“Big sis’. That’s cute.”
TATTERED WINGS
Marcus Rivera & Katherine Rivera
prompt: missing
Some time ago, Marcus Rivera had added factories to his list of hated buildings for a raid, stakeout, or whatever else they needed a place for; the low whir and hum of filthy machinery, the rancid smell of burning or old, disused oil, the rusty metal of handrails and steps, not to mention the pest infestations that Los Angeles’ underbelly was known for. They had very few upsides to them, in his book; just a whole crap-load of downsides.
The lighting in this one, some kind of processing plant, was typically poor, casting a dirty yellow glow over everything that was starting to play havoc with the tall detective’s eyes, and he gave a sigh of irritation that barely even reached his own ears, but typically, managed to catch the attention of the one person present whose frown he wasn’t looking to attract. Katherine Rivera looked just as displeased about the assignment as her younger brother did, but she, unlike Marcus, was keeping her opinions to herself.
Shaking back a few errant black bangs, Marcus shifted his weight, planting his feet a little further apart, conscious of the weight of his police-issue sidearm at his side, and the badge that sat snugly at his belt. It felt so strange to be on-duty but out of uniform. It was something that he, as an officer but mostly as a Homicide Detective, wasn’t used to at all, and it was quite an adjustment to the normal suit and tie. Not to mention the shoes. He was so used to lighter footwear; the boots he was wearing now seemed almost cumbersome, even though he wore them several times a week. The black clothing seemed all too covert for him, like they had just stepped out of some cliché movie that he and his sister might watch to mock, for fun. He felt a little like an idiot. Still, as attire went, jeans, a long-sleeved t-shirt and almost denim-like jacket weren’t the worst things he could have pulled out of his closet. The jacket had been removed, but he was debating, merely for something to do, pulling it on again.
He was in the middle of the process when Katherine, dressed not too dissimilarly, tensed beside him, taking her hands from the rail and stilling completely, green eyes wide and searching. She didn’t even seem to breathe. Marcus hated it when she did that; he felt like he’d missed something. Shrugging the shoulder of the jacket onto his body properly, covering the length of the radio earpiece’s wire as he did so, he lowered his voice and asked her, “What is it?”
Her left hand raised; a hushing motion that made him blink. Abandoning his queries, he stood straight and tall again, itching to activate his radio, trying to hear what it was that had seemingly caught his sister’s attention.
It felt like whole minutes had skittered past him before he heard it; a scraping, as if of a weight, dragging over metal. The noise lingered almost eerily for a second or two, and then was gone, as if it had never been.
The Riveras looked to one another, and then started in motion, hands reaching for sidearms that seemed to become more than mere weapons, but more like extensions of their arms; pieces of them that they had merely been lacking before. Holding his gun, Marcus felt a degree more confident, more resolute and self-assured as they moved. He wasn’t naïve enough to think it had been their imaginations; they were close, as siblings went, but they didn’t go so far as to dream up the same noises at exactly the same moment.
Katherine led, her steps light and precise, almost as if she was constantly shifting her weight and never truly setting it down on either of her feet. In general, she was smaller than her brother, and therefore lighter; quicker when in motion. She could kick his ass in a race on foot, just as he could beat her hands-down on the ice; they both had their talents, quick reflexes and sharp senses, but Marcus had always viewed his sister as superior to him. Perhaps that was just his version of brotherly hero-worship shining through again. Whatever it was, he tried to put it out of his mind, and focus. They were tracking a man who had already killed four people in the space of a month; one a week. He was due another victim, and the Los Angeles Police Department were determined to see him stopped before he could fill his weekly quota.
The levels in the factory were dizzying and labyrinthine, winding up and down, and overlapping almost. Marcus found himself wondering how a body of workers had ever moved about this place without maps, or guiding signals of some kind. If it hadn’t been for Katherine, he might have taken a wrong turn already. He kept his eyes open as they moved, trying to be acutely aware of any movement that was out of place; trying to listen for the strange, lingering sound again. The low grind of the old machinery was interfering, and he frowned, almost scowling at the plates of metal and subtly warped plastic and glass. Places like this needed to be knocked down…
Something clanged.
The Riveras stopped, Marcus planting his feet again, shifting to the left as he and Katherine both raised their guns, their differing heights putting their weapons at two entirely separate levels, covering the average height of any man that might be lurking ahead of them. The younger sibling felt his heart hammer against his ribcage, and swallowed, as if the action would send a calming wave down into his chest and still the thunder.
Everything, save for the hum of the slumbering factory itself, was quiet.
Katherine, warily, started forward again. Marcus followed her, after sweeping his gaze around the area. The retched taste in the back of his throat wouldn’t shift, and he did his best to ignore it as he paced after his sister, blaming the rusting metal.
Anxiety swelled and churned inside of him as he moved, placing one foot decisively, meticulously, in front of the other, keeping the weight of his footfalls to a minimum to save from making unnecessary, attention-attracting noise. The shadows created by looming staircases and walkways played havoc with his perception, and he shook more unruly hair from his eyes.
Maybe, he found himself musing, he ought to suck it up and get it cut.
Again, almost causing him to start with the suddenness of it, the older detective tensed and stilled in front of him, her gun pointed out, level and unwavering. Marcus looked over her head, gun down but ready, trying to see through the piercing gloom at whatever had caught her attention. He felt his breathing hitch and pick up in speed. He hated moments like this; their job was rife with them, week-in week-out, but he never got used to them; had never grown to like the feeling of waiting on edge, staring in frozen apprehension for a monster in the form of a man to come charging at them…
It came from the left.
The weight hit him before he knew what had really happened, and his own buckled and shifted like he’d been hit by a truck. He barely had enough breath in his lungs from the initial slam to gasp in surprise or give a shout of protest as an arm went around his throat from behind, pulling him back forcefully and chokingly. He wasn’t even aware of the lack of the gun in his hand until he reached up to try and pull the arm away so he could breathe. When he heard the dull click of a hammer shifting, he no longer dared to breathe, and fell instinctively quiet and motionless, barely able to hold himself up; the figure was holding him lower than his natural height could adjust to under the circumstances, and his knees were threatening to give out. One of his boots was scraping against the metal underfoot, catching on the different levels of the flooring, and the sound was almost offensive to the detective’s ears; was he shaking, or just trying to get his balance?
A rasping laugh brushed down the side of his face, and he grimaced, closing his eyes as the voice sounded, the breath tainted with nicotine and alcohol, “Hey, now…” It was obvious he was talking to Katherine, who had whirled at the sound of the impact of two bodies, lifting her gun a fraction of a second too late to stop the grab. Her eyes were locked on the man, unblinking and hard with hatred and a warning. “Anybody ever told you two you look alike?” He chuckled, a rough, grating sound, and then he stopped, looking between the two with a narrowed, thoughtful gaze. “Ohh… oh, I see it now.” His grin was crude; dirty and cruel. “Yeah, I see it.” He tightened his arm, as if to test his theory, and laughed triumphantly as Katherine’s whole body tensed, her finger inching towards the trigger of the gun she held with the slightest of shakes. “There it is… guessing you’re older. Right? Am I right?” Another laugh. “Big sis’. That’s cute.”
Shoot him, Marcus thought, with increasing fervour and pleading, as if the power of the mental plead would carry to his sister. Just shoot him. But he knew she couldn’t. Wouldn’t. The man didn’t know it, but he had just made the best possible move. Dammit, why had they paired up? On some level, he had hoped for it, but things like this were so much worse for them; the very real bond they shared made this sort of threat all the more terrifying. He knew Katherine couldn’t fire, because he wouldn’t have been able to fire.
Just as her younger brother gave a breathless choke of a sound, struggled and abrupt, Katherine ground out the words, “Drop the gun, and let him go.”
“Now that’s just stupid. You look smarter than that, doll.” The older detective bristled at that. The man smirked. “Here I am with a perfectly good advantage, and you tell me to just give it up, and worse than that… you expect it to work? Oh… that’s just sad.” His dark eyes lowered to Marcus’ face. “No, see… see, I’ve got myself a dilemma. I’m late, and all, and I don’t like missing my deadlines.” He clucked his tongue against his teeth, disappointed. “But you people… hounding me, left, right and centre; coming to my motel, asking folks about me… it’s just bound to throw off a man’s schedule!” His arm shifted, uncomfortably. Marcus winced. “I don’t appreciate that.”
Katherine watched, feeling herself pale a few shades as the man toyed with the gun he held, a heavy black piece that she didn’t doubt matched the bullets they had back in the crime lab; the bullets from the other victims. She watched, begrudgingly, the fear and discomfort on her brother’s face as the man weighed his options, and she had to clench her jaw to keep from barking her command again. She could feel her earpiece, and the pack it connected to, wondering if he would miss her movement to activate it.
No, no of course he wouldn’t. He would misread her motion, and… do the unthinkable. She had to bide her time; talk him down, if she could.
“Usually, this is the part where you offer a trade,” the man started saying, looking at her through half-lidded eyes, as if he were a snake peering up at her through heavy grass, waiting to strike. His dark hair was lank, but almost curly, she could see, or at least would have been if he took the time to clean it. “I’m disappointed in you. Big sister and all, you’d think that’s the first thing you’d try!”
A beat of silence descended, almost like a literal weight pressing down on them. Marcus couldn’t breathe again, squeezing his eyes shut to try and brace for whatever was coming as he grit his teeth against the agonising delay.
The man’s demeanour changed; the light, cocky stance gave way to confidence; determination and resolution, and Katherine’s eyes widened in recognition of the shift of his weight. Oh god.
“Too bad,” he growled, baring his teeth in a humourless grin again. “Opportunity wasted.”
All it took was a powerful jerk of his arm, the weight he held gripped at the shoulder of the jacket Marcus had randomly decided to re-don after a spell of boredom. He hadn’t realised how close they were to the railing until his side collided with it, smashing against the poor barrier with such force that he went clean through it. The air was sucked from his lungs again with the shock of the ground slipping from underneath him, as he toppled over and barrelled down. He heard a yell, echoing, somewhere above him as the level below rushed up to meet him, as if hungry to swallow him.
Bracing was pointless.
He slammed against the grating of the lower level with enough force to jar his entire body into an almost foetal position, and the metal rattled deafeningly, almost bouncing up from its frame as the weight crashed down on it, disturbing over a decade’s worth of dust. All at once, everything ached and became numb, the copper taste in his mouth and damp feeling on his head and face causing a flooding torrent of dizziness and fleeting nausea as blackness swarmed internally, swirling and coalescing to claim his consciousness and deaden him to the affects of the landing.
Briefly, he moved, wanting to cough but almost not sure how, his eyes closed, refusing to open as one hand weakly gripped the metal, fingers lacing down through the grating as if the anchoring hold would pull him back into full wakefulness, but the success of the effort was momentary. His weight slumped, and from above, Katherine watched as Marcus simply stopped moving.