A/N: This is intended as an experiment in first pure free style writing without planning, and second to see how often I can update on 500-800 words a chapter, something I have never done before. Wish me luck and please review. :P
Richard Allen Wirz stood in the police station, one hand over his mouth while he calmly read the sheet of paper in the other. Sitting at the desk in front of him was a sour, surely, balding man in a police uniform whose belly presently competed with his desk for space. On his uniform was pinned the name Fredrick Grissom.
"And you're sure that everything is in order?" Richard asked, scanning the document once more to make sure he read everything correctly.
"Fingerprints, dental…" Fredrick replied. "We're doing a DNA test, but everything checks out so far."
"Hmmm…" Richard's eyes came to rest back on the top of the paper, revealing a photo of a young man with thin, spiky brown hair, tired-looking eyes, and a pale complexion. It was a face that he knew quite well for he saw it in the mirror every morning; his own.
Next to the photo was his name, date of birth, various identification and descriptions, weight, blood type, and finally his date of death, which, in this case, just so happened to be last night.
"Most unfortunate," Richard said, waving the paper to fan himself. "I don't suppose that I need to identify myself, do I? Because that might be bad."
"So you've said. If you want to make sure that I'm not playing a trick on you, fine. On the other hand your sister already identified you before I called you in."
Richard grimaced. "Well, at least that's something. Not good, but something in a wheel barrel sort of way…" He glanced at the document again. "So I was a victim of multiple stab wounds. Shitty way to go."
"This is a rather serious matter." Fredrick leaned forward and folded his hands together. "I'd appreciate it if you cut the shitty sarcasm and get to work!"
"Sure thing, boss," Richard replied, handing him back the document. "I'll get right to it."
Richard left the police station in short order, adjusting the large, rather bulbous watch on his wrist as he did so. It was raining outside, something he hated. While he fiddled with his watch, he couldn't help but wonder if doing so was a good idea.
Don't know if I should be spending the juice on this sort of thing right now, he thought, but I hate getting wet. Ice cold drops of rain pelted him all over, his head, his jacket, only for the wet splotches to evaporate almost immediately afterward and return to a state of dryness. Shrugging his jacket on to keep warm, he decided that he was going to go with it anyway. Energy drain or not, he couldn't focus if he was cold, wet, and miserable.
He tried to think about what could have happened that put 'him' on a morgue's slab. So far he came up with nothing.
I'm supposed to be a normal guy, he thought. Nothing special going for me. No real career aspirations. Just a dead end job in a fast food restaurant; a few friends… I don't gamble. I kept to myself… He paused. Well… That's not exactly true. I would get into arguments with people on the Internet. I suppose someone could have tracked me down…
He nodded to himself. The first thing he should do after checking out the crime scene was to go to his apartment and see what he could dig up there.