Dedicated to: My Dad, wherever you are
Rated: T, for mild language, mentions of suicide, rape and murder, and for obvious peril. Subject to change.
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, wish I did
A/N: This is told from Woody's POV, to squash any confusion.
A/N2: If anyone thinks this should be bumped up to 'M' rather than 'T', please tell me, 'cause I'm not good at knowing where the line between them is, and might (probably will) cross it with this story...
A/N3: Sorry this took so long. Just started school, tons of homework, you know, first few months of ninth grade. :) And I was grounded from the computer for a bit... Anyway, here it is!
"Hoyt!" I said into my phone gruffly. It'd been eight hours since the eighth victim disappeared.
"Woody, we got the call," said Jordan, and I could tell by her voice that they weren't able to track the call.
"Where?" I asked quickly, my jacket already on and my car keys in hand.
"The Park, off the grove. About a quarter mile from the main road into the woods."
"I'll meet you there." I hung up.
--
"Woody, over here!" called Jordan when she saw me. She was bent over Jeremiah Adkins's body, which lay in the middle of the small clearing Jordan's directions had led me to. It was cold, not surprising for December, but the frost hadn't touched the dead-grass floor of the clearing; there was a leafy canopy above us that kept the snow away.
I pulled my green, fur-lined coat tighter around me as I walked to Jordan; the chill in my bones having nothing to do with the early December weather.
That monster had killed another boy. That monster had ruined another family, and taken away all the chances a ten-year-old had to grow up, accomplish something, and do well, or not so well. It wasn't fair. That kid— he had his entire life in front of him.
"TOD?" I asked briskly, trying not to look at Jeremiah Adkins' body.
"An hour and a half ago, minimum." I cringe. If it had been an hour ago or less, we could get prints off the body. The guy was smart.
"Any chance the cold preserved fingerprints?" I asked hopefully, but I knew the answer. The frost hadn't reached the ground; it wasn't cold enough to freeze the prints. Jordan shook her head in confirmation.
"Damn."
Jordan looked up and me, and her honey coloured eyes met my blue ones. I looked away, staring at my boots. She had to know something was up. And I couldn't tell her what. It wasn't fair.
"We... better get him back to the morgue to process," said Jordan quietly, and I nodded silently, lost in thought. Well, not really, but I probably looked that way.
"Cal's staying at my place," she put in, standing up and trying to catch my gaze. I avoided her eyes looking toward the ground and hoping she didn't notice the absence of my soul.
"Oh. Well, that's nice. How is he?" I asked, not really caring.
"Not so good. He's upset because you won't talk to him." She peeled off her latex gloves and looked me over. "Are you okay?" I shrugged.
"We better get him back to the morgue," I said, motioning toward the body, but not looking at him. I couldn't look at him, for reasons I didn't want to admit. That I couldn't admit; not to myself, not to Cal, and sure as hell not to Jordan.
"I already said that."
"Right. Well, we should." She was bound to notice my strange behaviour eventually. I turned on my heals before she could and headed toward my car, trying not to let my shoulders shake. Unsuccessfully. I was just so damn mad, I couldn't stand it. This worthless SOB had killed again, and his victims were getting younger. A fifth grader! He was so young, and so much to live for, probably had a world of potential, until one man took everything away from him. It wasn't fair.
--
I curled up on Jordan's couch again. She demanded that I go home until she completed the autopsy, but I was willing to wait for her. I just couldn't actually watch her chop up an innocent eleven-year-old boy.
I put my chin on my knees and wrapped my arms around my calves, then closed my eyes. A nap wouldn't hurt.
I clutched my stuffed panda bear to my chest and rocked back and forth slowly. It had happened again. But I had protected Cal, and that was what mattered. He was outside playing, throwing himself in the piles of leaves I had raked for him. He was being a regular six-year-old, and I was thankful for that. That he could be normal.
I put down my panda and got up, stumbling toward the bathroom. I got into the shower and turned it on full-blast, as though it could wash away the painful memories of what he did to me. Of what he would do to me again later.
I turned off the water and sat down in the tub, trying to calm down. Cal couldn't see me like this; I was a mess. He'd figure it out, and then he wouldn't be able to be normal anymore, which was what I was protecting.
I brushed away the tears with the back of my hand and got up, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around myself. I dried and got dressed in my pyjamas; the Spiderman ones. I walked into my bedroom and flopped on my bed, wincing.
"Hey, Woods," Cal said happily, pulling off his jacket and dumping it on the floor. He studied my face, and I forced a smile.
"Hi."
He didn't seem to notice the smile. He looked into my eyes, as though trying to see my darkened soul. As though he knew, but he couldn't. I didn't want him to know. He looked into my eyes, and soon there were tears in his. "What happened? Are you okay?"
I shrugged, grabbing my pillow. "I'm fine," I lied, to protect him. He was only six. He wouldn't understand. It wasn't fair.