Patreon LogoYour support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)

This Damn City < [ Rekoj/AngelicDream ] >

Rekoj

Star
Joined
May 27, 2009
The pale gray light of the city trickled in through the windows of the 6th floor apartment building, the clouds that never seemed to leave the dirty town were only beginning to show signs of the sun hitting behind them. The bed was already vacant despite the far-too-early hour, and the tall form of the man known as Damien Rhodes was crawling his way into the kitchen, standing beside the nigh holy coffee machine on the counter of his small kitchen. He shrugged on his clothes as he awaited for the precious coffee to finish brewing so it could wake him up, and soon enough, large travel mug filled to the brim, he was exiting the grungy apartment to make his way to work.

The clock in his car read 5:45 AM, and he wondered why he was stupid enough to stay up late the previous evening. Yesterday had been a rough day though, you never get over seeing a mother's tears for a lost son. Him and Captain Adair had gone drinking afterwards, trying to drown their sorrows- in a city infested by crime the role of the cop was one that nobody wanted to play. He was nearly at the station, when the scanner he had installed in his car crackled to life.

"All units- we've got multiple shots fired by the law courts on 4th Ave and Carnarvon- could all active units respond?"

Damien looked to his left and saw the entrance to Canarvon street, and he quickly slammed on the gas, grabbing the walkie-talkie to his chest, "This is Officer Rhodes, I'm on it."

Not even dressed in his uniform or in a police cruiser, Damien was on the hurry to get to 4th and Carnarvon, it was a shame he was starting by 22nd Ave. He sped down the streets, which were only starting to see signs of the morning rush. He swerved through lanes and ignored the protests coming from his CB radio, he was on a mission to catch whoever had been firing the shots. Counting down the streets, 7th Ave... 6th... 5th... and slamming on the brakes he reached 4th.

Leaning across the vehicle he retrieved his .45 calibre pistol from his glovebox, swinging open the door to come face to face with a brutal scene. To his left was the law courts, standing tall and proud, the building one of the few clean ones in the city- and then to his right a sidewalk covered with blood, leaking from the four bodies on it. Quickly inspecting the scene, he could see no gunmen or sign of gunmen telling him he had the time to lean back into his vehicle and request for paramedics, as well as backup. Quick as a flash, he had his gun drawn and was circling around, pointing his gun every which way into the deserted street before cursing with the acceptance that the gunman or gunmen that were here moments ago- were long gone now.

He could hear more sirens in the background, and sighed as with a heavy heart he approached the entrance to the alleyway. Leaning down he checked the first body for vital signs, but quickly found none. This repeated with every body until he reached the final one, a gray-haired man that was all too familiar to Damien. He slowly rolled the heavy corpse open but quickly stood up and looked away, clutching his hand to his mouth. The sight had been too much, for the final body was that of one of his only friends, and his partner- Captain Patrick Adair.

Damien stood there, looking away, trying to deny what he had just seen, looking down the crimson sidewalk. And that was when he heard it, something clattered in the dead-end alleyway behind the bodies. Drawing his pistol and praying it was the gunman who had shot his friend, he aimed towards the alleyway and called out with a harsh voice, "POLICE! Show yourself!" Keeping the gun drawn, and staring down the sights he aimed down the alley- ready and nearly hoping for violence.
 
Claire had just turned twenty one a week ago, but hadn't had time to celebrate. Like an normal person, she wanted to celebrate with her friends. Tonight was going to be fun, she was going to make it fun. She was so excited, she was legal now! She could feel the excitement burst from within her. She had found this club that she really wanted to go to, except it wasn't near her house, or part of the "good" neighborhood in the city. But, it was only one night and she figured that she was safe enough. She had gone with a couple of friends, mostly girls, and she promised herself that she wouldn't stay out too long. She had school the next day. Once she had arrived at the nightclub with her friends, she heard a steady flow of gunshots that only grew louder and louder in her ear. Her friends scattered so quick she didn't know which way they went. That would have been the smart thing to do, to run away with them, but her mind froze. Everything shut down. She didn't know what to do, what to think. She'd never encounter violence in real life before, sure-- she'd seen it on TV and in movies, but she just froze, just shut down. She heard the race of bullets fly past her, maybe even in her, her eyes squeezed shut, ready for the blow but nothing came. Instead, she felt the cold wind race past her face, sending loose trails of her dark brown hair back down her shoulders. Fear had sank in her, she had heard the car's tires squeal onto the pavement and then drive by. It had been quick and sudden.

It was her own fault, she was telling herself, for playing and insisting on going into a dangerous part of the city. But, she never did fun, spontaneous things. After a few minutes, she patted her body down, checking for anything, blood wounds, cuts, injuries. Then, she looked around. She wished she didn't because the blood was too much for her. She could feel herself trying to choke back tears, her hand coming up to cover her mouth, and forced herself to look back down at her lap. She was scared, fear paralyzed her whole body from moving, staying still. They might come back, she told herself, and they might come back for her blood. What made her the lucky victim that remained unscathed? She didn't know, but she didn't want to find out. She couldn't get herself to move. She was paralyzed. Her brain was screaming for her to move but she couldn't. With every car that she heard whizzing through the street, she thought it would be them again. She hadn't gotten a close enough look at the car, or at the people. It was so sudden. She would be a stupid witness if anyone used her. She wouldn't be able to contribute any information, or if she did, it would be useless information. If they got her to talk, it seemed like she had almost forgotten how to speak. Her lips were tightly against each other, and looked dejectedly at her silver clutch, the one that she had bought specifically for this night, she opened it and found her cell phone. If not for her, for the innocent victims, she had to call the police, and just before she had pressed that last digit, she heard a scream, a yell. Fear vanished, and in place was suspicion and maybe a speck of hope.

Suspicion because she didn't want to be the innocent lamb, the one that got caught in the lion's teeth. She heard that it was the police, but.. anyone could be saying that. Someone could be tricking her to think that they were an officer but in reality, they were just there to rape, or murder her or torture and use her to get information. Forcing herself to get up, she looked around to find something, to defend herself with when it came to meeting whoever this was. It was dark, it was midnight, so searching around wasn't easy. And her bag, the stupid, glittery, sequin covered bag wasn't any help. Placing it on the ground, and taking out what she needed-- money, her phone, ID... she listened for his steps, and wherever direction she thought he was taking, she did the opposite. Her shoes weren't helping either, much too noisy. She shouldn't have worn new high heel shoes, that were squeezing her toes tightly together, she hadn't learned how to walk in them, and they were going to be a bitch. They were making so much noise that she took them off, held them with her other hand and walked quietly. The street that was in front of her was a small one, and she hoped that she had a taxi company on dial in her phone. She didn't. And, it looked like he was coming closer. Frantically, she hid behind the dumpster, trying to conceal herself from whoever he was. She didn't even want to call the police, he would be able to hear her voice, and then, be able to locate her so easily. Thankfully, she was a small woman, her body able to curl up behind the dumpster, hoping it would hide her body for now.
 
Damien stepped into the alleyway, his mind racing at a mile a minute, but his feet were moving at a calm and controlled pace into the alleyway. each footstep was careful and precise, while his eyes scanned the grungy darkness for any sign of movement. His sharp ears picked up the unmistakable clicking sound of high hell shoes moving through the dark, and for a moment he took aim down the sight of his pistol again into the darkness. He quickly pulled it back down though, as he slowly started to accept whatever violent gunman or gunmen that had murdered his good friend were long gone. Mass murderers who took down innocents with automatic gunfire didn't often wear high heel shoes. The clicks of the high heels stopped, but Damien continued his careful approach into alleyway, licking his lips as he registered the sounds of sirens in the distance.

He stepped forwards very carefully as he didn't trust the darkness, his eyes scanning over the littered pavement, the graffiti covered walls and the dumpsters in the alley. His footsteps were intentionally silent, his pistol still ready in his hands, the cold steel of the grip feeling like it was burning into his palms. As much as his mind was racing with thoughts of who exactly it was he was chasing down, he had to stop himself from thinking of his dead friend. Every time a thought of his partner ran through his head, his grip got a little tigther on the pistol, despite the fact he was almost sure now there was no bad guy to be tracked down at this point.

The man normally stood at a very tall 6' 3", his back usually straight in impeccable posture, but in the moment he was stooped and crouched very low to silence his footsteps. In the darkness he could make out the outline of a wall in front of him, he was closing in on the end of the alley. Standing tall, he searched from left to right and then right to left to find any sign of movement or anything to try and find whoever it was that ran into the alley. Unable to see anything, tired of searching with the sounds of sirens approaching closer he lifted his pistol and called into the darkness once again, his voice calm and clear, "This is the police, this is your last warning to come out or else I will be forced to shoot on sight."
 
"This is the police, this is your last warning to come out or else I will be forced to shoot on sight."

He wants to rape you, he wants to kill you. That's what she thought, he wasn't the real police. No, the real police wouldn't shoot at some innocent bystander. She was convinced he was a murderer, an insane man who escaped from the mental asylum, someone who wanted to rape young women. Looking around her, she tried to find anything around the dumpster to hit him with so she could manage a five second call to the police station. All she found was just cluttered garbage which made her want to shrink away from the dumpster even more, and decided to hit him with the nearest can of coke. She threw blindly, and dialed the three numbers she had already prepared on the phone, and pressed the green phone button. She waited until she heard a voice and said, "I'm in trouble! Someone is going to shoot me. I'm at--" She ended the phone call, the police knew where she was. They could track her phone down. And, she was afraid that he was going to know where she was now. The real police were going to be here any minute and then, he'd be in trouble. She was sure of that.

If he shot her, well... she'd just tell the police and he'd end up in jail. She would be the innocent victim in all of this. So, she curled up behind the dumpster, realizing that her chance to move to another dumpster had disappeared. She had been too much of a coward to move, shivering and waiting for the police to show up so that she could go home, and all of this would be over with, he would be thrown in jail. She was looking forward to that. She could feel a shiver run through her body, it was cold out and she hadn't thought of putting on more than a shiny, sequin covered tank-top which probably didn't do much to conceal her position with a throw-over sweater to keep her warm and a pair of dark blue skinny jeans. She was surprised that he didn't catch her yet. But, she could hear his voice loud and clear, he didn't need to raise it. She knew he was close. In fact, every so often, when he paced back and forth, she could see the street light flashing on his skin. She could see him, but he couldn't see her. She had the advantage, flinging another soda can at his face.
 
It was dark, but his eyes were slowly becoming adjusting to the darkness that was closing in around him. His ears were perked for any sound, and with his excellent peripheral vision picked up the can flying towards his face. A reflexive twitch to the side, followed by a quick spin as he instinctively aimed at where the can landed. The can rolled into the moonlight, and Damien pulled his pistol to his holster with a sigh. Whatever chance there was that whoever he was chasing into the alleyway was a gunman in the shooting had disappeared entirely. He approached to where the can had come from, only to have to twitch and dodge another can with catlike reflexes.

He had seen where the second can had come from, and calmly stepped around the edge of the dumpster to where his target had been hiding. And that was when he saw her, the frail body of a terrified woman- she had seen it all, that much was obvious by the occasional blood spatter on her clothing and her mental condition. She was frightened, and he quickly but calmly offered her a soft hand to help her up. He spoke in a calm voice, "My name is Damien Rhodes, I'm a police officer here to help you. Are you alright?"

He was careful when approaching her, he didn't want to frighten her any more than she already was but it was in his instincts as an officer to approach and help her. He made sure he didn't crowd her, but his hand went to her shoulder. His grip was soft to make sure not to think he was attacking her, but it was firm enough that she would know he was there. The approaching sirens had come closer and closer and finally stopped altogether, alerting him to the fact that his backup had arrived.
 
"My name is Damien Rhodes, I'm a police officer here to help you. Are you alright?"

Blinking, Claire looked up at the strange man in front of her. He was tall, towering over her, realizing that she was sitting against the cold wall, blood splattered over her clothes, sitting on the dirty ground in her sequin-covered dress that she had worn just for tonight. She didn't know what he meant by alright. She had protective parents growing up, they had never let her see anything as a child, that would mentally haunt her like tonight had. She had never seen anyone be killed so brutally like they had been tonight, not even stopping to pause to know if they killed the right person, they just killed like it was nothing, like it was just a pit stop on the road to something greater. Her eyes were dark, glazed over with the moonlight casting the glow over her features, her makeup was smeared, and she didn't know what had happened. Fear was gone, in place wasn't hope but more like.. emptiness. She didn't respond. She just sat there, content to be in her own world. She didn't even look at him, to see what he looked like. She didn't know if the police officer was going to stay there, or if he was going to go back to report to his colleagues. Her breathing was slow, she could feel her hands, they weren't clammy with sweat anymore, finally snapping out of it and looking up at him. "Hello.." She said softly, barely able to hear the words she uttered herself.

She let him help her up, not knowing where he wanted her to go, dusting off the dirt off her dress, clinging to her bag. She hadn't registered she had thrown those cans at him, in her mind, it was self defense, and she had thought he was the enemy, out to hurt her. She was still playing that scene in her head like a movie, and she couldn't stop. But when he spoke to her, that seemed to bring her back to the dark reality. The streetlights cast a small light on the streets, watching a few police cars as they came to the clearing, near her. She felt him hold her hand, directing her to the police car, the one that had no driver, she figured it was the car he drove. She sat in the back, clutching her bag close, shivering from the cold, burying her body close the leather seat as she felt him turn on the heater. She didn't know where he was taking her, all she wanted to do was go home. She had seen enough blood, enough violence to last her her whole life. If she did not see another murder again, she would be happy. But, there was still was... crime, violence, and horror out in the world. She didn't want to be the poor unfortunate soul to see it.
 
Damien dropped all other thoughts when he saw the frail body of the scared woman come crawling out past from beside the grungy dumpster. His thoughts of rage over his lost friend, his thoughts of despair for his friend's family, his thoughts about anything at all besides the woman completely disintegrated. His fingers clamped tightly to hers while he helped her out of the mess, and one thought finally made its way into his blank mind. He looked at the small woman, and as he silently led her by the questioning officers towards his vehicle he simply knew; he had to protect this woman.

She was vastly underdressed for the icy wind of the midnight hour, and he made sure to lean into the vehicle and flick the heaters on before turning back to his fellow officers. He couldn't remember the words he spoke, he just knew that a few moments later he had talked his way into the driver's seat of the police vehicle. He peeked into his rearview mirror to find the woman crunched up against the leather seat, desperate for heat. Turning the keys in the ignition, he started the car and leaned back in his seat for a moment before shifting it into gear. In a blur of movement, he shuffled off his jacket and handed it into the backseat for the woman.

He drove the car almost subconsciously, his eyes scanning the road alertly, but occasionally peeking up into the mirror to look at the woman in the backseat. He wished he had more than words to offer the obviously shaken woman, but in his current situation where the road needed his attention, all he had available to him was his mouth. He started when he slowed for a red light, knowing he was only a few blocks away from the police station, "How are you holding up?"
 
Claire was grateful for the warmth that the car brought, quickly shuffling her body inside the car, snuggling into the warm leather. She let the warmth surround her, and looked outside at the passing buildings, at the night sky as he drove her. She had already forgotten his name. Switching her attention between the flashing lights on the car clock that read the time, and between the scenery outside, she was about to fall asleep in the car. She was so comfortable, now that heat was filling in the car, that she barely acknowledged that he had given her his coat. She didn't think that police officers gave out their coat to normal "victims", so she had wondered why he was treating her so differently. She didn't consider herself in the victim, she didn't get shot, the bullet hadn't even scraped her skin. She didn't know why she was getting special treatment, she felt like she didn't deserve it. The people that died, they deserved it more than she did. "Thank you", she said, taking his jacket, that's all that she could say after what had happened. Her dark locks lay limp against her pale skin, snuggling into the warmth of his jacket, and the car, and breathed in his scent, that covered his jacket.

"How are you holding up?"

"I'm okay." Her voice was shaky, breaking as they came out of her mouth. She could hear it, clear as day, knowing he probably did too. She was sleepy, and by the time, he parked outside of the police station, she had already fallen fast asleep in the backseat, her body was thin, slender and pale, but in sleep, she was calm. Her face looked like she was at peace, her dark lashes covering her face, and it seemed as he stopped, that she didn't realize in sleep that he had stopped, she hadn't noticed that they had arrived. He would have a few options, he could wake her up, or he could carry her inside the police station. She wasn't much help anyway, her body craved sleep, and she wouldn't be able to testify or give much of a statement when she would just fall asleep in the station. Her parents wouldn't know, if she got back to reality, to the life she had been living before this tragedy stroked, she lived alone, so it wasn't like they were expecting her to come home at a certain time. It was late, why did he drive her here? She just wanted to go home, she felt so dirty and tainted. She desperately needed a hot shower, and to be alone. She wasn't going to be any help in her condition.

She found it odd that the rest of the cars that had been there at the scene weren't following them back to the station. She heard the ignition turn off, and that he come around. Knowing that she should wake up, she let her have a few more moments of rest before reluctantly, rubbing her eyes open to see him, yawned tiredly. Without a word, she looked at him, as he opened her door, the passenger door, and shrugged off his jacket. "Thank you.", she said again, in a tired voice. She wasn't sure what else to say. She wanted to go home. She didn't know what he wanted with her still. She was grateful she got out of the scene of the crime, but now, she needed to take a taxi to go home. She wouldn't be able to walk, not even if her apartment was in walking distance. She was in no mood to battle the winds in the short dress she was wearing, and in no mood to hope that no pedophiles would be walking the streets looking for a hot, young thing to play with.
 
Damien sat in the car for a few moments when he reached the station, even though he knew he shouldn't have. He was tired and distraught, but he could deal with being tired. It was simply part of the job when it comes to being a cop, you lived tired. He was more distraught over coming to terms with losing his friend, and as the images of Captain Adair's wife and kids ran through his mind. Was he going to have to be the one to tell his friend's family? It wasn't a job that any cop wanted, but all of them, every single police officer in the station is secretly muttering a thanks under their breath that it wasn't them. Pushing the images of the family out of his mind, he looked into the rearview again to inspect the woman in the backseat.

She had definitely out been out for a night of enjoyment, nobody wore that short of a skirt or heels like the ones she had been wearing unless they were out to celebrate. It was supposed to be a joyous occasion for her, but instead it had ended with blood and chaos. Damien looked down to the floor and took a deep breath before opening up the door and stepping around to the back-door. He opened the door of the police vehicle, and offered a soft hand and soft voice, "Hey there, can I get a name to call you by? I'm also going to need some sort of identification... I know you've just been through a lot; but I need you to come inside with me and help make sure we can keep you safe. I need you to come inside with me and we'll talk with the Chief, get you warmed up and get you a warm meal- alright?"

Over the radio behind him, he heard reports from the officers that were still at the scene and through their crackled voices he learned that the woman who's hand he grasped was the only surviving witness from the scene. Everyone else, despite the paramedics best efforts, had passed away at the scene. Damien's grip got a little firmer on the woman's hand as he quickly put two and two together to understand that the frail woman beside him was the key to taking down the entire mafia operation of the city. There was nobody more important in the city, celebrities, governors, lawyers and politicians all were insignificant when compared with the importance of this one woman.
 
"Hey there, can I get a name to call you by? I'm also going to need some sort of identification... I know you've just been through a lot; but I need you to come inside with me and help make sure we can keep you safe. I need you to come inside with me and we'll talk with the Chief, get you warmed up and get you a warm meal- alright?"

"It's Claire. Do you know how long it'll take? I just want to go home." There was desperation in her plead, she didn't care how she sounded. She just wanted her warm bed, a warm cup of tea, and a hot shower. She didn't want to eat after tonight. And if she did, she didn't feel like sharing a hot meal with the chief and this officer, she just wanted to be in the comfort of her own home. Was that too much to ask? Regardless, she took his hand, let him help her out of the car, letting her hand drop out from his grasp, and followed him into the building, following his shadow as he led her through this hallway, and through that corridor. Maybe if she went along quickly, she would get out quickly. The chief would know how late it was, how tired she was, and let her go. It seemed logic seemed to favor her. Holding her silver clutch in her hand, she walked quietly until she was told to wait, as he talked to the chief. She sat outside, on the comfortable chair that she could fall asleep in, she was so tired. She told herself it would be more gratifying to be in her own bed, to sleep there. Here, she'd only be able to nap at best.

She heard them talk briefly, but she was too tired to concentrate on anything else. Waiting until Damien came back for her, she walked into the office and sat down on the chair, shaking the chief's hand briefly. She wasn't sure what he wanted to ask, she couldn't think properly. He would have to hurry, to get out everything in the open, because in ten minutes, she would fall asleep in her chair and be of absolute no help. She forced her to stay awake as long as possible but soon, she had dozed off. She didn't want to eat, she only wanted to sleep. They would have to either carry her to the police car to drive her back home, or they would have to accommodate her in the station. Either way, she was completely useless at this point.
 
Back
Top Bottom