Black Death

A Story by Masked Yeti

A murder. Two detectives. And a whole lot of mystery

Detective

It’s hard to know what going to happen when the sun comes up.

Will people still be the people they were yesterday? Will people start telling secrets if the secret is being paid for? Will I be able to solve a murder where everybody is a suspect?

Its hard to believe I once thought that a city like this would be vibrant, with streets following with friendly faces and the deafening sound of gossip, fishmongers and butchers trying to sell the morning goods. The breeze would be enough to bring the smell of sweat, grease and booze to any mans nose from half a mile away. The crime was dwindling with only the common con man, who would try there luck on some poor unfortunate.

The w****s were rich and getting richer still, with every man and women visiting them on a cold afternoon to warm the bed

This was once a great city

Its now a city threatened by a great murderer, who turned the streets to a wasteland with only rats scouting for there next meal. The street sellers became scared and ran off with there tails between there legs, the w****s have turned to vultures ready to tear into there next pound of flesh. The breeze would only bring the smell of s**t to my doorstep now.

S**t and death. Two great words to describe this city.

The body before him looked cold and grey like a delicate statue he thought who’s been gutted.

She no longer looked human.

The detective moved his shaggy black hair from his eyes.

The streets like normal were empty, but he could feel the eyes upon him, he knew they were everywhere, in there homes, in the shops or it’s all just in his head.

The recent lack of nicotine has been taking its toll on him, he hasn’t been able remember much of late or sleep for that matter. The detective would wake up in a cold sweat with bad dreams of death, the only solution he found was whiskey.

The long coat sunk down to his knees and suit he wore was starting to pick up the odour around him.

“Great” he said “a tall man standing over a dead body, this is not how I pictured my life

He looked down at the pocket watch in his hand. _Silver Plated Beauty_ were the words encrusted onto it. It made him smile at the memory

“Well... She’s late by an hour nearly, she’s taking a long time to get here. Wonder what she’s doing?”

It was almost midnight when she arrived. It was always a guilty pleasure to watch her drive up.

Detective Meg Frosty driving up in a black Ford Mustang GT500

It makes me wonder, How did a top shot detective like her wind up working with a low life like me?

By the time I finished thinking about that she was crouched down alongside the body, her suit matched her car, coal black, her hair blended in with her suit, coal black, her eyes were a deep brown but at this hour they seemed the same colour as everything else in the street. Coal black.

“A young female in her early twenties, blonde hair, blue eyes. The wound is 5 inches in length across the abdomen, a stab wound in the throat indicates that she was alive while this happened" she spoke bluntly with no emotion.

She been looking at bodies for so long, stopping murderers, psycho’s and offenders for most of her life, eventually the sympathy she felt for the victims slowly faded away.

After that every cold dead body was the same to her and you could tell by one look that her heart had turned the same colour as everything else. Coal black.