Thread: To Catch A Murderer (Athene & Razgriz)

Ophellia Wilson Oh god ... Nancy whined, shuddering visibly as the tell-tale sounds of the make shift contraption barely holding Rick above the spikes gave away yet again. Her head bowed weakly before moving from side to side. I -- I can't! she stammered, her tears falling aster down her face. This is taking the phrase 'cruel and unusual punishment' to a very new and literal meaning! This is too fucking much! I -- I can't do this ..... Rick! Please forgive me but ... there's no way anyone could! Although anger wasn't a common emotion Nancy displayed, it most definitely did exist. And when she was taunted , the model turned - no doubt trying to find her assailant - and clenched her fists angrily. Shut up! she hissed, I'm not normally a sad drunk! But anyone would be if they were in my spot! What gives you the right to do this shit, anyway?! To make me and Rick go through this crap! You're not God! You don't get to --- oh fuck! Finally, Rick fell down and as he did, Nancy's hands raised, covering her eyes. Jesus! Rick ... no .... Nancy fell to her knees, literally feeling sick from the alcohol and the sounds be it the ones produced by the spikes or her now ex-boss as he screamed out in agony. Muffled, yes, but it was heard nonetheless. And all the while, Nancy could do literally nothing about it, which only made the depression that much worse. It's not what you did, Miss Miller. It's what you didn't do...Both then and now. You never asked for more information, even when things didn't add up. You never thought it through...And now those mistakes will be the reason you die here today. .. My mistakes? she asked, half-baffled and just as equally insulted. The fuck?! Look, I know I've made a shit ton of others besides this! But the hell?! It's not ... not your call! Her arms wrapped around her chest as a surge of pain, very likely from the alcohol's poison starting to work, rushed through her body. Nancy groaned, shakily holding onto herself as she fell onto the wooden floor. Her head instinctively lifted as footsteps echoed nearby. Alas, any hopes of actually seeing the same bastard who did this to her were gone. He was smart enough to cover himself up quite a bit. Even a bandanna was used as a make shift veil to keep his mouth, lips, whether h had any facial hair or not, all concealed away. Asshole, she muttered, staring in disbelief as he simply knocked the glasses off the counter. .... He .... would have let me do that? .... With how complicated the man seemed, she would have felt certain he'd say she cheated. But no. Apparently, the test had been that simple. Laughably so, it seemed. Seeing and understanding this fully made her that much more disgusted, at both her captor and herself. I ... I hope ... you burn ... in the deepest layers of hell, you sick fuck ... In a last ditch effort, Nancy tried to reach out, hoping to grab an ankle. Something - literally anything - to keep him from leaving her in such a state. Instead, she found air. Oh god no, she muttered, coughing and panting as the slow venom continued to work on her. Not like this. Please ... Four hours later .... 2227 PM Though many precautions had indeed been taken, a lone passerby walking beside one of the windows and seeing Nancy's corpse was all it took to earn a call to the police. And now, twenty-five year old forensics expert and cop Ophellia Wilson entered the scene, accompanied by at least a small handful of competent co-workers. ... Foul play ... she almost immediatley murmured, nodding to herself and the others as she knelt beside Nancy's body. Hm? What makes you so sure? Looks like she came here to drink herself to death. Ophellia scoffed and rolled her eyes, looking over to the man who spoke up. See, it's petty comments like that which keep you at such a low rank in the force, and thus why I am a lieutenant. Look around. There are already at least several good indicators. The first ... are all the glasses. If she really just wanted to drink herself to death, I don't think those would be broken. Not like that, anyway. ... What do you mean by that? Ophellia sighed, standing up after taking a picture of Nancy's driver's license and body with her cell phone. Simple, she explained, pointing down at all of the shattered glass. Okay. I'm not going to doubt she was likely inebriated. However, let's pretend she was here on her own accord, let alone aiming for suicide. The angle the glass is at is wrong. What we're looking at implies someone else was here and knocked these over. This wasn't Nancy's doing. Also, the shot glasses .... if she really wanted to resort to death by alcohol poisoning, why bother with setting these all up at all? She could have simply had an entire bottle or a few to herself. Ophellia's head slowly moved from side to side. But no. This was all set up, as if done for some really fucked up play. Miss Wilson! Over here! Hm? Her typical partner-in-crime, the competent Mark Robinson , made a 'come here' motion and pointed at the ground. Blood, he said, kneeling down and beginning to feel around on the floor. Good eye. Let's see ... Between the combined efforts, the two eventually found and opened the trap door, each scooting back slightly away as the scent of death wafted in their nostrils. Ugh ... never do get used to that smell ... she mused, grimacing as she began forcing herself to focus on Rick's body as opposed to the aroma her nose was being haunted with. Okay. Everyone! There's gotta be something sturdy to lift him up and out! Help me accomplish that! This body alone is enough to help prove my thoughts on this being foul play has risen from 50 percent to 90 percent. Because the inclusion of Rick's body simply didn't make sense. Even if this woman did kill him first .... no. Something here just isn't adding up. ... This was going to be one of those nights the ones that included a lot of research and just as much paperwork. Fun. Go me. Ugh ... ... Ah well. At least she wouldn't be bored, for one. Two - and perhaps the most important point - she knew she had people who would help her out, Mark in particular. Outside of the crime scene, meanwhile, there was yet another person busy at work. True, many could argue taking pictures of a live crime scene wasn't exactly an occupation, let alone a smart one. But for twenty-one year old David Edwards , it was good enough. He was officially employed, meaning he did have a boss who paid him. And with Missouri City not having as much fame as any of the other larger cities in Texas, something like a crime scene - murder or suicide - was actually a big deal in its own right. In truth, worse than him taking the photos - and this was in his own opinion, which said quite a bit - was the fact David tended to sketch the very things and pople he shot photos of. But ... was there really anything actually wrong with seeing beauty in every thing? Including Death itself? Of course not, he mumbled, getting one last shot for good measure before finally moving away from the window. In his hand, he held not a camera, but an iPhone. It just seemed easier, at least nowadays, to upload images over getting them printed out via Walgreens or any department store that could print out pictures. After rapidly swiping through and checking to see how the images turned out, a satisfied smile spread over his face. Perfect. Alright! Time to get home and work on the new art projects! His content look remained plastered on his face as David began jogging eagerly back to his own apartment which - eerily enough - was a few doors down from where Nancy used to live.