The Flash: Silent Whispers
Chapter Two
August lay awake in his bed, staring at the pitch-black ceiling above him. The lights from outside the apartment would shine through the small gaps in the curtains, making elongated shapes on the ceiling that he continued to stare at.
"I'm sorry, son. But it's been nearly a year and there's no new evidence. He hasn't struck again and there's been no new developments in the case regarding your…"
August blinked hard, rubbing his eyebrows as he tried to sit up. His wife, Natalie, was sleeping to his right, holding onto his right arm. August smiled lightly as he gently brushed a small strand of hair from her face, before slowly slipping his arm away.
He walked up to a glass cabinet and pulled out a stack of files, placing them on his desk near the window, to the left of the bed. He switched on the desk lamp and began to go through the cases.
"Cold case… Adam Lubensky…gunshot doesn't fit the modus operandi," muttered August, shutting the file and putting it aside. He reached for the next file, inspecting the details in the dossier.
"Farooq Gibran…electrocution, that's not it," he sighed, putting that file away and going through the next.
He felt two gentle arms hold his shoulders from behind, as his wife rest her neck on his clavicle.
"What are you up to?" asked Natalie.
"Burning the midnight oil," replied August, closing the file. Natalie made a pouty face, and slowly opened the file.
"Natalie…" sighed August.
"Ben Jacobs, homicide by poison?" she read out.
"I'm trying to go through cases in the past couple of months, see if any of them are similar to the one that popped up yesterday," explained August, taking the case file from her and putting it away.
"Well, they do say that two heads are better than one," reasoned Natalie.
"Natalie, you know how I feel about you going through police cases. The stuff in these files is…horrific," said August. Natalie gave him a dead stare, before pulling up a chair and sitting next to him.
August sighed and chuckled, while Natalie picked up half of the stack of cases and took it to her side of the desk.
"You handle this half, I'll handle this one," said Natalie.
"Nat, the case file isn't going to mention outright that the victims' tongues had been cut off," added August.
"I'm a doctor, August. I think I'll be able to notice the symptoms of oral ecchymosis and petechiae around the wound," replied Natalie. August made an impressed face and smiled.
"Did I ever tell you how hot it is when you talk in my language?" asked August.
"You could say that again," chuckled Natalie, burying her face in the files. August smiled and began to go through the files.
Minutes turned into hours, and before August knew it, the first rays of the Sun began to peek through the curtain, illuminating the files he was going through. He looked to his side and saw Natalie still poring through files with the same energy as before.
"Hey, check this out," said Natalie, gesturing to August. August rubbed his eyes and walked up to her, peering over her shoulder at the case file. His eyes went wide.
"Cecil Horton, a cancer patient whose death was caused by hypovolemic shock, a sign of blood loss. Multiple stab wounds, and oral petechiae present. And it says here…" read Natalie, before sarcastically turning towards August.
"Tongue sliced off and left at crime scene."
August quickly dialled up Joe, who took a long time to pick up.
"Sergeant, I think there's a breakthrough in the case," said August. Joe groaned and mumbled something before clearing his throat.
"Detective, it's 5 in the morning," grumbled Joe.
"Is Cecil Horton's body still in the morgue?" asked August, without skipping a beat.
"I guess. I'll ask Barry, he knows the mortician," replied Joe. "I thought that was a cold case, why are we following up on it?" he asked.
"There's a connection that went under the radar, I'm guessing because Singh wanted to make sure we weren't behind on a backlog of cases," reasoned August, as Natalie rolled her eyes.
"Alright, I'll contact Barry. See you at the morgue." Replied Joe.
"And the ultraviolet scanner is…done!" exclaimed Barry, using his super speed to quickly assemble a machine. He was holding a small walkie-talkie shaped device, connected to a cable. Barry connected the table to his personal laptop, and a map of Central City showed up.
"If this works, I should be able to track ultraviolet cold signatures…and wonderful, I'm talking to myself again," groaned Barry, moving his swivel chair to the opposite side of the lab, to a polymerase chain reaction machine.
Barry tapped his leg at super speed while he sat at the PCR machine, hoping he could amplify the DNA found in the skin cells under Elena Drake's fingernails and see if he could find a match. But for some reason, it was taking way too long.
He carefully disassembled the back of the machine, and realized the problem.
"The machine isn't heating up enough to allow the Polymerase to add nucleotides," lamented Barry. That's when he had a little idea, which seemed just risky enough to work.
He started to vibrate his middle finger and thumb right next to the machine, before snapping his fingers. A quick spark of electricity shot from the tips of his fingers to the machine, immediately generating heat.
"Yes!" exclaimed Barry. The machine amplified the small sample of DNA and made it large enough to run tests on. He placed the sample in the DNA sequencer, which was connected to DNA logger software on a computer.
"Now to compare the variable tandem repeats…there!" said Barry, clacking at his keyboard. A unique sequence was obtained from the skin cells, however the results caused Barry's heart to drop.
"Ah damn! No match exists in the CCPD database. So whoever is doing this seems to be new to the job. Which will hopefully make it easier for me to catch him," thought Barry, as he continued testing.
"MC1R gene comparison for melanocortin 1 receptors indicates that the perpetrator has black hair. According to telomere length, he's also in his late twenties to early 30s," noted down Barry.
On the other table was the footprint mould that Patty had carved out. By comparing the tread pattern, he deduced that the killer wore shoes manufactured by Millar, a brand that had been dissolved years ago.
"So the guy has black hair, is around 30 years old and wears Millar shoes. It's not a lot, but it's a start," thought Barry.
Just then, he got a call from Joe. Barry didn't realize that he had pulled an all-nighter.
"Hey Joe, I was just at the lab. Got some new information on our killer," said Barry.
"Great work, Bar. August wanted to contact the mortician you know, said he wants to examine Cecil Horton's body again. Apparently he's discovered some connection between Horton and the Drakes," explained Joe.
"Albert Desmond? Sure, I'll let him know we're coming tomorrow," said Barry, cutting the call.
The Flash rushed through the streets, stopping a cyclist from getting hit by a car, then stopping a mugger by placing handcuffs on his wrists while he wielded a knife, and then quickly replacing a car's tires before the old tire burst and a crash occurred.
"With everything going on in this city you'd think it's worse than Gotham," chuckled Barry to himself, arriving at an alleyway behind the morgue and switching into his civilian clothes within the blink of an eye.
The stench of formaldehyde permeated every single inch of the morgue. Barry resisted the urge to wear nose plugs while he shuffled into the mortuary, where Joe, Patty and August were already waiting.
"If I had to spend even another second here waiting for you," groaned August. Barry nodded apologetically, as a blond man in a lab coat walked out from another room.
"Guys, meet Albert Desmond. One of mine and August's friends from college," said Barry, shaking his hand. Albert had a small smile as he shook everyone's hand, before turning to the large number of cabinets.
"Sorry, it's hard to stay positive in such an environment, as you can imagine," remarked Albert, staring at the large number of cabinets. He blinked rapidly. "Right sorry, who are you here for?"
"Cecil Horton, he was a cancer patient, murdered about 2 weeks back?" asked Joe. Albert nodded and walked up to a stretcher, before pulling it to a cabinet. He pulled out the cabinet, revealing the body of Cecil Horton.
Albert slowly and carefully placed him on the stretcher, before going to the autopsy table. He unfurled the covering, revealing a torso with multiple stab wounds.
Patty immediately got to examining the body, starting with the mouth.
"As you can see, the tongue was sliced off by a blade. The killer had already ripped a bit of his tongue out from the buccal with his hands, but then used the blade to finish the job.
"What happened there?" asked Barry, pointing to some stitches on the man's abdomen.
"The victim was a cancer patient, with a tumour growing in his small intestines. And it seems like the killer essentially cut him open and violently took out the teratoma itself," said Albert, shuddering a little.
"So he knew there was a tumour? That means he must have known Horton's medical history," suggested August.
"Or he had been tailing him for a while before attacking him," continued Joe.
"Premeditated murder. You think he was following around the Drakes too?" asked Patty.
"We could ask the neighbours, maybe if they saw anyone suspicious over the last few days. David Drake was an on-call surgeon, so he knew the exact time he would be home for dinner and not working at the hospital," added August.
Barry thought for a second, as another idea came to him.
"Two murders like that won't go unheard of in the criminal underworld. Someone most definitely knows something about all of this," added Barry. August raised an eyebrow.
"I could ask some CIs of mine, see if they know anything," said August. "Good call, Barry,"
Barry smiled for a second, before turning back to Albert.
"Thanks Albert, for everything," said Barry. Albert nodded as he placed Horton's body back in the stretcher and wheeled him back to the mortuary. The four of them walked out of the morgue, getting the stench of death off of them.
"I finished the DNA analysis of the skin cells underneath Mrs Drake's nails that Patty collected. August, make sure to describe the killer as black haired and in his mid-30s when talking to your informants. And he wears Millar shoes," said Barry.
"Good call. Joe, I'll hit the informants downtown. You handle the financial district," suggested August.
"Patty, I need you to continue DNA analysis on the skin cells, see if you can figure out anything else. Intron splice patterns, melanin levels, the whole shebang," added Barry. Patty nodded, and the four of them split up.
Barry ran back into the alleyway and zoomed out, an idea forming in his head.
"There's only one person in Central City who I'm certain knows something about this killer…"
Snart made it back to his hideout and hung up his Cold Gun, before taking off his parka and goggles. That's when the silent alarm in his hideout went off, and he instantly reached for his gun.
Just then, an orange streak of lightning rushed by him. As Snart blinked, the gun disappeared from the wall.
Captain Cold turned around to see The Flash standing behind him with his arms folded, and his gun was disassembled at his feet. Snart groaned as he sat down on a chair.
"How'd you find me?" he asked.
"I tracked the highest concentration of ultraviolet cold signatures, such as the ones that are produced from your gun. From there I just picked up your trail, and it led me here," explained Barry.
"Smart. Well, where's the handcuffs?" sighed Cold. Flash shook his head.
"I need information. If you give it to me, I'm not going to arrest you…right now," explained Flash. Cold sniggered.
"Bullshit. You're just going to let me go?"
"You know, after about a year of doing all this, I realized something. You're not like the others. Not like Weather Wizard, Girder or the others. You actually have a code of honour," replied Flash.
"Which is?"
"You don't harm civilians, or anyone who doesn't directly impede your goals. Unlike the others, you actually care about the normal people of Central City. Must be your whole "Robin Hood" mentality," added Flash.
Cold laughed. "If I wanted to be "Robin Hood" I'd just go live in Star City. What makes you think I actually care about your precious city?"
"Your previous robberies. Stagg Enterprises and Fusion Technologies, each of which ran illegal human trials. And just recently, the Waid Museum. Which at first glance you'd think doesn't fit the pattern, until I did some research and found out it was built over a gentrified neighbourhood," said Flash. Snart stayed silent.
"I know you don't want to hurt common civilians, but rather fight for them in your own lawless way. Which is why I need your help right now," continued Barry.
Cold took in a sharp breath, then stood up and extended a hand. Flash hesitated for a second, but shook his hand regardless.
"What information do you need?" asked Snart.
"There's been murders happening around the city. Killer has been cutting off victims' tongues and leaving them at the scene. I'd estimate him to be around early 30s and black hair. Wears Millar shoes too," described Flash.
Snart walked over to a makeshift bar and poured himself a drink. He offered a glass to Barry, who declined.
"Now that you mention it, there is someone who fits that description. He frequents the bar us "supervillains" drink at," said Captain Cold.
"There's a bar for villains?" asked Flash.
"Hold your horses, it's strictly a peaceful place. And yeah, it acts as a sort of refuge, and we all swore an oath to not tell anyone its location. Just recently a guy began visiting. Black hair and he looked 30-ish, he kept muttering about "speaking no evil." Didn't notice the shoes, but I remember Heatwave fawning about them, saying something about how they stopped making them years back," replied Cold.
"It all fits. Snart, I need you to keep an eye out. Obviously, I can't tell the cops this since my source is well…legally a criminal. But I need you to let me know as soon as you learn something know," requested Flash.
"You're lucky my heart isn't as cold as ice, yet," replied Snart, smirking.
The man in the bathrobe finished setting up the last electronic candle in the hotel room, and had carefully arranged the rose petals on the bed to form a heart. He checked the bedsheets one last time to make sure they were all tucked in.
He checked his watch and tapped his foot repeatedly, constantly checking out the window to see where the person he was awaiting was.
Just then, something began to vibrate in his pocket. He took out the phone and groaned when he realized who was calling.
"Thomas, how long till you get home?" asked the woman on the other end.
"Just a couple more hours, Henry decided to take me out for drinks for a bit. I'll just finish up with him and be home in time for dinner. Don't wait up for me if I'm late though," said Thomas, in quick succession before cutting the call.
That's when he heard a rapping at the door. His heartbeat began to race as he rushed to the door. Before he opened it, however, he made the eleventh hour decision to head to the posh bathroom and check his appearance in the mirror.
After making sure his grey hair was set enough, he walked out of the bathroom, only to find the hotel room open. He chuckled and whistled, walking away from the door and back into the room.
"They gave you the keys huh, Sandra?" he asked, a sly smile on his face. However, he soon realized he was talking to the air, as there was no one in the bedroom with him.
"Uh…Sandra?" asked Thomas, looking around. That's when he looked at the window, and froze. Through the dark reflection of the window, Thomas could make out something in the corner behind him. It looked like a small lamppost, but with a…smile.
Just then, the lamppost moved. Thomas realized it was a man, whose left arm just twitched. He stood frozen, fear paralyzing him and stopping him from even turning around.
As soon as Thomas mustered up enough courage to turn around, the figure roared as he leaped at him from the shadows, slamming the back of his head to the ground.
"NO! STOP, PLEASE!" shouted Thomas, in horror. The man in the mask didn't let up, beginning to crush Thomas' windpipe. He took the knife and stabbed it into Thomas' groin.
Thomas tried to let out a blood curdling scream but was muffled by the sound of his larynx being crushed. His phone began to vibrate on the floor. The man reached for the phone, and loosened his grip over Thomas.
Thomas tried to fight back, but the man stabbed him in the side. He then picked up the phone, and Thomas' wife began to speak again.
"Also, do you want me to make the chicken salad again-"
She was cut off by Thomas' scream of pain as the masked man pulled the knife out, before grabbing Thomas' tongue and slicing it off.
"Thomas? THOMAS?!" shouted his wife over the phone.
The masked man took some of the roses and stuffed them in his mouth. He then took the phone in his hand.
"Speak no evil." He muttered, in a monotone, gravelly voice, before cutting the call and crushing the phone. He pocketed the knife as he exited the hotel room, rushing down the emergency exit before the authorities arrived.
"This is Iris West, live from downtown Central City. We received reports of another serial murder where the victim, philanthropist Thomas Kirby, was found dead in his hotel room," said Iris to the camera.
"Early reports indicate that Thomas was found with stab wounds around his abdomen, his genitals mutilated, as well as apparently the killer's signature move, a sliced off tongue. A pile of rose petals was found stuffed down his throat too," she continued.
"According to sources in the CCPD, this is not only the second, but rather the third murder by the serial killer, who after his signature move of slicing off tongues, is now being dubbed "The Murmur"," said Iris, turning to face the ambulance that had just arrived.
Before she could continue her segment, she was Joe storm into the scene, his face furious and his eyes locked onto Iris.
"Uh, that's all the information so far. Back to you, Jameson," concluded Iris quickly, while the cameraman stopped filming.
"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND?!" shouted Joe, shoving the cameraman out of the way. Barry jogged behind him, trying to appear slower than he actually was.
"What now, dad? Are you going to ground me for literally reporting on the news?" sassed Iris.
"We spoke about this. You don't report on active cases. Especially ones like these," replied Joe, sternly.
"And why the fuck not? I'm a REPORTER, it's quite literally my job to REPORT on stuff like this," retaliated Iris.
"It paints a target on your back, Iris! What if this guy feels threatened, what if he decides to go after you next?" berated Joe. Barry placed a hand on his shoulder before Joe would blow another fuse.
Before Iris could respond, another man walked up towards them. He had a thick beard and wore rectangular classes.
"Sergeant, we need you at the scene ASAP," said the man.
Joe sighed and pinched his eyebrows. "Yes, Captain Singh," he replied, following him.
Iris rubbed her forehead, trying to hold back a tear. Barry held her face up.
"You okay? I'm sorry if Joe's being hard on you. It's just….being a cop, he's seen things. Lived through things," said Barry. Iris sniffled and buried her face into his shoulder.
"I know. I just need him to stop treating me like a kid and more like I'm an adult," replied Iris. Barry held her shoulders.
"He's not entirely wrong, you know. The closer you get to something like this, the more you become a target. He just doesn't want to see his daughter end up in a situation like that," reassured Barry.
"The closer I get, the more the city can know about what to do to protect themselves, as well as identify this guy. Like it or not, the news is the police department's biggest ally in catching…Murmur," replied Iris.
Barry chuckled. "Okay that name is not going to stick,"
"Why not? If I could make "The Flash" work, then "Murmur" is definitely going to catch on," laughed Iris, wiping away some tears. "Now I'm guessing you've got some investigating to do. I'll leave you to it," she continued, hugging Barry before slinging her purse over her shoulder and leaving with the cameraman.
Barry sighed as he stared at the massive crowd surrounding the hotel.
"Time to get to work."