Todd Frayes ducked under the tape and under the tone of the deputy telling him the perimeter is secured. Todd was tired and didn't like being woken at 3a.m. He put his badge in the breast pocket of his trench coat and proceeded into the basement. The refinery has been gutted and hallow for fifteen years. Signs of vandalism and erosion told their own story. He leaned back and lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply.
"Such a bad habit this", he exhaled with smoke. The deputy winced at the comment,
"Of course it's a bad habit, maybe you should quit." "I meant getting yourself murdered," Todd replied coldly.
The smell began to start, that of blood mixed with years of dust and fear. He hadn't expected this at all especially not in Iron town. The coroner walked past him, a man in his late fifties named Marcus Jennings. He smelled of old spice and salve.
"Nothing like it in all my years Frayes. S'like the devil h'self tore through this guy." Marcus stood adjusting his thick glassed and running one hand through his grey hair and another rummaged through his pocket finding the lucky strikes he saved for these special occasions.
"Guy musta b'n alive for a good 3 days sumbitch really wanted to make him suffer." "Guess I'll hafta see for myself old man. Oh. And quit wearing that damn oldspice really creeps the newbies out."
Jennings exchanged a glance that said all of "shut up" and "get bent" at the same time. Todd lifted the next line of tape and walked throught the metal door in the rear of the room. Silence. Nasuea. His eyes shut themselves of their own accord it seemed. The floor was covered in a thin sheen of blood. At Todds boot was a finger ever pressing its torturous conviction. A leg nailed to the left wall and what looked like skin was strapped over a lamp still covered in blood producing a low reddish tint in the room. The victim, what was left of him, was hanging in the middle of the room upside down split from sternum to pubis all the secrets of his abdomen hanging below him spilling bile, urine, and blood into the drain below. His face permanently shocked and eyeless. Orbital sockets crushed and eye balls torn out, not cut torn out. His back skinless showing vertebrae and muscle. His mouth slack and broken telling an ever silent confession of his ordeal. His head was shaved, neatly, and his nails clipped as well. The smell was overwhelming and forced up Todd's dinner from the previous night. Jennings gave him a paper towel and lit another cigarette and handed it to him. Todd reassured his stomach that there was no more need to heave. His leg's began to work again and pushed him up from his crouched position. He didn't even notice the blood on his hands and knees before taking the cigarette an taking half of it in one drag.
"Sweet Jesus! What the hell is.. I mean…. Damn…," Jennings Turned and cracked a half smile, "that's not it frayes. The killer was even kind enough to write us a letter."
CHAPTER 2
The city of Iron Town is a scarred landscape. It is divided by finance, with the rich living in the hills to the north over looking the middleclass and poverty stricken below. The once thriving town is now hollow and full of decadence. The empty factories once full of hustle and trade is now home to derelicts and narcotic obsessions. It is here where we find a man walking. A non descript and short man. This man, who wears tan slacks, brown loafers, and a trench coat over a grey Murano shirt, is satisfied. A grin spread across his face detailed with two rows of perfectly white teeth, of which he is very proud. His hands are well manicured with no grit under any fingernail. He made sure to clean up thoroughly after this particular job. He remembered all to well the last job and the resistance the women he acquired put up. He still had remnants of the bite marks on his right hand which he covered with a black leather glove, lest someone see evidence of vile filth someone had laid upon him. He enjoyed his work thoroughly and casually congratulated himself as he walked down a dimly lit alley two miles from the old factory. He wondered if the cops were enjoying the scene he had left them as much as he did. He himself put the 911 call in about an hour and a half ago. He enjoyed a nice walk after every job and relished the wind in his face and the weight of his duffel bag which he always carried. His tools were cleaned to perfection, not a drop of blood should remain after the deed is what he always remembered from his younger days with the old man. "Maybe I'll go visit him tonight," he said quietly to himself his right hand in his pocket rubbing profusely. He wasn't' always accustomed to taking trophies from his victims, but this particular guy had really nice hands and what's a finger or two between friends? He let out a silent laugh, then took a finger out of his pocket put it to his lips and hushed himself. The grin split his face in two. He really hoped they enjoyed his letter, a trademark of his really. Nothing too fancy and written in the cursive style his mother instilled in him. His thoughts trailed away and he began to find himself wanting. He remembered his walk in the park earlier and the little girl he met.
"A pretty thing, with feathered wings and hair of strings, how can a man not enjoy such a thing."
He felt his appetite grow and his gate turned into a skip as he left the rotting district singing.
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