Original Fic: Catching Smoke (TTM)
Title: Catching Smoke
Fandom: Original
Prompt: #215, As for those who disbelieved, their deeds are like a mirage in a desert
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,397
Summary: Detective Harry Williams studied the scene with a grave expression. It was the third such scene in as many weeks, and he and his team were no closer to finding their killer than they had been at the first one.
Notes: This prompt was awful; it took me until yesterday to come up with an idea, which I'm still unsure about. Still, I managed to corral it into something readable, I think... so, not too bad. Hopefully.
Detective Harry Williams studied the scene with a grave expression. It was the third such scene in as many weeks, and he and his team were no closer to finding their killer than they had been at the first one.
The victim this time was a young woman, and despite not knowing her name, Williams knew that when identified, it would be revealed that she was one of the Seven, the supposed reincarnations of the ancient gods. Judging by the marks the killer had painted on her wrists and chest (in her own blood) she was the Egyptian one. Williams signalled one of the sergeants over, the woman moving with reflexive discipline, not looking at the corpse.
"Yes, sir?" she asked. Williams noticed that she kept her back to the scene of the crime, but said nothing about it. She was only new to his team; and this wasn't the regular passion-fuelled murder he tried to ease rookies in with. Nothing could be done about it - but she was going to have to get over her squeamishness eventually.
"I want you to accompany the coroner back to HQ and get an ID on this victim as soon as possible. Once you find out who she is, you come and tell me, you understand? No one else, tell me first."
The sergeant nodded. "Yes, sir," she replied. "I'll make sure I find you."
Williams nodded in reply and stalked up the alleyway, wondering if there was something they'd overlooked.
*
The girl did turn out to be one of the Seven, the reincarnation of the goddess Bastet, apparently. The name on her birth certificate was Nadine Fuller, and about five minutes after Williams had left her parents' house, the story was all over the news. Three of the Seven were dead, and the police were no closer to finding the killer.
Williams shut his office door and spent the whole day staring at the case notes. He was going to find this guy.
*
The first one they'd found had been Apollo - or Conrad, as he'd been known in this life. The red line on his neck had been jagged, blood stains rolling down his neck and chest, staining his shirt red. A battered copy of The Iliad was resting next to the body.
Williams had had it dusted - they'd found plenty of prints; but considering it was a library book, that wasn't all that unusual.
What was unusual was that they couldn't find who'd checked it out - the whole record for the book had been wiped clean.
*
The second had been Kegan, reincarnation of the Aztec god Cochimetl. Three gold coins had been placed by his body; it hadn't taken them long to work out who he was, of course, but the message hadn't been all that clear either.
However, the body was so mangled that three relatively experienced offers had left the scene almost immediately to throw up outside; and it had taken nearly a week to identify the remains.
*
A week after Nadine's death, the day Williams had been dreading, where he knew he was going to get a call to another crime scene, a letter arrived.
It was addressed to the precinct, to him, specifically - and something about it amongst all the other mail on his desk caught his eye.
He ripped it open without a second thought; the address was typed on, and it seemed innocuous enough.
What he received made his blood run cold.
A picture of a blonde woman in her late forties fell out first, landing face up on his desk. It was just her face - but she was gagged, and her eyes were full of terror.
Williams swallowed and let his eyes slide over to the letter.
It was very simple, a warning:
'She will die in twenty-four hours. You cannot prevent this, Detective Williams, unless you believe in the Seven.'
Williams slammed the letter down and opened the door, barking for someone to come up and analyse this immediately.
The wording bothered him, though; it seemed like whoever was killing the Seven was a believer. It just didn't make sense.
*
They came up empty.
*
The blonde woman was found the next day. Her name was Lynne - reincarnation of Roman goddess Minerva - and her family didn't know how to react to the news. Williams saw a kind female detective sitting with them in the hall the couple of times he left his office.
Two of the Seven left had gone into hiding, practically disappearing off the face of the earth. Williams had the last one here; a teenage boy by the name of Peter, who had stated quite clearly that he was the reincarnated Heimdall, a Norse god.
Williams didn't believe it, but the boy was cooperative enough - if delusional.
"How are you, Peter?" he asked when he came across the boy sitting in the break room.
"Fine," he shrugged. His eyes were on the family outside. "I only met Lynne once - they didn't want us all to get together, in case... I'm sorry for her family."
"I'm sure they know that," Williams replied, passing the boy a cup of coffee. He accepted it and drank, nodding.
"I know they do. But still- Surely the gods will be born elsewhere?"
"Shouldn't you know that?"
The boy had an enigmatic smile that didn't seem to fit on his sixteen-year-old face. "I don't have all of Heimdall's knowledge, detective. And even if I did, I doubt he'd - I'd - know about something like this. Some things are hidden, even to the gods."
Williams grunted. "Like this killer?"
"Yes. Before she went underground, I tried to contact - one of the others." Williams had told him not to use their names - just in case. He couldn't even trust his own department, and that was worrying. "She can glimpse the future; particularly when it is dangerous to she or someone she knows. She couldn't see a thing. I don't know if that means that she won't be hurt, that I won't be, or-"
"If it means this killer is getting by undetected."
Peter nodded. "Yes. You can see the problem."
Williams sighed. "Well, we're going to keep you here for the rest of the day, until we're sure the safe house is secure. Then it's simply a matter of keeping a half-decent watch on you. We'll get this guy, sooner or later."
Peter tracked Williams' movements as he rinsed out his now-empty cup and placed it back on the side.
When he spoke again, his voice was deeper and his posture different; it made Williams look up in surprise. "You say that, detective. But what if we weren't the only ones to escape the other realm? What would you do then?"
Williams swallowed again, taking a breath through his nose. "I still wouldn't believe," he said to Heimdall, who chuckled unpleasantly.
"And that will be your downfall."
*
What Williams hadn't told Peter - but what he suspected Heimdall knew - was that he was to be bait.
The plan was simple: the killer would have to sneak in at some point, and then his men could catch him.
Simple.
Williams sighed and rubbed his temples, nursing the beginnings of a migraine. He didn't see how this could end well.
*
The officers hadn't seen anyone, they said. They'd left Peter in his room; he was fine. No one had been in or out, they swore.
Peter was gone.
There was blood on the floor, though, staining the carpet; streaks up the walls and spattered around the table legs.
Williams read the note that had been left for him.
'As for those who disbelieve, their deeds are like a mirage in a desert. You will never catch me, Detective Williams, simply because you will never believe in me.'
The detective turned and walked out of the house, running his hands through his hair. The whole country was in chaos, falling apart because if the gods could be killed - who would be next?
He didn't see the figure that melted out of the shadow of a house opposite; didn't hear the chuckle that was carried away by a helpful wind. The killer watched Detective Williams and wondered how long it would take for him to fall apart.
Fandom: Original
Prompt: #215, As for those who disbelieved, their deeds are like a mirage in a desert
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,397
Summary: Detective Harry Williams studied the scene with a grave expression. It was the third such scene in as many weeks, and he and his team were no closer to finding their killer than they had been at the first one.
Notes: This prompt was awful; it took me until yesterday to come up with an idea, which I'm still unsure about. Still, I managed to corral it into something readable, I think... so, not too bad. Hopefully.
Detective Harry Williams studied the scene with a grave expression. It was the third such scene in as many weeks, and he and his team were no closer to finding their killer than they had been at the first one.
The victim this time was a young woman, and despite not knowing her name, Williams knew that when identified, it would be revealed that she was one of the Seven, the supposed reincarnations of the ancient gods. Judging by the marks the killer had painted on her wrists and chest (in her own blood) she was the Egyptian one. Williams signalled one of the sergeants over, the woman moving with reflexive discipline, not looking at the corpse.
"Yes, sir?" she asked. Williams noticed that she kept her back to the scene of the crime, but said nothing about it. She was only new to his team; and this wasn't the regular passion-fuelled murder he tried to ease rookies in with. Nothing could be done about it - but she was going to have to get over her squeamishness eventually.
"I want you to accompany the coroner back to HQ and get an ID on this victim as soon as possible. Once you find out who she is, you come and tell me, you understand? No one else, tell me first."
The sergeant nodded. "Yes, sir," she replied. "I'll make sure I find you."
Williams nodded in reply and stalked up the alleyway, wondering if there was something they'd overlooked.
*
The girl did turn out to be one of the Seven, the reincarnation of the goddess Bastet, apparently. The name on her birth certificate was Nadine Fuller, and about five minutes after Williams had left her parents' house, the story was all over the news. Three of the Seven were dead, and the police were no closer to finding the killer.
Williams shut his office door and spent the whole day staring at the case notes. He was going to find this guy.
*
The first one they'd found had been Apollo - or Conrad, as he'd been known in this life. The red line on his neck had been jagged, blood stains rolling down his neck and chest, staining his shirt red. A battered copy of The Iliad was resting next to the body.
Williams had had it dusted - they'd found plenty of prints; but considering it was a library book, that wasn't all that unusual.
What was unusual was that they couldn't find who'd checked it out - the whole record for the book had been wiped clean.
*
The second had been Kegan, reincarnation of the Aztec god Cochimetl. Three gold coins had been placed by his body; it hadn't taken them long to work out who he was, of course, but the message hadn't been all that clear either.
However, the body was so mangled that three relatively experienced offers had left the scene almost immediately to throw up outside; and it had taken nearly a week to identify the remains.
*
A week after Nadine's death, the day Williams had been dreading, where he knew he was going to get a call to another crime scene, a letter arrived.
It was addressed to the precinct, to him, specifically - and something about it amongst all the other mail on his desk caught his eye.
He ripped it open without a second thought; the address was typed on, and it seemed innocuous enough.
What he received made his blood run cold.
A picture of a blonde woman in her late forties fell out first, landing face up on his desk. It was just her face - but she was gagged, and her eyes were full of terror.
Williams swallowed and let his eyes slide over to the letter.
It was very simple, a warning:
'She will die in twenty-four hours. You cannot prevent this, Detective Williams, unless you believe in the Seven.'
Williams slammed the letter down and opened the door, barking for someone to come up and analyse this immediately.
The wording bothered him, though; it seemed like whoever was killing the Seven was a believer. It just didn't make sense.
*
They came up empty.
*
The blonde woman was found the next day. Her name was Lynne - reincarnation of Roman goddess Minerva - and her family didn't know how to react to the news. Williams saw a kind female detective sitting with them in the hall the couple of times he left his office.
Two of the Seven left had gone into hiding, practically disappearing off the face of the earth. Williams had the last one here; a teenage boy by the name of Peter, who had stated quite clearly that he was the reincarnated Heimdall, a Norse god.
Williams didn't believe it, but the boy was cooperative enough - if delusional.
"How are you, Peter?" he asked when he came across the boy sitting in the break room.
"Fine," he shrugged. His eyes were on the family outside. "I only met Lynne once - they didn't want us all to get together, in case... I'm sorry for her family."
"I'm sure they know that," Williams replied, passing the boy a cup of coffee. He accepted it and drank, nodding.
"I know they do. But still- Surely the gods will be born elsewhere?"
"Shouldn't you know that?"
The boy had an enigmatic smile that didn't seem to fit on his sixteen-year-old face. "I don't have all of Heimdall's knowledge, detective. And even if I did, I doubt he'd - I'd - know about something like this. Some things are hidden, even to the gods."
Williams grunted. "Like this killer?"
"Yes. Before she went underground, I tried to contact - one of the others." Williams had told him not to use their names - just in case. He couldn't even trust his own department, and that was worrying. "She can glimpse the future; particularly when it is dangerous to she or someone she knows. She couldn't see a thing. I don't know if that means that she won't be hurt, that I won't be, or-"
"If it means this killer is getting by undetected."
Peter nodded. "Yes. You can see the problem."
Williams sighed. "Well, we're going to keep you here for the rest of the day, until we're sure the safe house is secure. Then it's simply a matter of keeping a half-decent watch on you. We'll get this guy, sooner or later."
Peter tracked Williams' movements as he rinsed out his now-empty cup and placed it back on the side.
When he spoke again, his voice was deeper and his posture different; it made Williams look up in surprise. "You say that, detective. But what if we weren't the only ones to escape the other realm? What would you do then?"
Williams swallowed again, taking a breath through his nose. "I still wouldn't believe," he said to Heimdall, who chuckled unpleasantly.
"And that will be your downfall."
*
What Williams hadn't told Peter - but what he suspected Heimdall knew - was that he was to be bait.
The plan was simple: the killer would have to sneak in at some point, and then his men could catch him.
Simple.
Williams sighed and rubbed his temples, nursing the beginnings of a migraine. He didn't see how this could end well.
*
The officers hadn't seen anyone, they said. They'd left Peter in his room; he was fine. No one had been in or out, they swore.
Peter was gone.
There was blood on the floor, though, staining the carpet; streaks up the walls and spattered around the table legs.
Williams read the note that had been left for him.
'As for those who disbelieve, their deeds are like a mirage in a desert. You will never catch me, Detective Williams, simply because you will never believe in me.'
The detective turned and walked out of the house, running his hands through his hair. The whole country was in chaos, falling apart because if the gods could be killed - who would be next?
He didn't see the figure that melted out of the shadow of a house opposite; didn't hear the chuckle that was carried away by a helpful wind. The killer watched Detective Williams and wondered how long it would take for him to fall apart.