|Nightmares and Reality
Author: TheDarkChimaera PM
The sleepy town of Wilhilt is plagued by a mysterious killer. Two F.B.I agents are sent to investigate the murders, but they soon discover that nothing is how it should be in Wilhilt. Rated M for violence and some language.Rated: Fiction T - English - Crime/Horror - Chapters: 2 - Words: 1,008 - Published: 10-05-12 - id: 3063228
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Nightmares and Reality
The body lay on the floor, in a pool of blood that had dried into the beige carpet. He had been stabbed eighteen times in the face, causing extreme bleeding, and a large chunk of his skull to be ripped from his head. The chunk lay nearby. Agent Jack Redhart squatted near the body, looking for anything that could turn into a lead. His partner, Jeph Dillon stood near him, writing notes in a small moleskin notebook. Jeph tapped his partner's shoulder,
"Jack, there's nothing more we can do here. There were no witnesses, and there's no qualified murder weapon,"
Jack sighed. He stood up and went to leave,
"Call the coroner. Get him to pick up the body, and do an autopsy." Jeph nodded and put his notebook into his coat pocket. He and Jack left the suburban house and strode through the torrential rain to their black Mercedes. Jack sat into the driver's seat and Jeph sat in the passenger's. Jack turned the key in the ignition and the engine purred into life. He drove down the road and the two of them headed to the local police station. He stopped the car and the two of them entered the red-brick building.
The receptionist was a young woman with blonde hair. She wore a white zip-hoodie and a pair of blue jeans,
"Can I help you, boys?" Asked the woman. She blew a pink bubble with the gum she chewed. Jeph showed her his badge,
"We're the F.B.I. We need to see the Chief of Police," Said Jeph. The woman pointed a flight of mahogany stairs,
"Rick's up there,"
"Thank you." Jeph and Jack headed up the stairs. Their shoes clicked against the wooden steps, echoing about the sleepy police station.
"How can I help you fine gentlemen, this evening?" Asked Rick, the police chief, "You want a coffee?" Jack waved his hand,
"No thanks. I don't drink coffee," He said. Rick looked at Jeph,
"Not after eight," Jeph said,
"Do you know anything about the murder on…" Jack looked at the scrap of paper in his pocket, "32. Wilhilt Boulevard?"
"That? That's a damn shame. The man's name's Phil. He's lived her for about ten years. He was a good guy,"
"Did he have any enemies?" Asked Jeph,
"Look, pal. I ain't the guy you wanna ask these questions. You'd be better off asking his wife, Doreen. She's down in holding,"
"Thank you," Said Jack, "I'll do that,"