Carter nods, his lips curling into a slight smile, "Of course. Two years ago,"