DISCLAIMER - PLEASE READ
This story deals with many triggering topics, including physical and sexual violence. Although nothing sexual is overly graphic, and does not reveal itself in this first chapter, this story will not be suitable for all readers. Please use your discretion and take care of yourself.
Code Words - Prologue
It was dark and damp Friday morning when 911 got a call for a body located in an alley off of S Kings Street, in between the tattoo parlor and a hole-in-the-wall pizza joint. The caller chose to stay anonymous, but insisted that first responders come immediately, because the body appeared to be of a teenager.
When paramedics and policemen arrived, the air was grim. None of the experienced workers were strangers to the concept of teenagers being found dead, but it never got any easier.
The two policemen exited their car and started down the dark, dimly lit alleyway while paramedics got their gear ready. Turning on their flashlights to see better, they smelled the tell-tale stench of a decomposing body. The poor kid had been killed a decent amount of time ago and left to rot. Whoever was responsible would hopefully never see the light of day again.
Walking further towards the repulsive odor, the officers at first couldn't locate the kid. Then their flashlights illuminated a mop of curly brown hair, which then revealed the rest of the mutilated corpse.
The sight was gruesome. Every inch of the kid's clothing was stained dark with blood. Any exposed skin was covered in grime and dried blood. The hair that had given away his presence was matted with mud, grime, and yet more blood. A bone protruded from the kid's left leg, the limb askew at an unnatural angle. From where the officers were, they could see that the back of the kid's hoodie was sliced open in several places from where he had likely been stabbed repeatedly with a small object. Fingers left partially exposed beneath long sleeves were broken and dislocated. There was no doubt that this kid had died painfully, and likely after an extended period of deliberate suffering.
Officer Scheele, the less experienced of the two patrolmen, immediately turned away from the scene and threw up the meager breakfast he had consumed that morning. He had never seem anything so cruel in his life. He had a little brother in high school - it could have been him lying in that alley. He vomited again at the thought.
Officer Torres, though visibly shaken at the morbid sight, continued to investigate. He approached slowly, careful not to disturb any evidence from the crime scene. The kid was face down, with his right arm curled directly beneath his face, keeping it from touching the soggy ground. the baggy clothes still seemed to fit the kid relatively well, so he couldn't have died too long before he was found; if it had been more that 24-36 hours, the body would be bloated. Hopefully this meant that evidence could be still be found, although given the rain the night before, that was highly unlikely to Officer Torres.
As Officer Scheele continued to compose himself, Officer Torres did a sweep of the immediate surrounding area. There was a dumpster on the other side of the alley and a tall fence behind the alley. There was only one way into the alley and only one way out. There were no CCTVs in the area, as it was a relatively impoverished area with high gang activity. CCTVs, when they were able to be afforded, would quickly become destroyed by crafty gang members and drug dealers.
The officer was dismayed at the circumstances. Unless someone confessed to what had happened or an eyewitness came forward, this kid likely would not get justice for what was done to him. Officer Torres shook his head; he would hug his children extra close tonight.
Officer Scheele, with his stomach contents effectively emptied, returned to where the kid was located and crouched by the unmoving body. The area around the kid was relatively undisturbed. What struck Officer Scheele, however, was the redness of the wounds on the kids back; had the blood not completely dried yet? Perhaps the recent rain had caused the dried blood to run, giving the wounds a fresh look. Officer Scheele tried to be logical - no matter how badly he wanted this situation to not be real, he had to accept that it likely was.
And he did, until he saw the kid's chest move.
Officer Scheele quickly turned to his partner, who was talking to the newly arrived detectives. "Torres, get over here!"
His partner jogged over, detectives following loosely behind. "What'd you find, kid?"
Officer Scheele stood, looking directly into the eyes of his superior. "I could've sworn I just saw the kid breathe."
Torres' face fell in a mixture of disappointment and pity. "Scheele, I know this case is hard on you -"
"No, I swear to God I saw it. Please just watch." Scheele's eyes never left his partner's, and the determination they contained convinced Torres to kneel by the body of the kid and entertain the rookie's claim.
Torres watched the kid, not expecting to see anything significant - there was no way this kid could be alive.
Then he saw it, the shallow rise and fall of the kid's chest, accompanied by the faint, strained sounds of someone barely hanging on to life.
Torres was unable to believe what he was seeing. By the time the shock wore off and Scheele was screaming for paramedics to get over here, the kid was alive, the kid was making other noises - soft, breathy groans and whimpers.
"Hey, kid, can you hear me?" Torres was in shock - the kid was dead. He had to be. How was someone in this bad of shape still alive?
The boy responded with a louder, stronger groan. A weak, injured hand attempted to push its body up from its prone position, but Torres was quick to gently hold the boy down, not wanting to hurt him further. "God, kid, don't move - just stay there. God, don't move."
The boy was agitated, a gurgled panting coming from his concealed mouth. Although Torres had meant to be a comfort, he seemed to panic the kid. The officer was thankful when paramedics arrived seconds later and began their work on the kid.
They laid a backboard next to him, put a tight collar around his neck, and slapped bandages on the seeping wounds on his back. Quickly, the medics did a choreographed log-roll of their patient onto the unforgiving backboard.
This movement revealed the horrors that had been covered in the boy's previous position. Much like his leg, a rib poked out from the skin of the kid's chest. There were multiple stab wounds on the kid's chest, much similar to the ones on his back. The kid's face was distorted with infected cuts and vivid bruises. There was fresh blood on his lips and trailing down his neck as gurgled moans continued to weakly emit from his mouth. There was blood on the kid's jeans as well, from stab wounds and the broken leg.
God, the kid was a mess.
Medics wasted no time in slapping an oxygen mask over the kid's nose and mouth and pushing medications through an IV in the kid's arm. Before he knew it, the kid was in the back of the ambulance and whisked away, lights and sirens wailing in his wake.
Torres seemed surprised to see himself standing right where the ambulance had been. He didn't remember walking there. The sun was rising and a crowd was beginning to form around the caution tape cordoning off the crime scene. Nothing seemed real. He couldn't believe what had just happened.
Torres looked back behind him where the kid had lain just moments before. A distinct pool of blood, fresh and dried, outlined where his broken body had been. Scraps of fabric from his clothing were stuck in the coagulated portions of the mess. And then there was a lump, right next to where the kid had lain.
Torres approached it, carefully picking it up with a gloved hand. He identified it as a bloodstained wallet. He had to yank a little bit to pull it off of the sticky ground.
Despite knowing he should immediately turn it over to the detectives as evidence, he couldn't help his curiosity of who the kid was - nothing about this case seemed natural. He needed a name. He needed something to hold onto related to the kid.
He opened the wallet and, along with some stray dollar bills, a library membership card, and a gift card to Delmar's sandwiches, lay a driver's permit with the identification of the injured boy.
Torres would not have been able to recognize the kid, if not for the hair. The bouncy curls were the only thing that connected the identification picture to the crudely disfigured profile of the child he'd seen and presumed dead.
His eyes then moved to the name of the child who would haunt his dreams forever.
Peter Benjamin Parker.
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