Author: PhantomKat PM
A crime scene investigator comes to reprocess a murder scene and guess who returns to the scene... Rated for safety.Rated: Fiction T - English - Crime/Drama - Joker - Words: 1,158 - Reviews: 2 - Favs: 3 - Follows: 1 - Published: 03-26-09 - Status: Complete - id: 4949507
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
This story is proof that I watch way too much CSI and have seen Dark Knight way too many times. I hope you enjoy, and if you did, please review and check out my other TDK story The Principle of the Thing. Okay blatant insert of other fics is over now.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
"You'll be alright in there Phillips, Just take photos, dust…"
"Dust for prints and look for trace. Don't worry, Calloway, I'll be fine."
"There's an officer outside if you need anything. I have to swing by the station for a minute, but I'll be back."
As the car pulled away, Phillips entered the building, flashing her ID at the officer.
"Lauren Phillips, CSI."
The officer nodded and let her pass through the door.
Inside, a pool of blood on the floor marked where the body had lain. An open cell phone with a broken screen laid next to the wall like someone had carelessly thrown it away. No other signs of struggle were evident. The body had been removed earlier, but the boss had wanted to Lauren to go over the crime scene again. Sighing, she set down her case, pulled on some gloves, and began to work the scene.
Most of the scene, like it had originally been, had been wiped clean, and no other trace evidence could be found. It was as if a phantom had been there, a very meticulous phantom. She looked to the phone, she'd photographed it, but she hadn't had the chance to look it over thoroughly. After picking it up and dusting it, she found what she'd expected – the victim's prints all over the device; however, flipping it over, she noticed a strange smudge on the back. As she recorded the evidence, she heard a muffled thud at the door. All the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She wished Calloway would get back. Squaring her shoulders, she headed for the door, one hand on her gun.
She peered out the door. The attending officer was gone. Frowning and shaking a bit, Lauren turned back to the room.
Now a man stood there, his figure swallowed in a purple overcoat. He looked down at the blood stain, his stringy hair covering is face, like he was contemplating something. He twirled something over in his fingers, but it was too dark for her to make out what it was.
"Well, hello there."
His voice was higher than she would have thought, and it sent shivers down her spine. He turned to her, the light from the doorway glinting off the object in his hand. It was a knife.
The knife wasn't half as scary as what was beneath the hair. His face was covered in make-up, black around his eyes, red smeared across his mouth, chalk white covering the rest of his face. Jagged scars ran across his cheeks, upturned like a smile.
She sucked in her breath and remembered her gun. In a flash it was in her hands and pointing at the man.
"Ooh, the honey bee has a stinger," he chortled. "Look, I just wanted to leave my card. Unfortunately, you've moved the body, so I guess I'll have to be more creative…"
He moved to pull something from the interior of his coat.
He paused, raising an eyebrow at her as if he couldn't believe someone would dare to give him an order.
"Hands where I can see 'em."
Slowly, the man pulled out his hand, spreading his fingers so she could see there was nothing in his palm.
"Now drop the knife."
He scowled a bit, but a second later the knife clattered to the floor. Holding the gun in one hand, she pulled out her radio and began to call it in.
"Dispatch, this is Phillips, requesting assistance at…"
The man charged her grabbing her gun before she had a chance to fire. He wrenched the weapon from her hands, and slammed the butt of the gun across her face. Lauren fell to the floor, the radio flying from her hand. The man tossed the gun to the floor. Her head spun, and she could feel a trickle of blood coming from her temple. He crouched down next to her. Opening her eyes, she could see his leering red grin accompanied by another shiny knife.
"Aww…are you frightened? Is it the scars? Look, c'mere."
He pulled her up roughly by her wrists, sticking the knife close to her mouth.
"You wanna know how I got 'em?" Lauren turned her head away, she couldn't look at him and those scars. "Hey, hey, look at me!"
The man grabbed her chin and forced her to look straight at him.
"So…I was a cop once…and I was…ah…a real hard-ass." He licked his lips and looked up like he was trying to remember. "One night, I was on the streets and a crook came up to me. I'd put him in prison, but he got out somehow. Anyway, he comes up to me, laughing…taunting me. 'You know, pig,' he says, 'you should smile more.' So he pulls out a knife and does this to me."
He licked his scars almost lovingly, sliding the blade between Lauren's lips. His other hand held the back of her head, insuring that she didn't move.
"And you know what I think?" He laughed lightly. "I think you should smile more."
With two swift slashes, he slit her mouth just like his. He let her go, and she fell to her knees, holding her face. When she took her hands away, blood covered both her palms. She looked up to the man, who looked back at her like an artist inspecting his work.
"It suits you." He crouched down again, giggling a bit and examining the blood on his knife. A second later, the knife was buried up to the hilt in her stomach. She screamed widening her new smile. There was blood everywhere now, and the man's laughter began again.
"You're sick…" she could barely make out the words.
The man merely smiled at her and reached over her.
"Call it in." He held out her radio. She stared at it, not comprehending. "CALL IT IN!"
She jumped, and grabbed the radio. Her head was spinning. She was loosing so much blood.
"Officer…down. 59 West Hale Street…"
Her words trailed off as her world went dark. She slumped over in a pool of her own blood. The man stood over her for a moment, his interest waning. Casually, he pulled a playing card out of his pocket and let it flutter down to rest on the body. Then, just as he'd come, he disappeared into the shadows of Gotham like a phantom.