See Them Die

Flooding from the last storm still covered the town streets as Michael Faraday drove home. He wondered what possessed him to come to such an awful place. The weather wasn't a secret to the world. With each storm, the flooding overtook Coast City. It took days, sometimes longer, for the waters to recede.

With the flooding came the stench. Michael called it a mix of wet dog meets landfill. The pungent aroma was all anyone smelled if they were outdoors. As the flooding worsened, flowing into every corner and alleyway it found, it saturated the drainage system, causing the foulest stench to rise.

Michael scratched at his chin, his itchy scruff more irritating in the hellish humidity of the gulf. Taking the job in Coast City meant not getting much sleep. Michael only returned from an assignment a few days ago and was due back in the office tomorrow. After thirty-eight days, he didn't look very presentable.

He pulled the issued black Suburban into the lot outside his apartment building. The lights in the parking area were still down from the storm, and two feet of water covered everything in sight. He backed into his usual spot, dreading the walk to the entrance.

He finished a cigarette before opening the passenger door. Michael's feet splashed as he stepped into the weather. The knee-high waders were barely enough to keep his legs dry. Michael fortunately kept a slicker in his vehicle. He looked like a merchant fisherman but was drier than his cohorts.

It had already been a long day when he walked into his apartment. Michael hung his rainwear and peeled his boots off. He stepped over the towels that kept his wood floors dry.

Sitting across from his big screen, Michael turned on the news and poured a glass of whiskey. He took a small sip and downed the first glass without thinking twice. Before putting the bottle down, he poured another and slumped against the back of the sofa.

Further inland, Sylvia Rodriguez was stepping out of her house. She stood on her porch as she put her headphones on. The stress from work ate her up, and her nightly jog was the only reprieve from the workload. Sylvia energetically bounced down the stairs as she headed toward the park.

It took a few minutes before Sylvia passed the McArthur Park sign. The running and biking trails were a popular destination for many of Coast City's younger residents. With the humidity of the season and the constant barrage of downpours during the evenings, Sylvia could run the entire length of the trail and not see a soul. Today was no different.

The dark-haired beauty pounded the soaked pavement of the trail. Sylvia's feet kept pace with her heart. She felt her feet hitting the ground. All she heard was the bump of each step matching the thumping beats.

Sylvia pushed herself to the brink of exhaustion. She subscribed to the belief the healthier her body, the healthier her mind. At night, Sylvia ran like an olympian. And before work, she lifted weights like a professional wrestler.

Sylvia pushed herself through the pain, using it to clear her head. She carried things home with her from the office. Some of them were particularly painful. On this particular night, Sylvia was desperate to forget the face of a twelve-year-old boy.

His name was Henry. He was a local kid who loved soccer, played with his sister, had loving parents, and wouldn't see thirteen. The accident was completely avoidable, but drunk driving accidents always are. The driver behind the wheel in this accident was a vacationing cop.

Sylvia could see Henry's face as she ran. The sound the machines made when he started to crash. The charging sound of the crash cart as she held the paddles in her hands.

She could see the boy's body jerk when the charge was applied. His parents were standing outside the emergency room, watching as she struggled to help the boy see one more birthday. No matter what she did, the damage to young Henry's body was too extensive.

Tears fell down her cheeks as she ran. She pictured walking out of the trauma room, pulling her gloves and gown off as she exited. She walked to where Henry's parents stood, and Sylvia struggled to find the words. Her promise she did everything she could seemed hollow in the face of parents losing a child.

In the middle of her emotional turmoil, she stopped running. Sylvia wiped her cheeks. Her emotions overflowed. Henry's death brought back a painful memory, leaving her weeping in the middle of her run.

Through her tears, Sylvia heard something behind her. Suddenly, she felt like she wasn't alone. Turning toward the sound of rustling leaves, she looked for another person watching her. Sylvia pulled her earphones down and called out.

"Who's there?" she yelled.

Something watched Sylvia from a distance. Sylvia could hear the soft, guttural snarls of its breath mixing with the sound of leaves shifting in the wind. Sylvia imagined it was a stray dog. From the sound of the creature, she believed it was scared.

Moving away from the sound of the beast, Sylvia gathered her thoughts and started to jog the rest of the trail. Losing the kid had been hard. In five years of being the chief emergency provider at CCH, she had never lost anyone so young. As she jogged, something else came to mind.

Sylvia looked over her shoulder, expecting to see her four-legged admirer following. She was still alone on the trail. As she jogged, Sylvia kept hearing a strange sound. It was like something behind her was breathing heavily.

She stopped and turned, looking toward the bushes. Again, there was nothing.

What the hell, thought Sylvia.

A man groaned on the other side of town. Michael Faraday opened his eyes. He was still on his couch. Michael passed out hours ago. It was partly because of exhaustion and partly because of the whiskey. He was waking up with a hangover, something he'd done often as of late.

The foul stench of the floodwaters flowed into his apartment through the cracked second-story window. Michael reached to the table, grabbing a bottle. He took a big drink of the foul-tasting liquor.

Sitting up, Michael pressed the button on his remote to turn on the television. He sat and watched the morning news.

Michael's heartbeat was racing as he tried to catch the morning news. He struggled not to think about the nightmare he had. While he was undercover, Michael started suffering nightly horrors. The visions of gruesome deaths, bodies disfigured and dismembered, were something he couldn't explain.

This time, he remembered the blue leggings and black top a runner wore. He remembered the sound of her screaming, the sound of blood splashing against the pavement, and her body striking the ground. It was enough to make him pour another drink, ignoring the news channel report on yesterday's events.

It was after five when he stood up, stretched, and decided to get dressed. After a shower and a change of clothes, Michael tried to eat. Two fried sausages were what he could stomach hungover. After that, it was just coffee.

As his phone started to ring, Michael looked down at the screen to see Adam Fowler's name.

"Yeah," he spoke into the phone as he answered.

Michael stood at the window in his living room. He stared at the town, watching the line between night and day as the sun lit the clouded sky. The morning had come, and with that came a new problem. It was a problem Michael faced regularly.

"Yeah, I'm here," he told the caller. "I'll be there in twenty-minutes."

Michael put his boots on and grabbed his gear. He marched out of his apartment, ready to face the darker side of humanity. There was no other way of looking at it in Michael's mind.

Michael parked his Suburban in the McArthur Park parking lot twenty minutes later. Half a dozen squads were already there. Michael parked next to three other city vehicles. Michael hesitated before stepping into the calf-high flood waters. From the parking lot, he could see the flashlights in the distance.

The path through the park was above water. It made walking easier. Thunder echoed in the distance. There was another storm coming. Michael hurried along. He found the scene and flashed his identification at a patrol officer.

Inside the crime scene, techs were working to find clues. There wasn't much time, and they had to cover the area quickly. Michael passed the techs and found Lt. Cranz.

"I'm here," he told Bob Cranz.

Bob Cranz was the head of Coast City Investigations. After twenty-plus years, the aging officer turned to Michael for the complicated cases. Guys like Michael had skills. More importantly, they were willing to do things men like Bob never had to do.

Michael worked with the city but was technically a consultant. Being a consultant released him from the constraints of the department. He could be more effective than the average investigator because he could operate outside regulations.

"This is a bad one, Mike. Real bad," explained Lt. Cranz.

Bob Cranz took Michael over to the body. The techs had it in a body bag. Michael stood over the body, listening as the lieutenant described how a morning jogger stumbled upon the deceased. The techs bagged the body as soon as they took photos. There was only one jogger in the park this morning. Patrol officers were combing through video footage from the parking lot security cameras.

Michael knelt and unzipped the bag as Bob warned him how grim it was. Michael recognized the victim when he unzipped the body bag. It was Dr. Rodriguez from the emergency room.

"Shit," he sighed.

"Yeah," sighed Bob. "That's why I called you."

Michael pulled the zipper further down, cringing as Sylvia's body became more visible. The gashes running down the length of her torso were grizzly to see. There was so much blood that he stopped to put on gloves. As he examined the injuries, Michael found himself at a loss. The wounds were jagged and side by side. They seemed to line up with each other.

There were multiple wounds, more than he could fathom. Michael struggled to imagine what the assailant used to kill the doctor. As he examined the body, struggling to contain his feelings, he had never seen anything like this.

"What do you think?" asked Bob Cranz.

"I'm not sure," admitted Michael.

"We'll get the body to the hospital and have it examined. Maybe the coroner's office will provide answers," said Bob.

I doubt it, thought Michael. They hadn't likely seen anything like this before. If they had, Michael imagined them writing the deaths off as animal attacks. He wasn't sure about Sylvia but imagined that was the case with her death.

"I'll get in touch with the coroner, and ask them to expedite the autopsy," Michael told Lt. Cranz.

Michael walked back to the parking lot and stowed his gear in the rear of the Suburban. The police presence was getting heavier. There was a barricade at the entrance and a patrol officer keeping people from entering the park. As Michael drove away, distracted by the doctor, he noticed someone in the crowd writing something before he pulled his hood down. The man concealed his face and then disappeared into the crowd.

Michael stopped in the street and got out to look for the man. One of the patrol officers followed him, asking him what he saw. As Michael stood staring at the crowd, the patrol officer asked again.

"Detective, what is it?"

"There was a guy. he had dark, curly hair, a beard, wearing a black jacket. He was making notes but dodged me when I looked at him," explained Michael.

"I'll put it over the radio. There are units canvassing the neighborhood. If he's still close we'll find him," said the patrol officer as he grabbed his radio.

Michael got behind the wheel and sped away. His head was last night's nightmare. The woman in his nightmare was Sylvia Rodriguez.