FirstLineFiction beta

from Contest #5

A boy with a parrot on his shoulder was walking along the railway tracks.  That was what the officer told the crowd.  “Stumbled upon two bodies this morning.  Parrot found ‘em first, flew over to ‘em, the boy ran over chasing after the bird and nearly tripped over the victims.  Screamed so loud people back at the station heard him.”

                The on-lookers stared at the man, standing behind the traffic-yellow tape stretched around the vicinity.  They couldn’t see the actual scene from where they stood, but the number  of men running around hinted at its importance.  The crowd had gathered quickly; a collection of everyday commuters clad in suits and ties and the newly instated working ladies in their classiest petticoats off to some secretary employment.  They looked on with curiosity and irritation, frowning at the stationary trains that would delay their mornings.  Normally this time would be filled with complaints, but when it came down to an excuse for them to get off it was just an added burden. 

                The official had retreated out of sight.  The muttering rail users dispersed to benches, discussing the rumors surrounding the crime.  Detective Laine discovered an empty seat to observe the surroundings his case.  It was how he always did it, first watch, note the faces present at the scene, and listen to the whispers fly.  Most of the scandal was exaggerated, but a watered-down version of the conversation helped keep things in perspective and many facts often proved true.  A slow song drifted lazily out of the overhead speaker, a tune by a new artist by the name of Frank something-or-other.  Laine got comfortable and began his routine process. 

                The commotion commenced once again.  The officer was yelling something incoherent, and then screaming.  People were on their feet once more, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the struggle.  Laine jumped as the screaming amplified and panic erupted among the mob.  He wrestled his way to the front to face a gruesome sight. 

                A man had stumbled out of the trees and across the track.  He was drenched in scarlet drops that slid around his face and chest.  His head rolled from side to side, his eyes flickered from face to face, probing the crowd.   He lifted his arm disjointedly to reveal a long barrel, fingers twitching toward a trigger.  Screams resounded, legs flew in the opposite direction.  Laine reached down, pulled the tiny pistol from the holster fitted to his leg, and shot the head twice.  The armed man fell forwards with a roar. 

 

                It took the medics some time to stitch him up.  The man would live, having sustained only two bullets to the leg.  There wasn’t much they could do for the shattered bone except hope for a clean heal.  Two surly officers escorted Laine to the patient’s room soon after the anesthetic wore off.

                “Mr. Smith?” Laine asked in a casual tone, reaching up and tugging the edges of his sleeves down over his wrists.  “That’s quite an original name.”

                The man stared out the ward window.  Laine glanced in the direction, watching the gossamer curtains breathe in and out with the air conditioning. 

                “Mr. Smith, I’m here to ask you some questions about your incident at the train station at approximately nine seventeen yesterday morning.  Anything you’d like to open up with?”

                “They never leave,” he said in a whisper.  “I just wanted to tell you that.  Even after it’s all done they keep coming back.”  He put his head down.  “But you already know that, don’t you, Mr. Laine?”

                “It’s Detective Laine,” Laine said firmly, wondering if the man would be more suited in the insanity ward.  “And I don’t know who told you my name, but we are not here to talk about voices.”

                The man said nothing more, but looked up now, eyes as red as the blood that had stained his clothes.  “Do you believe in the paranormal, Detective Laine, monsters?”

                Laine paled.  “Are you responsible for the double homicide?” He asked with a slight waver.  “The bullets embedded in their skulls match the gun you were carrying, so do not bother to deny it.”  The statement was a bluff, there was no way forensics could tell this quickly given the technology, but the man fell for it. 

back to Contest #5