New Orleans: 1975

His polished shoes clicked across the street corner, eye’s never leaving the young woman; his next victim.

Carefully now, hang back; don’t let her know. Fingering the knife hidden within his coat, he mentally review his assignment.

The woman never slowed, never stopped, almost as though she was purposely make his job harder. She had taken her time with her walk, starting as the sun awoke, shining it’s light on the colorful city of New Orleans; ending with the sun shining down at it’s peek.

As she neared her apartment, number 234 he noted, the woman climbed the stairs to the oak door. Delicate fingers resting on the door knob as she spoke; never turning around.

“Why have been you follow me all morning?”

“Excuse me, ma’am?” The man’s voice faltered as he spoke, “I think you must have confuse me with-“

“Oh, I don’t think so, William.” Then she spun around meeting his gaze. “I wouldn’t dare try to slice my throat if I were you.”

A soft chuckle escaped his lips, “What makes you say that?”

“Oh, because I can do this.”

A scream of complete terror echoed from deep down in her lungs.

“Bloody hell.”

——

New Orleans: 2001

The door to the office flung open, adding to the dent in the wall.

The woman briefly glanced up to acknowledge the Head of Investigation take a seat next across from her, “Can I help you Marrie?”

“Yes, actually. Just hear me out.” Marrie began to yank papers out of the file, “Look at this, if I’m correct it might just prove William innocent. Basically-“

“Marrie?”

“Yes?”

“Answer me this, what is my job here?”

“Your the Chief of Police, Susan.”

Susan nodded, “And if the Chief of Police said that the case is closed, and has been closed for 20 years, correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe that means that the case is over.”

Marrie bit her lip, “Y-your right, but it doesn’t sit right with me knowing that an innocent person has been rotting in jail for twenty six years. All while the guilt party is still out there.”

Susan stood, “Walk with me.”

The two of them walked down the corridor, as the women continued to argue, “Marrie. I’m not sure you get this, but William confessed to the attempt murder of Miss. Rose.”

“Right. But I dug up some evidence, newspapers for thirty years ago and such and found that Miss. Rose wasn’t so innocent herself.”

“Rose was no one but someone who had something that, mind you, was rightfully hers. She just stood in the way if William getting it.”

“I don’t think-“

Susan shook her head, “This case is long dead. I don’t want to hear another word.”

——

The prison wasn’t like the films, it was basic, rows of cells, quite prisoners. Soft grumbles could be heard floating through the corridors.

As she reached cell she look at the forty year old man.

“Hello Willam.”

“Officer Carlin.”

Her hands touched the bars. “I understand how much pain you must fell, you’ve been here scene you were nineteen, knowing Rose was still out there.”

“I doubt you could ever understand, but go ahead.”

“I need to know everything about Rose.”

A smirk crossed his lips as he breathed, “Finally, someone wants to know the truth.”

“I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you never end up with them again.”

The boy shook lightly, his arms wrapped fiercely around his knees which were strapped to his chest. He was getting better. He was still terrified, but the shaking had quietened down.

All Reyna had to do was gain his trust. It sounded easy enough, but she knew, in her experience, gaining the trust of a scared and isolated child was a feat of its own.

The boy, aged around eight to nine, reached out to his side and claimed what seemed to be a tattered green dinosaur plush. He placed it on top of his knees, and pressed his forehead to the dinosaur’s.

“What’s his name?” Reyna asked gently. She felt a strange connection— an attachment to this boy.

The boy’s eyes lowered, and he remained quiet. After a while, surprisingly, Reyna noticed that his mouth opened to speak.

—

“Rocky.”

Ryan raised a hand to his face as the mist protruded his view. “Okay. Small boy, little green dinosaur.”

The City of Death was in ruin, its buildings collapsed, its scent lingering. It almost looked like it was inhabitable at once. Maybe the City of Death wasn’t known on their map because it was under a different name?

Ryan trekked forward. Dark sand entered his low boots, he glanced to his left and noticed something lurking within the sand.

He lowered to a crouch, where he pulled out whatever lurked in the sand, dead wood, or what remained of it, with an inscription:

“Here lies the City of Ascension.”

Ryan noticed there was more writing, a second inscription, he swept more of the sand away:

“With hopes of heaven on our side The city is kept with utmost pride. Whenever it comes to finally rise The City of Ascension never dies.”

He sighed. The City of Ascension had become The City of Death.

As he stood back straight, something else caught his eye.

A jade green object, stuck deep in the sand. Ryan laughed, knowing that it if was a snake or such, he would be shunned for sticking his hand into the depths of sand, but he did it anyway. He retrieved the object— it was soft and squishy. He he dusted off more, and smiled at the dinosaur’s face.

“You must be Rocky.”

“There he is!”

Ryan jumped. It was a voice. A familiar one. He looked from left to right, checked the corner, until he saw a small, fair haired boy sat on the roof.

“Hey buddy,” Ryan waved and pointed to the dinosaur. “This yours?”

The boy nodded. Ryan squinted and realised that his condition was worse than Reyna’s. He looked like a ghost, as if he was fading away…

“Buddy, I’m gonna get you down from there, alright? All I need you to do is slowly shift yourself closer to me. Can you do that for me?“

He didn’t speak. It was a slow nod. He shuffled his feet forward, and then extended his hands. He wasn’t close enough for Ryan to reach.

“I can’t reach you, could you come clo—“

He saw that the boy’s eyes and arms were stretched out towards the dinosaur plush. Ryan smiled, handed him the plush, and attempted to also grab the boy.

But the boy stopped dead in his tracks.

His ghostly eyes became glassy, as he rubbed them in his sleeve. He sniffed. He was crying.

“Hey, bud, what’s wrong?”

The boy shook again, the same motion Reyna talked about in the past. Arms clutching his knees to his chest.

“Wh—where’s Rey Rey?”

“You’ll see her soon— c’mon, if you follow me, I can get you to her. Just come a little closer, okay?”

“Okay.”

The boy shuffled closer. Closer. Ryan gently picked him up from the roof and placed him back down on the sand.

“How did you even get up there?” Ryan chuckled.

“Rey Rey—“ the boy quietened again, he slid down against the wall. His eyelids closed slowly as he began to collapse. Ryan glanced down at his forearms. He was paler than a ghost. He had to get out of there, now. For the boy and for Reyna.

He picked up the boy again and clutched him in his arms. They were both fading away. They had to be quick…

I slowly sat down in my chair at my desk.. It all made sense. It was the brother of the officer who had killed her, but he wouldn’t let his own brother go to jail, so he twists the evidence. How did none of us figure it out sooner? It was obvious. Weeks had passed ever since I found out the murderer of Dahlia Lewiston. I didn’t know how to come forward about it, so I went to the chief and told him everything. Every. Single. Detail. But, he laughed, pushing me aside. None of them seem to want to hear what I have to say, the truth. I set down my pencil, my heart racing as my door clicks behind me. I didn’t leave my door closed. I turned around, the chief pointing a gun start at my head. I knew I was right all this time..

La muerta no estaba muerta.

Charlotte había rebobinado la secuencia de hechos del 23 de noviembre, dos días atrás, y la cara que había plagado los periódicos de los noventa podía verse claramente a través de los ojos de la persona que más la conocía.

Era indudablemente ella.

Stella.

Nadie le creería, pero ahí estaba su silueta. Sin embargo, ¿como había hecho para volverse invisible cuando, por años, fue la persona más destacable después de su desaparición en 1994? ¿Cómo escapó del psicópata que ya había dejado una larga lista de cuerpos mutilados antes de ella? Todas estas preguntas plagaban la mente de la policía, y una la perturbaba al punto de calar frío a sus huesos: ¿de quién era el cadaver que encontraron en las cloacas de Madrid y cerró el caso de la desaparición que duró más de cinco años?

Cuando todo esto sucedió, ella a duras penas se consideraba una policía por la falta de reputación y experiencia. Pasaba por los meses más duros de su vida después de perder a su madre a manos del cáncer cuando conoció a Stella en un bar a la vuelta de su pensión.

Dos Whiskies después y estaban enteradas de los detalles más importantes de su día a día. Tres Whiskies después, y Charlotte sabía en lo que se metía cuando la besó. Dos meses después, las maletas de Stella llegaron a su apartamento para ser vaciadas y empolvadas en el armario del sótano. Cinco años brillantes, y luego vinieron los problemas que resolvieron con una separación, y luego sucedió su desaparición.

Finalmente, hallaron el cadáver al que le atribuyeron su nombre.

Stella Blanc.

La misma que caminaba por la Avenida Diagonal, más viva que nunca.

Nahara rocked back on her heels, paper rustling under her knees, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

They matched.

The fingerprints from the Calsey case, matched the fingerprints taken from the scene of the blaze.

For a while, Nahara didn’t know how long, she sat there, candlelight waning as the wick spluttered.

Until a door slammed from the reading room above and she flinched as if struck.

Climbing unsteadily to her feet, pins and needles gnawing at her shins, Nahara forced herself to take a deep breath.

Then she climbed ten flights to the Commodore’s office.

Knocking on the door, taking the precious few seconds before the Commodore answered to straighten her uniform, Nahara said, ‘It’s Lieutenant Nahara, ma’am. I’ve just had a break through in the arson case.’

‘Enter!’ came the Commodore’s brusque tone from the other side of the thick oak door.

The Commodore was reclined in her leather office chair, both legs propped on the desk as she scrutinised a set of blueprints.

‘Ah, Lieutenant,’ the Commodore barely glanced her way, ‘how’s the arm? Still sore?’

‘It’s … fine, ma’am,’ Nahara said steely, thrown off by this turn in the conversation. The Commodore wasn’t one to make polite chit-chat. Nahara needed their conversation to be more direct. ‘About the arson case-’

‘Mmm,’ the Commodore grunted, brushing a stray crumb from her lapel, ‘terrible business that. Glad we have the perpetrator apprehended.’

‘Well that’s just it, ma’am,’ Nahara stepped as close as she dared, kneecaps nearly brushing the Commodore’s desk. The Commodore raised an eyebrow.

‘I was checking our records, closed cases, never solved,’ Nahara mentally scolded herself for adding so much unnecessary detail, of course the Commodore would know what a cold case was. ‘The Calsey case,’ she added, ‘family of five, the parents killed, the children-’

‘Abducted, yes,’ the Commodore’s expression was undecipherable, ‘I remember.’

‘Well,’ Nahara swallowed thickly, ‘the fingerprints we took from that scene match the fingerprints we recovered from the site of the second arson attack, which suggests-’

‘Lieutenant,’ the Commodore stood up so abruptly her desk shifted forwards an inch, ‘need I remind you, we already have the perpetrator in custody.’

It wasn’t a question, but Nahara answered it anyway. ‘No, ma’am. But he told me-’

‘He told you?’ The Commodore looked incredulous. ‘Then he’s been filling your head with poison, lies.’ Her tone softened. ‘You haven’t spoken to anyone else about this, have you?’

‘No, ma’am,’ Nahara shook her head, ‘I brought it straight to you.’

‘Good,’ the Commodore strode out from behind her desk, clapping a heavy hand on Nahara’s back. Nahara did her best not to grimace. ‘Then it should stay that way. I don’t want you infecting anyone else with that snake’s poison.’

Nahara almost said, ‘He’s not a snake, he just looks like one,’ but caught herself just in time. Instead she bowed her head, ‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Good,’ the Commodore’s hand smacked against her back again and Nahara bit her lip so hard she drew blood. ‘No one has to know.’

(I hate rushing things.)

After discovering the discoloration in the tiles with which the teacher ran past to escape from the beast, she felt like a tidal wave of joy had fully engulfed her. The 27 year long hiatus may finally come to an end after this commanding new evidence, like pieces of a broken jigsaw puzzle.

She was ready to tell the police station that the pieces were put together. After she got her radio out and was about to say something, she began to feel hesitation. Who was even gonna believe the evidence she found? The case had been dead for nearly three decades, or thirty years, who would believe this?

They think that the world is equal, and maybe from they’re point of view it is. But I’m a women in a “mens” job, and from down here, I can see just how wide the gap is. I guess that’s why I set out by myself to get my morning cup of coffee. And why I always lock the car doors immediately when I get in. Just changing the laws didn’t make people think equally. Maybe that’s why none believes me that our chief was the murderer. Because he a highly ranked male, and I am just a lonely woman, with not much evidence to back up my claim. I know it’s him. I found his fingerprints on the weapon, but he would just claim that he had to inspect the weapon and that’s why his fingerprints are on it. And I know it’s him, but nobody believes me. I don’t know what else I can do to prove it without the support of my coworkers, so I guess i’m letting him get away with it. And I feel the small part of me that still believed that equality could be reached, slowly fade away forever.

It felt like everything I knew was swerving. I was so completely out of my depth. I guess this is what I wanted to be a police officer for. But still. Going through old files for my yearly report I discovered something. In a 20 year old case about a murder at a playground. I just put two and two together. My boss was found there. He. He killed the kid. So when I told his executive what I found I got laughed at. They told me to sit back and not worry my pretty little girl head about it. They told me to let the boys handle it. So when I looked through a few other “unsolvable” cases, I discovered something. All my bosses were. They were all murderers.

The light above me started to flicker, The sight around me started to blicker, I wanted to be held tight, but the demons always come at night As I spread my wings, the light that gleams started to burn my side, so I quickened and quickened my stride, just to see the demon feeding on my arms, to see him pull strips of skin till it dripped down the brim, Before you came I wanted to die...... Is that a sin?

She had always been ridiculed by the rest of the force for her go getting attitude, which put her in contrast to the rest of the force's perfunctory views of their job. Though she had gotten use to this and stubbornly used it as motivation. Without support from her supervisors she took up the old case on her own. Her first objective was to find out how the gun used in a 1990 murder spree could possibly be shooting rounds today. The gun was still locked up in the departments archives room and thus perplexed her. There were two possiblities. One was that the gun was stolen internally and returned after the recent murder. However, after she checked the security log and cameras, this possibility was ruled out. The other was that the forensics on the bullets were done incorrectly, or worse, intentionally spoofed. So she cautiously decided to head down to the forensics department, knowing that anyone there could be crossing the department. The hair raised on her arms at the same time as her pupils dialated, her heart rate shot up and her hand gripped her gun. After a few seconds of adrenaline driven assessment, she lowered her weapon, and took in the scene around her. The head forensics specialist lay face first in a red bed of broken glass.