Reap and Sow

so, meet Carter. narrator here. needs more development. and an older version of Malcom. He's about 45. ish. maybe late fourties. and then Bryn. not sure how to develop her character. doesn't say much.

The trees whisper to me. I roll my eyes and ignore them. Another day, another kill.
The kill in question was three days dead. The body was swollen and bloated, and it was covered in maggots. The smell was terrible, as usual.
I pulled on my gloves a little tighter and flipped the poor sucker over.
Eyes. Gouged out. Neck severed. Possible cause of death, especially because of the blood pools.
I stick my hands in his pockets and pull out a wallet, empty save for a drivers license and a picture.
His name was Todd. He was twenty seven. He was married.
I take a picture of the ID with my phone, and then replace the wallet.
The trees rustle again and I shake my head. The barren field was nowhere near any houses, and a few miles from the city.
Nevertheless, part of me can't help but feel nervous. Maybe it's my job, maybe it's the corpse, maybe it's just this creepy field. I don't know. But at the moment, I didn't want to find out.
I survey my surroundings before collecting what I came here for and putting it in the cooler nearby. I set it in the back of my car, and hop in the driver's seat.
As I shoved the key in the ignition, I revved the engine. Grinning both out of thrill and nervousness, I drove away.

He was an honest man. Brutally honest, if you ask me. He would always get his way, and commanded his workers with an iron fist.
He was corrupt. He had taken up graft business practices up from his triple-great grandfather.
He had a goatee.
He was probably the sanest person I worked with. At least, his insanity was controlled, collected, and meticulously thought out.
It took me three different subway rides to get here, but, for the payout of this job, it was worth it.
I arrived, cooler in tow, at five o'clock sharp.
"Ah, Carter dear." Malcolm sat up from slouching in his throne of a desk chair and grinned at me gleefully. "Do you have it?"
"Fresh this afternoon." I plunk the cooler down on the desk, and he can't help but grimace in distaste. "Though I will admit it's a bit stale."
He waved his hands at me. "It doesn't matter much." He grimaced again. "Just get it off my desk, it's disgusting."
I rolled my eyes. "Every time. Think *you'd* get used to this business already."
Malcolm smiles behind his hands. His gaze is icy and holds more than he would ever say. "Says you."

I head downstairs to the laboratory to deliver the cooler to our resident expert. When I walk in, she's in her office reading a magazine. A cup of coffee is cupped in her hands.
For Bryn, you wouldn't expect her to have this sort of job. She's one of those quiet types, a thinker, but she's an investigator. On the outside, she looks like a normal, shy, kind of plain, pale college student. But she has a brilliant analytical mind, though she dresses preppy outside of work.
Course, I guess that's not much to base her off of, considering I've only seen her out of work twice.
Anyway, this job fascinated her; still fascinates her. I don't know how she aquired it. I assume it's as twisted as my own story. But that's in the past.
She looks up when I step in the doorway. Her long, dark brown hair is pushed back over her shoulders, for once. She nods at me and stands, not needing to know any details.
"How old?" She asks me as she takes the cooler from me and moves it to her lab table.
"Three days."
She hums. "Doable, I suppose."
After transferring, she cleans out the cooler and hands it back to me.
I thank her. She shrugs.
"How has your day been?" I ask.
She shrugs and gives me a small smile. "As usual. I have somewhere to go in fifteen minutes."
"Ah." I nod. I swing the cooler a little, feeling awkward.
I never know what to say around Bryn. She almost hardly ever talks.
"I guess I'll see you later." I give her a wave as I walk backwards out of the room.
Bryn nods.

Leaving the laboratory, I get a call.
"West Poe street. Butcher shop's alley way."
"I'll be there." I reply. I get a clicking sound in reply.
I hang up, pull on my gloves, and start heading in that direction.
No rest for the wicked, I suppose. Though even that is sort of a stretch.

Author's Note

Carter's female. And a lesbian. Most of my OC's became gay...which is kind of funny because at least a fourth of them were completely straight...